Archive of Our Own

Summer of 2012

Wendy takes a deep, steadying breath, her palms resting flush against the rough walls of the upstairs landing of the decrepit old shack. She knows Stan would take offense at her thinking such blasphemously insulting thoughts about his beloved home, but it’s literally the middle of the apocalypse and let’s face it— the place has seen better days.

Still, she’s thankful for the respite the home provides. As much of a relief as it was to be reunited with Dipper, part of her knew that being linked with him would present another responsibility for her. Don’t get her wrong, she was thrilled when she spotted him, but she’d also hoped that he would be off elsewhere, already safe. Having him fall in her lap had been as much of a worst fear confirmed as it was a relief. Yes, he was alive. But no, he was not safe. And now he was her responsibility.

She’s used to caring for others of course, especially boys her junior. Her father does his best, but as a single dad of four boys and one girl… well he might work hard to put food on the table and keep a roof above their heads, but long ago she made peace with the fact that she would be the emotional backbone of the family. She would be the one to kiss bruises, to be the shoulder to cry on after some girl or boy said “no” to going to the school dance, to be the the one who did the tucking in and the bedtime stories and the one to reassure her brothers that yes, everything was going to be okay.

So when she meets Dipper, all sweet and funny and kind of clueless, well, filling the big sister role to him comes naturally. She knows he doesn’t want it to be that kind of relationship of course—poor kid—or at least he didn’t earlier in the summer, but she also know what it feels like to be a twelve and still finding yourself and just sort of lost.

And she knows it’ll pass. Crushes like this always do.

Regardless, meeting up with Dipper in the middle of the apocalypse was a blessing in some ways, yes, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she’s pretty relieved they made it back here to the shack, surrounded by others and thankfully at least a handful of actual adults.

So she lets herself breathe for just a moment.

In, and out.

Her peace is short lived though, because from behind on the stairs, she hears the sniffle of someone else. Someone young, from the sound of it.

Great.

Nevertheless, her instincts kicks in, and she peeks around the corner.

In the warm, dim light of the couple lamps they’ve managed to keep lit, Wendy can make out of the silhouette of Pacifica Northwest hunched about halfway down the stairs, the light catching on the frayed hems of her potato sack dress, and on the frizz of her usually smooth hair.

Wendy can’t make out her face from behind her, but she seems to have her legs pulled up close to her body. Her arms are wrapped around her knees and her head is tucked forward. She shakes quietly as she cries.

Wendy pulls herself back around the corner and takes another deep breath.

She isn’t proud of the fact that her first instinct is be slightly annoyed. But it’s the truth. Another pre-teen to take care of. But she quickly pushes that to the side. The Northwest kid might be a bit of a brat, but Wendy knows the reputation her parents have, and that can’t have been a necessarily warm and fuzzy place to grow up. And on top of that, those parents— shitty as they might be— are really all the girl has, and they’re quite possibly dead.

Wendy wipes away her own tears and steels herself, preparing to turn the corner and fulfill her role as whatever every lost child in Gravity Falls seems to need her to be in any given moment. But as she turns the corner she stops short.

Because at the bottom of the steps now stands the familiar outline of Dipper, one hand resting one the banister and the other holding a box of what appear to be tissues.

Maybe she won’t have to be the one to comfort Pacifica tonight after all.

Wendy ducks back around the corner so she will remain unseen, but the kids are close enough that she can easily make out their conversation.

“Found these in Ford’s old room,” Wendy hears Dipper say. “They might be 30 years old and slightly disintegrated but they’re probably better than blowing your nose on burlap.”

There’s a loud startled sniff and sound of weight shifting on the stairs.

“I— I wasn’t—” Pacifica sniffs, seemingly surprised at his appearance. “As if I need…”

But the girl’s voice trails off, and the sound of quiet sobs once again quickly replace her haughty protestations.

Wendy hears footsteps and the creak of the stairs, and then finally a quiet thud as an additional weight settles on the old wood.

Tentatively, she peeks back around the corner.

Dipper’s silhouette has now joined Pacifica’s on the stairs, and she can practically feel the awkwardness radiating off of the stiff way he sits, arms straight at his sides and shoulders pulled up tight. The box of tissues sits between the two pre-teens, and Wendy wants to smack Dipper upside the head for not handing it to Pacifica directly. Doesn’t the boy know anything about interpersonal skills? About signaling to someone that you’re there for them?

Well, of course he doesn’t. He’s twelve.

“How are you, uh, doing?” she hears him venture after a moment.

Wendy cringes at the question. She knows he means well but there might not be a worse, more oblivious question he could as a crying girl in what is probably objectively the worst week of her life. Wendy braces herself for tongue-lashing Pacifica is undoubtedly about to unleash.

But instead, she just laughs. A big, sniffly, laugh.

“You’re so awkward,” Pacifica says, finally, and it almost sounds affectionate.

Well that’s new.

Dipper chuckles in return, and Wendy watches, being very careful to stay still, as he scoots an inch closer to Pacifica on the stairs, then picks up the box of old tissues and holds one out out for her. Pacifica plucks one from the box and blows her nose loudly.

“So ladylike,” Dipper teases, nudging her in the side with his elbow.

“Ugh, I’ve lost like 90% of my etiquette training just being in this barn for the last few days.”

“Um, excuse you, a barn sounds great. I was literally out there living on the streets.”

He says it lightly, the hint of a chuckle creeping through, as if they didn’t almost die half a dozen times out on those streets.

“Well, that doesn’t mean anything,” Pacifica huffs. “Some people’s standards are higher than others, you know,” she adds, sounding playful.

Dipper laughs again and pushes Pacifica lightly on the shoulder. She giggles in return, pushing back at him, then sniffs again— though her tears seem to have stopped.

Wendy senses that there’s some sort of… something going on here. Some sort of moment, at least, and she suddenly feels intrusive watching the two kids quietly chat. With a final look, she retreats into the shadows of the attic to find another source of respite.

Spring of 2013

“Sooooo, are you going to take our order?” Wendy asks, trying to stay as friendly as possible.

