Chapter Text

the steady continental seventy — v

The RV rolls into Septic Ridge RV Park about nine at night and comes to a more dramatic stop than any of its passengers had anticipated; the second Grunkle Stan pulls it into a vacant spot the engine dies and a cloud of smoke issues from the hood.

“Huh,” Stan says, and he sounds surprised, but it seems less like he’s surprised that the engine died and more like he’s surprised that it didn’t happen sooner.

Within the next few minutes Ford is poring over the propped-up hood, examining the RV’s innards with a flashlight. Mabel skips down the steps into the cool air of the forest night.

Septic Ridge sits in a narrow clearing overlooking the highway, the gravel access road winding its way up the incline to the uneven grounds. The moon is glaring bright from a clear sky, illuminating the sides of the mountains that rear in the distance; one of those mountains is probably Mystery Mountain, though Mabel isn’t completely sure. In the open, the moon’s strange light dyes the world in a pseudo-monochrome, all that greets the eye smudged and silver or hidden in inky shadow; the tops of the trees glow while the space beneath their branches is an impenetrable dark.

The park hasn’t changed since Mabel last saw it, still a cluster of RVs in uneven rows on the patchy grass that surrounds the hot tub, a solitary and somewhat desiccated palm tree drooping over the blue-lit water as if pining for chlorine. Yellow-lit blinds glow behind narrow windows, the sound of generators and AC units a steady hum in a crisp night air filled with the scents of campfires and charcoal grills. Bedtime isn’t far away, but Mabel finds herself energized after an evening spent amidst the lights of Neon Ville.

“Welp, time to clear out the hot tub,” Stan says, strolling away from the RV in his swimwear.

Dipper has also changed into his swimsuit—looks like the hot tub is going to become a tradition for the boys. “What’s your secret?”

“You just ask if they don’t mind you dipping in ‘au naturel.’”

Soos pokes his head out of the RV’s door. “Wait, are we not doing that?”

“Put your trunks on, Soos.”

There’s a loud bang from the front of the RV, Ford having just closed the hood. “Not much to be done tonight,” he says as he walks towards the others. “Soos and I can get a better look in the morning. I don’t anticipate any serious problems, but in the event we don’t have the necessary parts, we’ll have to call a tow service.”

Stan halts his march towards the hot tub and backtracks. “What, and let some fraud with a truck charge me for the miles? We can hitchhike back.”

“I’m not leaving my equipment in a trailer park, Stanley.”

“RV park. This is an upstanding spot for legitimate travelers!”

“I’ve seen three trash fires since we got here, and I’m almost positive the entry booth was manned by a raccoon.”

“How like us they are,” Soos marvels, still leaning out of the RV.

“Soos, trunks!” Stan barks. “Look, Ford, if there’s no other choice I’ll call a tow truck, but it’s not gonna happen. This baby hasn’t let me down yet.”

“That is factually what it just did,” Ford says.

“Come on, it’s fine!” Stan replies.

He affectionally slaps the rear of the RV and the muffler detaches somewhere underneath, hitting the grass with a hot sizzle.

Stan shrugs. “See? It comes apart easy. Makes it easier to fix. You want that in a vehicle. Alright, let’s hit the tub!”

Ford looks less than impressed with Stan’s insight, returning to the haven of his trailer while grumbling under his breath.

Mabel isn’t much interested in the hot tub. Under different circumstances she might be, but right now the last thing she wants is to get all warm and logy. The night is young, and every single moment of the road trip must be savored like a fine wad of sour-blasted gummy worms. And, hey, if the boys are going to make the hot tub their RV park thing, then Mabel knows what her RV park thing is: girl talk around the fire! Time to grab some more marshmallows and chat it up as the day winds to a close.

She trots over to the trailer and finds Wendy digging through the luggage piled around the door, the suitcases waiting to be claimed for the night. Pacifica is seated nearby in her lawn chair, which isn’t surprising. Pacifica had been opposed to the public pool, so a smaller, warmer pool isn’t any more likely to appeal to her.

“I can’t find my swimsuit,” Wendy says. “I know I packed it. It’s a red bikini and I bet Soos five bucks Dipper would turn the same color.”