“Yeah, one sec,” Pacifica responds, casual, like there’s totally nothing wrong with ignoring your job duties in favor of texting.

It’s not like she and Pacifica have beef. Not anything that isn’t like… tied to their ancestral families anyway, but she does feel a mild annoyance at the way the younger girl is standing at their table, notepad tucked under her arm and ignored, as she taps away on her phone. Wendy looks across the table to share an annoyed look with Tambry, but Tambry is engaged in the exact same activity, texting away oblivious to the outside world.

Wendy looks back up at Pacifica, and notices something.

She’s smiling. Just the tiniest bit, like so small most people probably wouldn’t notice unless you were starving and staring at her, waiting for her take your damn order, but she is. There’s a small, sweet smile tugging at her lips, and her pale cheeks are dotted with pink.

“Okay,” Pacifica says finally. She pushes the side button to darken the screen, then plops the phone down the table face-down as she reaches for a pencil. “So, like, what do you want?” she asks, pencil poised at her notepad.

Wendy thinks that Pacifica’s customer service skills could use a little improvement, but decides against saying anything. She knows the girl is trying, and she’s important to Dipper and Mabel, so she can let it go.

“Uh, how about a cheeseburger,” Wendy says. “No tomato.”

“Cheese fries,” says Tambry, still not looking up from her own phone.

Pacifica scribbles down the simple orders and turns away without another word.

Wendy blinks and shakes her head. She was going to order a coke also, but supposes the ship has sailed.

Suddenly, an unexpected buzz catches her attention, followed immediately by another. Looking down at the table, she notices Pacifica’s glittery pink phone is still sitting there. She must have forgotten it in her haste to effectuate her duties as the world’s worst waitress.

“Pacif—“ Wendy starts to call out, but Tambry’s hand darts across the table to cover her mouth.

Wendy glances up at her friend. Tambry’s eyes remain glued to her own phone, as she continues texting with her other hand.

“Don’t you, like, want to see who she was talking to?” she asks.

“Well I don’t know…” Wendy starts, but who is she kidding, her hand is already reaching for the phone. She can just pretend she was about to walk it back over— if anyone asks.

Eyes still on the dining room, she flips it over and lets her pointer finger tap the screen. It lights up.

Casually, so casually, careful not to move her head,  her eyes dart down to the screen.

The background is a close up of a pony’s face— cute, Wendy thinks, smiling a bit— but there beneath the pony’s pretty mug is a stack of text notifications, all from the same name:

Dipshit🌲✨

Wendy’s eyes widen.

Then the phone buzzes yet again another message comes in from the same name, and another. Is that… four, five texts in a row? Oh come on, Dipper, have some self-respect, man.

She presses the side button that will darken the screen and flips it back on the table face-down.

“Well who was it?” Tambry asks, only the faintest hint of curiosity peeking through her tone.

“I, uh, don’t know. Didn’t recognize the name.”

“Lame,” Tambry declares. “Well, I’m bored.” She finally puts down her own phone. “You want to go spray paint sprinkles on Robbie’s muffins after this? Turn them into cupcakes?”

Hm. The mystery of Pacifica and Dipper’s unexpected friendship can probably wait for another day. She only has a few years left to be a teenage vandal before adulthood comes crashing in and the consequences get real.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Summer of 2014

Wendy sighs as she follows Dipper out of Shmambercrombie & Mitch empty-handed. It’s not like she hates shopping. She may not be a major girly girl but she’s still a teen, and every teen has a little bit of mall rat in them. But she’s been following Dipper around for at least an hour, watching the boy grow increasingly anxious over his failure to find a gift for Pacifica’s 15th birthday.

And she’s freaking bored.

“I thought that headband was nice,” she tries, hoping to put a stop to the never-ending quest.

“It was okay,” Dipper responds dismissively, eyes scanning the mall for store number… she’s lost count.

“Why are you stressing, dude?”

Dipper rubs at the back of his neck.

“I just want to make sure she likes it.”

“Aw, Dip, I’m sure she’ll be happy with anything.”

“Maybe… but she’s used to, like… nice stuff, you know?”

Wendy studies her younger friend. Notices the way his cheeks are coloring and the nervous line of his mouth. His eyebrows furrow in a clear sign of anxiety.

All this for a birthday present?

Ah, but it’s not a birthday present for just anyone, is it?

Wendy’s a good observer. She’s seen the signs. The way Dipper’s cheeks flush when Pacifica breezes into the shack gift shop entry, claiming that she’s just passing through to nab a free soda, despite very much not needing “handouts” and going twenty minutes out of her way to get it. The way his eyes track her as she inevitably stalls for time, rattling off bratty remarks as she flits through the shirts and tsotchkes. The way he tucks his clenched hands in his pockets as he strolls over to her, clearly feigning indifference as he engages her in their usual verbal sparring.

It’s like, pretty obvious what’s going on. To everyone. Everyone except the two of them, apparently.

Still, her heart goes out to him. Dipper’s calmed down a lot over the last few years, but when his mind has decided something is worth worrying about, it worries hard.

Sister-mode activates, and Wendy places a reassuring a hand on his shoulder, light.

“Pacifica’s grown up a lot, man,” she tries. “She knows it’s the thought that counts. I’m sure she’ll love whatever you get her. Because it’s from you.”

For just a moment Dipper’s shoulders relax almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah, she has,” he says quietly, sounding contemplative.

Wendy smiles. Maybe now he will calm down and he will finally find a gift he’s happy with and she can get back to her Saturday.

Dipper breathes in heavily once more, then blinks and shakes his head, pulls his shoulders back. “But still. It needs to be good.” His eyes lock on a store front with a flood of fluorescent pink and purple barely contained within. “Come on, this looks promising.” And then he’s off again, and Wendy has no choice but to trail behind, groaning and doing the math in her head until Dipper turns 16 and won’t need her to chauffeur him around.

They strike out at the store that looks like it was designed by the jackass unicorns she now knows live in the woods, Dipper turning his nose up at every sparkly purse and multi-colored hair accessory that Wendy points out.

And at the toy store—he even shook his head at the stuffed llama Wendy was sure he would go for.

And also at the candy shop— pulling a face at row after row of multicolored gummies and novelty chocolates.

“None of that was Pacifica,” Dipper argues when Wendy pleads with him to reconsider as they exit the latest failed venture. “You said it yourself, she’s grown up a lot. It needs to be mature. Like, classy.”

Dipper’s eye catches on the store across the concourse from them, and Wendy watches as they light up in excitement. He’s off again before she can respond, bee-lining for the exterior window of the shop.

She chases after, as quickly as her poor, tired feet will take her. It’s only when she’s right next to him that she recognizes what type of store this is. Her eyes travel through the shop window to the display cases beyond. To rows of glittering diamond rings, expensive-looking watches, and delicate gold and silver necklaces, bracelets and earring laid out just-so on their velvet holders.

“Uh, Dip, this is a jewelry store.”

“Yeah, and look, this is perfect for her.” Dipper hasn’t taken his eyes from the display case in front of him, and he points at a particular piece excitedly.

Wendy follows his gaze to a delicate necklace. It is beautiful, she has to admit. A whisper-thin white gold chain with a single, pale blue stone hanging from it. She reads the small placard next to it. Blue topaz.

“It matches her eyes exactly,” Dipper adds, sounding mesmerized.

Wendy eyes the necklace, and then the way Dipper studies it, like he can’t bear to pull away from that soft, pretty blue.

It’s adorable, really, how much he thinks he’s getting away with people not knowing how he feels about her. Heck, he might be a little in denial himself, but underneath her affection for the boy rises the uncomfortable fear that this is just a bit… much. Dipper isn’t exactly schooled in the ways of juvenile romance, and she isn’t sure that he understands, or is ready for, the implications of giving a girl fine jewelry.

She clears her throat.

“It is, really pretty, man. But don’t you, uh, think it might be a little bit… intimate?”

Dipper finally pulls his eyes from the necklace, looks at her quizzically.

“Huh?”

“Well, you know, usually boys don’t give girls jewelry unless they’re close.”

“Pacifica and I are close.”

Oh bless his dumb little heart. She tries again.

“I just mean, usually a gift of jewelry has a lot of meaning behind it. Sometimes… romantic meaning. Usually, romantic meaning, in fact, unless you’re giving it to, like, a relative.”

DIpper’s eyes slowly turn back to the necklace, studying it.

Wendy continues.

“And like, maybe that’s okay, right? But, I guess I just want to make sure you know that she might take it that way.” She pauses, eyes watches his face carefully, but its still trained firmly on the necklace. “To make sure you’re ready for her to maybe take it that way.”

Dipper doesn’t respond for a minute, but she can see how his brow furrows and cheeks flush ever so slightly.

“I want her to have it,” he says, finally. “It’s pretty.” He swallows.

Wendy considers her friend a little longer. Maybe he understands more than she gives him credit for.

Well, alrighty then!

She straightens up and slaps him on the back. “Okay it looks like we’ve found our present!”

He turns to her, grinning.

Approximately three minutes and twenty seconds later however, they are once again leaving a shop empty handed, and this time Dipper is nearing despondency.

“Four hundred dollars?” he wails. “Who has four hundred dollars to spend on a rock?”

Well, the Northwests, Wendy thinks internally, but keeps the thought to herself. She doesn’t need to send Dipper deeper into the throes of despair.

She chucks him on the jaw instead. “Chin up, dude! We’ll find something in your price range.” She pauses. “Actually, I guess I should have asked this sooner— what exactly is your price range?”

Desperation still plastered on this face, Dipper reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a rolled up wad of what looks like exclusively one and five dollar bills.

“Seventy-two dollars exactly. And maybe some change if Waddles ever coughs it back up.”

“Seventy-two dollars? Dude, that has to be, like, all your savings from this summer so far. I know what Stan pays you. You don’t need to spend that much on her.”

Dipper’s ears go pink as he focuses his gaze on the roll of bills in his hand. “I want her to like it.”

Oh this poor, pathetic, sweetheart of a kid. Wendy feels her heart swell with affection for him. She decides enough is enough, and steps in front of him to force him to look at her squarely.

“Dip, look… I’m gonna be real with you and if you’re not ready to be real with me that’s totally fine and you don’t have to say a thing. But listen man, I know things between you and Paz are… vague, but like in a good way, I know. And maybe you’re both still figuring out, like, the nuance of your friendship. But for real dude, you gotta believe me when I say that she really likes you, man.” Dipper’s eyes snap up. “Yeah,” Wendy continues. “She’s used to the finer things, and she’d probably turn up her nose or roll her eyes at like 90% of the gifts that most boys would give her, but you? You could literally give her one of your ratty old hoodies and I bet she would cherish it and probably sleep in it like every night.” Wendy smiles as she watches Dipper’s cheeks flush a little. “She just likes being close to you, so how about we come up with a gift that makes that happen, huh?”

Dipper looks away, his face draw into a serious focus as he appears to take in Wendy’s words. Eventually, he speaks.

“There is this, uh, meadow that I found. It’s really pretty—like with flowers and a little stream and everything—and I found it while Mabel was at the fair with the girls, so I haven’t shared it with anyone else yet. She might like a… a picnic there or something. Just us. Like, a nice one, I mean. Big blanket, maybe get some fancy cheeses from the market. Girls like cheese, right?” He turns his wide eyes to Wendy, like this is the most important question in the world. She can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, dude, most girls like cheese. Let’s throw in some crackers and cookies and juice and stuff too though, just to round it out.”

Dipper nods, his features relaxing as he seems to come around to the idea.

“I’d want to give her something, still, though.” He fiddles with the hem of his jacket sleeves. “Grunkle Stan, he, uh, has been teaching me how to whittle using only a pocket knife. Maybe I could make her something. Like, I’m not very good, but something simple… like, a heart, maybe.” glances up at Wendy, cheeks still pink. ”Do you, uh, think she would like that?”

“Are you kidding man? She’ll love it. Make her a dozen, she can use them to pellet at the heads of any other boy who tries to win her over.”

Dipper’s face turns half a shade darker, but he’s smiling and seems more at ease than he has since they first started this doomed mall trip.