Mabel quickly assesses Pacifica, who remains aloof. “Hah, easy money! But, you know he’s not like that anymore…”

“Nah, he’s just super awkward. He’s almost fourteen, it doesn’t matter whose boobs— found it!” Wendy extracts her swimsuit triumphantly. “Soos definitely should not have taken that bet, this is five dollars for zero effort.”

Mabel is torn. On one hand, the bet has the potential to be hilarious. On the other hand, Pacifica is right here and she can be… Pacifica. And it’s not like Wendy is messing with her, she’s just messing with Dipper, and it’s great that Wendy can joke around like this and Dipper will be fine. But he isn’t the problem.

Pacifica’s expression is unreadable. Without warning, she stands and gestures to Mabel. “Help me find my suit.”

Wendy’s eyes light up. “Dude, did you bring one too? Let’s go together and make Dipper’s head explode! I bet you could get another five off Soos, he’s fair. Mabel, you want in on this action?”

Mabel’s mouth drops open. “He’s my twin!”

“What? I meant the bet, like how long it’ll take him to start stammering,” Wendy says, giving Mabel a dubious side glance. “Don’t take this somewhere weird, man.”

Mabel quickly backpedals. “Well of course that’s what I meant, one hundred percent the whole time! That Dipper, what a goober. Pacifica, can I talk to you over here for no reason?”

Mabel drags Pacifica around the corner of the trailer as the moon briefly disappears behind a cloud, dipping the scene in shadow. Laughter drifts over from the direction of the hot tub, its aqua-blue glow reflected in the rear window of the trailer.

Pacifica is unperturbed by being taken aside. “I know, that bikini is not her color,” she says. “Who told her redheads can wear red?”

Mabel blinks. “What?”

“Should we tell her? I mean, that’s honest, right? That’s a friend thing.”

This conversation is not going the way Mabel expected (save for Pacifica being a bit too eager to criticize someone else’s fashion sense). As nice as it is that Pacifica doesn’t seem jealous, Mabel’s fireside girl talk is now in jeopardy. “You’re going to get in the hot tub?”

Pacifica scrunches her nose. “I can sit on the side.”

“Is this about Wendy? Because you know she’s just messing with Dipper, right?”

“Obviously.”

“And you don’t care?”

“It’s for money, Mabel. She’s not asking him out.” Pacifica crosses her arms. “Besides, it’s good for him to be reminded that other girls can’t compare.”

Probably not what Wendy is going for, but Mabel decides not to rock the boat and drops it. “How about we get a fire going instead? You, me, and Wendy, gabbin’ it up!”

“I don’t know. It’s kind of late.” Pacifica yawns, shielding her mouth with one hand. “I think everyone’s going to bed after the hot tub.”

“What? But tonight’s camp night!”

“Yeah, but we stayed at Neon Ville longer than we were supposed to. We did ‘camp’ stuff there, like with the marshmallows,” Pacifica points out.

Mabel can’t deny that. Between waiting for the lights to come on and everyone being more dazzled than expected—except for Mabel ‘cause she called it—most of the ‘evening around the campfire’ time had gone to the light show.

“And wasn’t that great? We could have more s’mores!”

Pacifica looks indecisive; then there’s a loud splash and a chorus of laughter from the hot tub. Dipper’s voice floats across the lawn, remarking on something or the other. The lure of joining her boyfriend (and probably making his head explode) settles the question, and Pacifica gives Mabel a slightly apologetic shrug.

“We can talk tomorrow; we’ll be in the car forever,” Pacifica says. She goes back around the corner of the trailer to find her swimsuit amid the haphazard piles of luggage.

“Yeah, okay…” Mabel sighs. So much for her thing.

Listlessly, she takes the long way around the back side of the trailer, keeping the RV between her and the hot tub. The night air soothes her somewhat, and it really is beautiful out. The moon hangs high above, gleaming bright, and the temperature is just the right side of cool. It’s not so bad! She’s disappointed, but Pacifica is right: there’s still a whole lot of trip ahead.

She’s in the gap between the RV and another camper, a slightly narrow strip of shadowed dirt. Just as she’s about to round the front of the vehicle and head back towards the luggage, someone comes running around the other RV and nearly runs headfirst into her. They barely juke to the right, but their feet tangle with hers.

“Whoa!” Mabel yelps. She hits the ground, but she manages to get her arms out and it’s a gentle fall, straight onto her stomach in a patch of unmown grass. “Bleh, blech, grass in my mouth.”