“Alright, that’s the plan then. Let’s get out of here.” He pauses, seems to realize his manners have been slipping. “Unless you had some shopping you wanted to do…?”

Wendy laughs. “No way man, I’m mall-ed out for at least the month. Come on, we can stop by the grocery store and I’ll show you all the cheeses that the girls go crazy over.”

Wendy smiles as she watches Dipper’s face twist up in confusion, clearly not sure if she’s joking or not. But then his eyes dart back to the jewelry store window display again, once more finding the topaz necklace and lingering on it longingly.

“Hey, someday, man,” Wendy says reassuringly, patting his back. “You’re still young.”

Dipper doesn’t respond, but she catches the calm smile that dances across his features, and she warms from the inside out.

Summer of 2015

“OKAY,” Grenda declares, pulling Pacifica by her shoulders to face her. “The trick is to start aloof. You don’t let them know anything is up. Then, at the right moment— don’t overthink it, you’ll know when it is— you casually point at their shirt.” Grenda points at Pacifica’s own pastel pink peasant top. “Then ‘oh, there’s something on your—’… and BAM!” Grenda pulls her finger up as soon as Pacifica looks down, flicking her nose roughly. “You hit them with the ol’ charm. Works every time.”

From where Wendy sits at the Shack’s gift shop counter, perusing the community college’s catalogue’s fall offerings, she has a pretty good view of the way Pacifica flinches and recoils at Grenda’s attempts to school her in the ways of flirting. Poor thing.

Still, she’s impressed with the way Pacifica seems to be humoring her.

Wendy doesn’t spend a lot of time with Mabel, Candy, Grenda and Pacifica as a group. As the years have gone by the age gap between 15 and 18 has seemed wider than it did at 12 and 15. It’s just one of those times in your life where you’re in different phases. Wendy is preparing to start college in the fall, trying to figure out what she wants to study, where she might want to live, what she wants to be, who she wants to be, while the younger girls still don’t even have their driver’s licenses yet.

Nevertheless, she’s still seen enough to know that the trio of Mabel, Grenda and Candy has pretty much officially expanded to a foursome, and it makes her happy to see the girls united in healthy, if somewhat intrusive, sisterhood.

“Grenda,” Mabel moans, slinging an arm around Pacifica. “That literally has worked one time in all of history and it’s just because Marius was bored with people sucking up to him!”

“IT’S FOOLPROOF,” Grenda argues.

“I don’t know. It is a risky move,” offers Candy.

“Whatever,” Pacifica pipes up. “It’s like, totally hypothetical anyway. It’s not like I like anyone right now.” She shrugs off Mabel’s arm and crosses the floor of the shop to examine a stack of snow globes. Wendy doesn’t miss how pink her face has turned.

Mabel, Grenda and Candy exchange a skeptical look.

“Sure, sis,” Mabel says flippantly, before turning to Wendy. “Hey Wen! So… where’s my brother anyway?”

Pacifica’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowed in Mabel’s direction.

“Uh, I dunno,” Wendy responds, cautiously. She senses she’s walking into some sort of trap. “His shift started a few minutes ago though, so he should be here soon.”

“Oh his shift started a few minutes ago did it?” Mabel asks, strangely enthralled. “Well isn’t that just a co-incky-dink.” She turns back to Pacifica. “Hey Paz, I know you just got here, what was it—? Just a few minutes ago? But do you wanna go head out to see a movie with the girls and I? Or did you have something else planned for your afternoon?” Mabel grins at her friend.

Pacifica flushes, but recovers quickly and crosses her arms.

“Nothing planned, but there’s nothing I want to see playing right now either,” she says, sticking her nose up.

“Uh-huh. But hey, I’m glad you looked. What is playing, Paz? We forgot to check.” Mabel’s grin widens as she leans over a display rack in Pacifica’s direction.

Pacifica pales. “Oh, um…” she starts.

She is saved from answering by the sound of the Employees Only door being flung open as Dipper rushes into the store, chest heaving.

“Sorry I’m late! I was following this family of beard cubs and then the leprecorn showed up and I guess they have beef because it turned into a whole thing.” He shrugs off his dirty jacket and hooks it on the coat rack by the door.

Wendy clocks that he’s directing his apology more toward Pacifica than her, the one that he’s actually supposed to be relieving. She smiles and rolls her eyes.

“Whatever, broseph,” Mabel says airily. “Just don’t make it a habit. Girls don’t like it when guys are late.”

“Aw don’t give him a hard time, Mabel,” Wendy says, deciding to play along. She gives Mabel a wink. “I didn’t mind that he was late. No biggie.”

Mabel’s grin widens conspiratorially. Wendy knows Mabel loves a set-up.

“Who said you were the one I was talking about?” she sing-songs, predictably.

“ANYWAY,” Dipper interrupts, ears turning pink. “Aren’t you guys going to a movie this afternoon? You better leave now if you don’t want to miss it right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mabel waves her brother off as she shuffles out the door with Candy and Grenda in tow. “Pacifica, don’t worry, we’ll be sure to tell you all about the movie you said you didn’t want to see despite not even knowing what it was!”

Pacifica glares daggers at Mabel’s retreating back. Dipper clears his throat and says something about breaking down a few boxes in the storage room.

Pacifica crosses the store to the counter.

“I hate it when she gets like that. Implying that, well, you know…” she mutters, leaning against the counter, back turned to Wendy but peeking just so over her shoulder. It’s as much of an invitation that the Northwest kid is going to give, and Wendy knows her well enough by now to know that it’s a bid for conversation, if a pretty weak one.

“Eh, Mabel’s just giving you a hard time. You and Dip have gotten pretty close after all.”

“But, like, there’s nothing going on, you know. We’re just friends.”

Wendy leans her elbows on the counter. “Friends who spend every Saturday night playing video games together, who spend every Sunday alone in the woods chasing god-knows-what, who doodle each others names in little hearts in their journals where they think no one will see?”

Pacifica gasps and rounds on Wendy, placing both hands flat on the counter-top. “Who told you that?! That’s defamation!”

“Kid, you have got to start hiding your diary in places where Mabel can’t find it. That girl is like a bloodhound when it comes to romantic gossip.”

Pacifica moans and turns back around. “That was just a trap. I wanted her to find that,” she mutters, unconvincingly. “To… to...” She trails off, apparently unable to come up with a decent excuse.

Wendy hums skeptically and leans back in her chair, letting the silence compel Pacifica into spilling more.

It doesn’t take long.

“But—hypothetically,” she begins. “If I did like him, what would you think I should do about it?” Pacifica ventures a small peek at Wendy, over her shoulder.

Wendy remembers what it was like to be this age. They’re right at the time of life when she first started dating, and while she had enjoying taking to dating casually, going out with lots of guys—and some girls—without serious intentions or plans for the future, she senses that Pacifica’s trust issues might make her more inclined to fall for one person, and hard. Wendy’s suddenly struck with an enormous sense of responsibility. Pacifica isn’t exactly an open book, but here she is coming to her, trusting her. How can she give good advice when the two are so vastly different?

But then she thinks about the way Dipper looks at the girl, with that sweet longing and easy sense of almost… amusement, like everything she does just makes him laugh a little, and not in a mean way, but in a way that just makes him happy.

“Eh, kid, you don’t need to do anything. Just be yourself, the rest will work itself out.”

Wendy’s proud of herself. Good job, Wen, you’re getting pretty good at this counselor-to-teenagers thing. Actually, maybe I should take a class in counseling at school, might be a start anywa—

“Eugh!” Pacifica wails. “‘Be myself?’ That’s your great, sage wisdom? I already know how to do that! Call me when you come up with something better, Miss Chicken Soup for the Lumberjack’s Soul.”

Wendy balks.

Little brat.

She rolls her eyes and pushes back from the counter.

“Alright well I tried,” she says, raising her hands and heading toward the back.

Wendy nearly collides with Dipper head on as she makes her way into the storage room to grab her personal belongings. She snatches her coat and keys from a hook and turns to walk back into the shop, but stops short when she sees Pacifica and Dipper standing toe-to-toe, Pacifica’s finger pointing at Dipper’s chest.

“Um… there’s something on your shirt,” she says, sounding uncertain.

“What?” Dipper turns from her to look a floor-length mirror to his right. His face twists up. “No there isn’t. What are you talking about?”

Pacifica’s face reddens. “N-nothing. Like, never mind. Probably just poor people dust.”

“Poor peop— ugh, whatever, Pacifica.” He rolls his eyes, but Wendy catches the tiny smile on his lips. “Look, if you’re gonna be around might as well make yourself useful,” he says, poking her shoulder. “Want to help me inventory the stuffed animals?”

He tosses a plush beaver at her face and she squeals as it makes impact.

“I guess I can spend some time helping out the less fortunate,” she says, confidence returning to her voice as she smooths out her hair from the impact of the plush. “It’ll be good for my college applications.” She puts her hands on her hips and leans forward, chin aloft. “I need community service hours.”

Rolling her eyes, Wendy reverses her path and slips out the back door, the sound of Pacifica’s peals of laughter following her down the hall and bringing a smile to her face.

Looks like I give pretty good advice after all, she thinks, a little proud.

Summer of 2016

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. Oh how the mighty have fallen, etc etc…” Pacifica twists her hand dismissively as she rolls her eyes.

Wendy thinks faintly that if there were a statewide competition in masterclass eye rolls, Pacifica would take the crown just as often as she had in all those beauty pageants.

Wendy is presently squished into a booth at Greasy’s Diner with the rest of the Mystery Shack crew, including the younger Pines twins who just got back for the summer last week. Everyone stifles their laughter as Pacifica turns pinker and pinker, standing in front of them with a scowl plastered on her face and a hand propped defiantly on her hip.

But like, how do you not laugh at this?

Greasy’s business has been doing better in recent years, and apparently Lazy Susan decided it was high time to upgrade the uniforms, because instead of the relatively shapeless, functional dress that Susan and the rest of the waitresses used to wear, Pacifica now stands in front of them in what can only be described as a 1950’s carhop waitress Halloween costume. The pleated white-and-pink top she wears is fitted and obviously has been made to her measurements. It gives way to a flared skirt that is just long enough to be considered appropriate for the family-friendly restaurant, but, frankly, only just. The whole ensemble is finished off with lace-up roller skates and a matching fabric headpiece that actually makes Wendy think more of an English nurse than anything else.

“N-no,” Dipper replies, still apparently trying and failing to suppress his laughs. He’s grinning and obviously relishing in Pacifica’s agitation, but Wendy doesn’t miss the pinkness of his own cheeks or the way his eyes keep flitting down to her nylon-covered legs. “No,” he repeats, settling down a bit. “You look cute.”

Pacifica’s face turns impossibly redder, but she huffs and flips a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Well obviously. I can make anything look good.” She pauses, appears to think. “But… thank you,” she says, eventually, bringing her eyes to Dipper’s, expression softening.

“You’re welcome,” says Dipper, sounding sincere as he maintains his own eye contact and his cheeks flush even more.

Everyone else has gone completely silent, and Wendy is acutely aware of the shift in energy at the table. She smiles a little, elbowing Soos, who giggles.

Mabel looks between Pacifica and her brother, a giant grin growing in her face.

Ford studies his nephew, eyebrow raised along with a bemused smile.

Only Stan appears oblivious to the energy passing between the kids. His eyes search the faces around him, confused.

“So, we gonna order or what? That’s your job, right, Blondie?”

Dipper spins in his seat, glaring, and Mabel swats him with a light palm. “Grunkle Stan! Quiet! They’re having a moment…”

Pacifica and Dipper both begin to voice their objections but then give way to awkward throat clearings and coughs.

“N-no, he’s right, we should… uh… order, right, everyone?” Dipper says, eventually, pulling at his collar.

Pacifica straightens her back and grabs her pencil from behind her ear.

“Yep, sounds good to me," she says, voice high. "So what’ll it be?”

Pacifica scribbles down their orders without further issue, and then glides off to the kitchen to give it to the cook. Wendy snickers at the way Dipper’s eyes trail after her.