“Oh, geez! Gosh, I’m so sorry!” It’s a boy, probably about her age or slightly older judging by his voice. He’s managed to stay on his feet, and his hand appears in her peripheral vision as he reaches down to help her.

“No worries,” she says cheerfully. She rolls over to take his hand. “I’m pretty good at fall— allllll— uhhhhhh…”

He’s GORGEOUS. He’s got beautiful, glossy black hair that hangs just past his ears, dangling over one of his honey-brown eyes, framing a classically handsome jawline and a strong, aquiline nose. Mabel isn’t sure if he’s Native American or something else, but whatever he is, she’s into it. Way into it.

“Totally my fault,” he says, pulling her to her feet (so strong…). “We’re playing freeze tag. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“Nah, I shouldn’t have been walking, or whatever. Hi, I’m Mabel!”

“Brendan,” he says, briefly squeezing her hand (so gentle, yet so confident…). “You just get here? I didn’t see you guys drive in.”

“Yeah, we’re on a road trip,” Mabel stalls, frantically trying to catalogue anything interesting about herself that she’s allowed to talk about. “Are you from around here?”

“Sort of. I mean, I’m from Oregon, but way out east in Grand Ronde. You?”

“California. But I’m staying here for the summer,” she quickly adds, lest he think she’s out of reach.

“Cool! You live where they make movies?”

Crud. She’s from California, but not interesting California. “No, just from Piedmont… Oh! But my friend Pacifica—my best friend—is from Malibu!”

Brendan’s eyebrows raise, suitably impressed. “Wow, she must be loaded.”

Darn it, Pacifica is too interesting! “She’s got a boyfriend! She’s dating my brother, they’re really into each other, like really really. Yep. She’s totally taken.”

“Uh, okay,” Brendan says, clearly confused by her vehemence. “Anyway, what are you up to tonight?”

“Well, I was going to the hot tub,” she says, realizing that Pacifica is probably wondering where she went.

Brendan makes an uncertain face. “You sure? There’s a gross old dude in there.”

“Yeah, that’s my great-uncle.”

“Oh. Er, sorry,” Brendan says sheepishly.

“It’s fine, he’s gross and old.” Mabel steps a little closer to him, looking up through her eyelashes. “And what are you doing tonight, besides asking me to hang out?”

A slow smile crosses Brendan’s face and, oh, gosh, he’s so hot. “Want to hang out?”

“Yes! Just let me tell someone I’m going,” she says, and before he can say anything else, she sprints back around the RV.

The door to the RV is shut, and Wendy must either be changing or already at the hot tub. When Mabel goes forward a bit further, she can see Pacifica perched on the rim of the tub just next to Dipper; he’s staring at her bare legs and trying not to look like he’s staring. The door to the trailer is slightly ajar and there’s a sliver of light cutting across the ground from its interior. A shadow moves across it, so Mabel knows Grunkle Ford is awake and inside.

She runs over and pulls the door open to stick her head in. “Grunkle Ford?”

“Hmm?” Ford is leaning over one of his instruments, scribbling in a notebook.

“I’m going off with a strange boy I just met!”

“Yes, very well,” Ford says absently. “Drink responsibly.”

When Mabel brings her head back out into the fresh air, the night seems charged with new promise. She runs back around the front of the RV and finds Brendan waiting in the moonlight, near the cab of the other vehicle. Out of the shadows, she can see the definition of the muscles in his forearms as he stands with them crossed, and her heart skips a beat. He’s a dreamboat, no doubt, and Mabel is taking that cruise.

“I’m back!” she declares. “All good, I told my great-uncle.”

Brendan looks with obvious confusion towards the hot tub, which he can see and must know she hadn’t gone over there.

“My other great-uncle,” she clarifies. “I have two of them. They’re long lost twins, it’s a whole thing.”

“You must live an exciting life,” he says with a grin.

“I do now,” she purrs, holding out one arm for him to take. “Shall we?”

Brendan takes her arm and leads her towards the other end of the RV park—she can see a bonfire at the edge of the woods and assumes it’s their destination. He’s a head taller than her, his arm firm and strong where it loops with hers, and he smells like woodsmoke and flannel. The night is young, and so is she.

And, hey, Soos was right last year: A road trip is a perfect place to meet new people!