Soos is the first to break the silence.

“So you dawgs going to the grand re-opening of the Dusk 2 Dawn? I hear there’s gonna be unlimited gas station-style hot dogs. You know, the ones that roll around on the little spinning rods? Bet the whole town shows up.”

“I’ll come!” Mabel says, sounding cheery. “Might be a good place to meet some new people.”

Dipper, who still seems a bit distracted, groans. “New people? Ugh, pass.”

Soos turns to him. “What gives, dude? You don’t want to make some new friends?”

“Why do I need more friends? I’ve got my family and Paz.”

Wendy feels a slight pang at the omission of her and Soos, even though she’s sure Dipper doesn’t mean offense.

“Geez, dude. What are Wendy and I, chopped liver?” Soos says, apparently not afraid to voice his feelings on the matter.

Dipper startles, eyes widening as he realizes his slight. “Oh! Sorry, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I guess I just count you two as family is all?”

Aw.

“That’s sweet, man,” Wendy says. And she really is touched.

Mabel apparently senses as opportunity though. She’s leaning forward on the table, a glint of mischief in her eye.

“But not Paz?” She asks, eyeing her brother.

“Huh?” responds Dipper.

Mabel inches forward a little closer on the table.

“You said you didn’t mention Soos and Wendy because they’re included in the family category, but you still mentioned Pacifica by name. So you don’t consider her family?”

“Oof,” says Soos. “Harsh, dude.”

Dipper starts to open his mouth, then stops short. Tries again. “N-no. Like obviously I care about her… but she’s not family, not in the same way.” He glaces off, looking like he’s trying for unbothered.

“You hang out with her as much as you do Soos and Wendy,” says Mabel, voice level.

“Yeah, so?” Dipper plucks up the spoon that rests on the table in front of him.

“And you’re just a close by now.”

“I guess.” He turns the spoon over, inspecting it.

“But she’s not family.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

He grips the spoon a little tighter.

“Because reasons,” he grits out.

“Because what reasons?” Mabel sing-songs.

She smirks, looking at him right in the eye. He glares back, then slams the spoon down.

“Because that’d be weird, okay?”

“But why would that be weird, Dip?” Mabel coos, placing her fist under her chin as she grins wider.

“It just is.” He says, raising the plastic menu in front of his face, despite the fact that they’ve already ordered.

Wendy thinks Mabel might be going a bit far, and tries to tug her back down into the booth.

“Okay, girl, I think he’s has enough…” she tries.

But Mabel just grips to top of Dipper’s menu and pulls it down, leaning over the counter to look him in the eye.

“I just wanna know why thinking of Pacifica being related to him grosses him out so much!”

“It doesn’t!” Dipper bites back.

“You just said it did!” Mabel argues.

“No, I said it would be weird.”

“Same thing!”

“Why are you interrogating me!?”

“Is it because you want to kiss her?”

“Stop.”

“Because you want to hold her?”

“Mabel,” Dipper warns.

“Because you want to fu—“

“Enough!” Dipper jumps up from the booth and starts toward the exit. “Just— just leave me alone on this, okay?”

Wendy cringes as she watches Dipper stalk out the front door. It is... a little funny though, how worked up he gets. She knows it’s mean and, yes, Mabel went too far, but she can’t help it. Especially not about this. Does he really think everyone doesn’t know exactly how he feels about Pacifica? Especially after that whole little “moment” (as Mabel so succinctly defined it) that everyone just bore first-hand witness to?

“Well, at least he didn’t outright deny it,” she observes to the group, a few seconds after the diner’s front door slams shut.

“What’s the over/under on them already being together an just hiding it?” Stan asks.

Wendy leans back in the booth as she turns to Stan.

“Oh?” she asks. “Now you’re all observant are you?”

Stan huffs. “I’ve got eyes, don’t I? I’ve seen what’s been going on. I just wanted to order my food, so sue me.”

Wendy rolls her eyes and turns to Mabel, who appears to have been thinking about Stan’s suggestion.

“Nah, they’re not together yet,” she says, waving the thought away. “I would know. And Dipper would be way less wound up. Look at him, does that seem like a guy who’s getting any kind of action on a regular basis?”

Wendy follows Mabel’s look out the window to where Dipper stands in the gravel parking lot, face red and hands shoved in his pockets as he kicks at literally nothing. The tension radiates off of him, like a tightly wound spring waiting to break. Wendy cringes a little.

“Maybe they’re together but just not… doing stuff yet?” she asks.

Mabel laughs. “Dipper and Pacifica?! No way, when they get together they’ll be on each other like rabbits. Trust me. I’ve spent enough time around the two to know. The U-S-T there is extreme. And gross. It’s gonna boil over in a big way.”

“U-S-T?” Ford asks.

“Unresolved Sexual Tension,” Soos offers. On their looks, he adds, “what? I’ve been on the Internet.”

“Welp, I’m going to pretend I never heard that,” Stan declares, getting up from the booth. “Ford, want to join me in looking at the kids’ baby pictures and pretending it’s the early 2000s again?”

“Gladly,” Ford says, rising and making his way to the counter, apparently to ask that he and Stan’s food be prepared to-go. Soos makes his exit as well, muttering something about making sure Stan gets to the car okay.

Now alone, Wendy sighs and she turns to Mabel. She knows it's time for her to be the mature adult in the situation. She rests a hand on Mabel's shoulder affectionately.

“Girl, I really do think you owe him an apology though. Like, we all like joking about him and Paz but if you keep pestering him about it’s he’ll never feel comfortable talking with you about it, and that’s not good for either of you."

Mabel sighs and turns to look out the window again.

“I know you’re right. I just get so excited sometimes. And like, he’s being so silly about it all.” Mabel turns pleading eyes to Wendy.

She’s not wrong, Wendy thinks.

“Yeah, he is," Wendy agrees, trying for indulgent. "But it’s still his thing to be silly about, and you gotta let him process through it himself before making him talk about it. It’s tough being sixteen. You know that.”

Mabel blinks, looking like she’s mulling over Wendy’s words. The she rises. “Okay, I’ll go talk to him. Let him know I’ll cool it with the teasing…”

Wendy smiles and nods encouragingly as she watches Mabel leave through the front of the restaurant and approach her brother outside. Dipper looks up as his twin approaches, and he’s still clearly upset, but she can also catch the slightest glimmer of relief in his eyes that Mabel is seeking him out.

Wendy watches the two with a swell of bubbling pride.

Summer of 2017

It’s a warm, breezy summer night. The stars are out in full force, shining brighter in the dark night sky due to the waning moon, barely a sliver on the horizon. Wendy is feeling light and happy. It might be from the peaceful evening walk, it might be from the pretty black-haired girl whose hand she’s holding, or it might be from the bottle of wine they just shared in an impromptu evening picnic. It’s probably from all three.

Either way, she’s feeling pretty darn good as she and Emma make their way up the path that parallels the winding mountain road overlooking the town below. They’re a long way off from where she parked her jeep earlier in the evening, but the night is young and she knows a turn-off with a great view that she wants to show off to her new girlfriend. It’s a place she used to come to a lot when she was a teenage, doing… well, the things that teenagers do. And, candidly, she thinks it’ll be fun to share in similar memories with Em.

Hometown landmarks, and all that.

It’s apparently not to be, however, because as they round the bend toward the overlook with the magical view, Wendy’s heart sinks to see that there’s already a car parked there. It’s a nondescript, dumpy old pickup. The engine isn’t going but the running lights are on, the tell-tale sign that someone is inside, probably playing the radio. Wendy eyes the foggy windows and pretty quickly discerns that whoever it is probably had similarly romantic ideas for their evening as she did and just beat her to it. Dang.

Oh well. Em will be visiting from Portland for a few more weeks, they can try again another night.

Wendy opens her mouth to suggest as much, but before she can Emma tugs on her sleeve and points at the truck.

“Isn’t that your friend Dipper’s truck?” she asks.

Wendy whips her head around to get a second look at the pickup.

Holy shit.

It is.

She feels stupid for not recognizing it at first, though the poor thing has seen better days. Once upon a time it was Soos’, but after Melody had baby number two they decided to upgrade to a vehicle with better safety features, and Soos had gifted his old one to the Pines twins. Mabel can’t drive stick for shit and doesn’t seem to have the patience to learn, so it’s essentially Dipper’s alone at this point.

Which means…

Huh.

Okay, don’t freak out, Wendy tells herself.

It’s not rocking. Thank god, she thinks. Dipper’s practically a brother to her at this point. She’s not sure she could handle bearing (albeit, very, very obscured) witness to—ugh—that. But the foggy windows are enough to nevertheless betray that private activities are going on inside the clunky old truck, and she immediately feels like an unwilling voyeur.

“Let’s go say hi!” Emma squeals excitedly.

“Uh,” Wendy says, dumbly, really not sure how to respond.

“What? He is your friend, isn’t he? Didn’t you want me to get to know him better?”

“Well, yes, but—“

Emma turns to Wendy, eyes wide and hurt. “You’re… out, right? You didn’t pretend that we were just…?”

Wendy’s heart clenches as she trails off.

“Oh! No! No that’s not it at all!” she says. She squeezes Emma’s shoulders. “Of course he knows all about you. About us. He’s stoked for me.” Emma relaxes a little but still looks uneasy, so Wendy turns to direct them both back in the direction of the overlook. “No, it’s just… eh, the car looks… busy… you know?”

Wendy nods her head in the direction of the truck, widening her eyes suggestively. Emma’s frown shifts from hurt to confusion as she glances back, before slowly moving into dawning awareness.

“…oh.”

“Yeah,” Wendy chuckles, awkwardly.

“Well, yes, maybe we should leave him— well, uh, them— be.”

“Probably for the best.” Wendy agrees with a quick nod.

Eager to leave, Wendy grabs Emma’s hand again and directs them back down the path, leaving the truck, the view, and the foggy windows behind.

…but she is curious.

Not about who Dipper’s with. Like, come on. But she’s curious about the when.

As she and Emma make their way back down the mountain, she lets her mind wander through her memories of the last month or so. Dipper’s only been in town for a few weeks, but he has been in a remarkably good mood, now that she thinks about it. And so has Pacifica. Not that they’re ever in bad moods when they’re together, not really. Even when they’re at each other’s throats, it’s obvious from all the blushes and swallowed grins that they’re having the time of their lives.

And there was that one morning about a week after he arrived. Wendy was opening up the gift shop, now just a summer job for her, and Dipper practically skipped in. Humming some tune, he had greeted her with a dorky finger gun and a stupid grin that had her wondering who had spiked his coffee.

It was weird, to say the least. And horribly cringey, but Wendy had just chalked it up to some sort of newfound confidence tied to the six inches he seemed to have grown since last summer.

But then the other mornings… when he was practically falling asleep at the counter, a dumb, dreamy smile painted on his features.

And the knowing smirks from Mabel.

The raised eyebrows from Ford.

The approving chuckles from Stan.

Well I’ll be damned, Wendy thinks, a little proud. The kid finally did it.

And that is precisely all she is going to think on the subject. Because, yeah, brother-status, so... gross.

Fall of 2017, a few weeks later

It’s crisp but nevertheless sun-soaked early September evening, and Wendy is standing in a simple, long moss-green bridesmaid (grooms-maid?) gown, taking a long sip from a beer as she crowd-watches friends and strangers mix and mingle from the sidelines of Soos’ wedding reception. Melody, Soos’ new wife, strolls up to her with her daughter on her hip, and the two women make easy conversation until more locals approach and Wendy can once again gracefully exit the conversation and resume her people-watching.

She’s been particularly interested in Dipper and Pacifica tonight, of course, ever since that night only a month or two back when she spotted his truck at “Hook Up Point”— as the local teens so lovingly refer to it. So far she’s feeling a little disappointed though. Dipper was in the wedding party, like her, so he and Paz have spent the majority of the evening separated. There was the big high-energy group dancing earlier of course, and the bouquet toss (Wendy was honestly impressed with the dive that Toby Determined performed in order to successfully nab the flowers) and dinner and everything, and Wendy supposes that with the structure of it all, there might not be a good opportunity to gather information to either confirm or refute her suspicions that the two teens have officially crossed from “will-they-won’t-they” territory into “they did.”

But the evening progresses, and as older relatives and more distant friends begin to head home, the chatter of conversation no longer drowns out the chirps of the crickets and the event takes on a more intimate atmosphere. The loud dance music gives way to hums of soft jazz, and only a few quietly swaying couples remain on the dance floor.

As Soos bids Wendy a momentary goodbye to dance with Melody, Wendy once more surveils the crowd. Dipper is standing with Mabel, Grenda and her new fiancé—the rich European kid whose name Wendy can never remember—but his eyes are focused on the other side of the dance floor. Wendy follows the path of Dipper’s gaze to find, of course, Pacifica. Looking resplendent in a shimmering navy blue gown, Pacifica is chatting with some people Wendy doesn’t recognize—must be cousins of Melody. One of the young men in her circle gestures to the dance floor, and Pacifica smiles graciously but shakes her head.

Really must be an out-of-towner, Wendy thinks. No one who lives here would even try.

Wendy snaps her eyes back to Dipper, who its still watching the interaction with obvious interest, though he tries to hide his grimace behind the glass of punch he’s sipping from.

Eventually, he pulls his eyes back to the group he stands with. Wendy looks back to Pacifica, and she could groan from frustration when she sees Pacifica look in Dipper’s direction, mere seconds after he’s looked away. Pacifica’s eyes fall back down.

Wendy looks back to Dipper. He turns again to Pacifica, notices her laugh with her new friends, turns away.

Okay, back to Pacifica. She looks up again, sees him nodding along in conversation, and then she turns away.

Good lord, these two. Wendy could smack them both.

Another young man appears to ask Pacifica to dance, and she once again politely declines. Wendy’s heart begins to clench when she watches Pacifica once again seem to try to catch Dipper’s eye from across the dance floor. Not getting it, she turns away again. Her face falls, just so, but Wendy knows her well enough by now to know she’s disappointed.

Wendy suddenly flashes back to five years prior. Very different time period, very different circumstances, but in her minds eye she can see twelve-year-old Pacifica, little girl in the middle of the end of the world, sitting alone on the interior stairs of the Mystery Shack. And she can see Dipper struggle with where to position his body, what to do with his arms. And it’s like she’s right back there. Wendy’s protective instincts kick in again, just like they did all those years ago, and she’s about to just march up to Dipper and tell him to stop overthinking and just go ask the pretty girl to dance. He’s just a silly boy, after all.

But then, just like he did all those years ago, too, Dipper surprises her. She watches as he looks over his shoulder at Pacifica one last time. He must see the way her mood has fallen, because his eyes widen a little for just a second, before assuming more focus. His mouth straightens and he hands Mabel his drink. He salutes a quick goodbye to his group and makes his way across the dance floor to approach her and her and the group of people who still circle around her.

Pacifica’s face lights up—that’s really the only way to describe it, Wendy thinks—as she looks up and notices Dipper approaching. Wendy smiles to herself as she watches Dipper say something that has Pacifica smiling and stepping toward him, completely oblivious to the confused looks of the people she was talking to just seconds earlier. Dipper gives her a crooked smile and offers her his hand, which she grasps immediately, and he leads her to the center of the dance floor.

Dipper stops upon reaching the center, gently lit from above by multi-colored string lights. He takes a step back to perform a low, overdramatic bow, keeping her hand in his own the whole while. Pacifica giggles and performs a quick curtsey herself, and her response is so quick that Wendy wonders if this is some sort of inside joke that’s being put on public display for the first time. Coming up from her curtsey, Pacifica pulls Dipper up too and easily steps forward into his arms, like she’s done it a million times already. Which, she might have.

Dipper wraps one arm around her back and keeps his free hand holding one of hers. She smiles up at him, looking almost dreamy. His expression is a near mirror.

The song that’s playing is of the romantic, crooner variety, and Wendy sways gently as she unashamedly watches the two dance. Emma wraps her arms around her from behind and rests her head on Wendy’s shoulder, joining in on the show.

“They’re cute,” she murmurs after a minute, and Wendy hums her agreement.

The next song is a little slower, and Pacifica pulls her hand from Dipper’s to reach up and wrap both around his neck. He keeps his eyes on hers as he smiles gently and wraps both of his arms around the small of her back, pulling her in closer. Wendy watches as they chat quietly, faces only a few inches apart. Dipper says something, tilting his head almost imperceptibly as he keeps his eyes trained on hers, and then she’s smiling wider and nodding, and a second later Wendy thinks surely she must be seeing things because Dipper is ducking in to lower his lips to Pacifica’s and oh my god, oh my god it’s happening, and she just barely sees their lips connect before she’s frantically looking for Mabel, trying to see if she is seeing this too and holy shit it’s actually happening and—

“Ow-OWWW!!”

Wendy spins as as she hears the unmistakable sound of Mabel’s piercing wolf-howl, coming from somewhere off to her right.

Dipper and Pacifica break their kiss, arms still wrapped around one another as their eyes seek out Mabel.

“‘bout time!” she yells.

Dipper laughs and turns to a blushing, but still smiling Pacifica. He’s asking her something again that Wendy can’t hear, but once again Pacifica is laughing and nodding, and then not a second later, shrieking as Dipper twists and spins her into a dramatic, deep dip. It’s so incredibly outside Dipper’s skillset that Wendy knows this is something they’ve done before. As Dipper leans in to kiss Pacifica once more, obviously putting on a show and making Wendy wonder if he hadn’t been sampling from the spiked punch earlier, Wendy’s eyes catch on the pale blue stone that hangs around Pacifica’s neck from a delicate white gold chain.

She takes in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, with a smile, as she watches the new couple. It’s been bumpy, it’s been slow and awkward, but hey, they figured it out in the end. Wendy congratulates herself for the part she small played, but as she watches Dipper pull Pacifica back upright and tuck her face into his chest, pulling her close, Wendy lets herself release some of that big sister responsibility. She’ll be there, of course, for them both. But they got this.