Chapter Text

the steady continental seventy

Stan’s RV is a grey and brown rust bucket with mileage as questionable as its bumper stickers. It doesn’t look like it’ll make it down Gopher Road, never mind the highway, but it’s being loaded up anyway. Pacifica sits on top of a cooler and watches as Dipper and Ford crawl around the top of the camper trailer which has been hitched to the rear of the RV, an addition that appears equally untrustworthy. The roof of the trailer has become a bristling forest of antennae, and cables snake down its sides and disappear into insulation-packed holes drilled through its worn metal hide. Ford has been moving equipment into the trailer all morning, and it doesn’t look like he’ll be finished before lunch.

Pacifica doesn’t know what all the equipment does, exactly, but she has a general idea what it’s for. The road trip on which they are, theoretically, soon to be embarked has a dual purpose. Their final destination is Portland; on the way, Ford will be measuring yet more Weirdness with Dipper’s help. Pacifica has been listening in with only sporadic attentiveness. When the nerd lingo gets dense, she tends to tune it out, but she knows that Ford wants to record more quantitative data on Weirdness emissions outside of the valley—something about attraction and repulsion, and the rate of falloff.

For her part, Pacifica has mixed feelings about the trip. On one hand, spending time with Dipper and Mabel on the road sounds fun enough. She’s never been on a real road trip, save for the impromptu rescue mission of which she was the target, and that hadn’t been about having a good time. Seeing the sights with Mabel and getting romantic with Dipper around the campfire are, in theory, appealing. There’s an allure to the open road, to getting away from it all.

The thing is, that’s why she came to Gravity Falls in the first place. Heck, that’s why she went to Piedmont in the first place. Here she is thinking about escaping in the RV from her looming problems when those same problems have followed her to the place she went to escape them. It’s like she’s running away from running away from running away. Maybe she’s doomed to run forever until she ends up back where she started. Maybe back where she started is the only place she ever can end up.

It is impossible to figure out what she wants more—for an answer to come, or for it to never arrive at all.

“Hey, Pacifica—I’ve got hotdog hair!” Mabel says behind Pacifica, startling the blonde girl.

Pacifica looks over her shoulder to see that Mabel has draped a long, plastic-wrapped package of hotdogs over her head like a meaty shawl. “You look ridiculous,” Pacifica tells her.

“Heck yeah!” Mabel pulls the hot dogs off her head and gestures towards the cooler. “Gotta borrow your seat for a sec, though.”

Pacifica stands to allow access to the cooler; as Mabel puts the hot dogs away, Pacifica’s attention returns to Dipper. He’s hanging halfway off the top of the trailer, dangling headfirst towards the ground as he twists two wires together. He’s about an inch away from slipping and breaking something, most likely his neck. As Pacifica recalls, it wouldn’t be the first time he broke things on a road trip; according to Mabel, he had caused a ‘string of minor heartbreak’ on his last summer trip down the Redwood Highway. Which is no longer as hard to believe as it had once been, given Pacifica’s experience since… But he’d better not be breaking any hearts this time—especially not hers.

Of course, if any heart is going to be broken, in might be Dipper’s; despite Ford’s tempering of expectations, it’s clear that Dipper believes there will be a scientific breakthrough on this trip. Pacifica hopes he’s not destined to be disappointed, but it’s not like she has any idea.

Pacifica turns to Mabel. “Do you still have that map?”

Mabel reaches somewhere into her voluminous sweater and withdraws a crinkled map. “Right here! The smiley faces mark the awesomest parts.”

Pacifica unfurls to the map. “…You drew a smiley face over the whole thing.”

“BECAUSE IT’S ALL GONNA BE THE AWESOMEEEEEEEEEEESSSST!” Mabel proclaims as she runs back to the Shack for more supplies.

Their intended path is a circuitous one. Down the Redwood Highway, then turning back to Highway 26 and taking it all the way to Portland. Given they’re going in two different directions with multiple stops, it’s expected they’ll be about seven hours on the road—one way. It’ll be at least another four and a half hours back to Gravity Falls from Portland. Two days on the Redwood Highway, two days in Portland, then home. Pacifica is only mildly interested in the tourist traps on the Redwood; after all, she lives in one. The big event will be Portland, where she hasn’t been in quite some time.

Plus, this whole Gideon thing.

Pacifica doesn’t have any connection to Gideon Gleeful, at least not directly. The Northwests had always held the Gleeful family in deep contempt; they were nouveau riche, and from a gaudy sideshow at that (not to mention that disreputable used car dealership). By Northwest standards, the Gleefuls were upper middle class at best. Pacifica had never been to the Tent of Telepathy (wouldn’t have been caught dead there) and occasionally saw Gideon at The Club or at some of the trendier places in town. There are very few such institutions in Gravity Falls, so they’d been in proximity often enough. But Pacifica hadn’t known him and hadn’t wanted to.

It’s funny now, but she thought of the Mystery Shack as sitting in a definitive second place compared to the Tent of Telepathy, despite Gideon’s racket being new. Gideon was a showboat, a gourmand, a child of grandiose personality and epicurean appetites. By comparison, Stan and the Shack seemed dingy and unattended. But with her new perspective, Pacifica isn’t so sure that Gideon was really that far ahead of his rival in sales. Gideon flaunted his money, spent it at every turn; Stan is a miser who only keeps cash and valuables, one foot perpetually out the door, always ready to run. And if there’s one thing Pacifica respects the old man for, it’s the oft demonstrated fact that Stan is very, very good at his hustle. Maybe better than Gideon. Pacifica never knew the boy personally, but she knows enough about Gideon to know he could never stand an equal, and certainly not a superior.

Gideon probably hated Pacifica; it feels like a safe assumption. Maybe he still does.

Well, she’ll find out.

The RV simply isn’t big enough for everyone to sleep in, which means camping out on the road, and the cheapest hotel Stan could be coaxed into paying for in Portland. Good thing Pacifica is used to being outdoors and staying in cheap hotels. The first one more than the second, but the experience still counts.

“Got it!” Dipper says. He finishes with the wiring and pushes himself back onto the roof of the trailer. His face is noticeably red, and when he tries to sit up the blood rush sends him slumping back down. “Whoa… Uh, Pacifica, could you toss me that package of heat-shrink tubing?”

She picks up the tubing and tosses it to him. “Are you ever going to be done?”

“Like half an hour more, I promise,” he says distractedly as he pries open the packaging.

She doesn’t believe him, but there’s not much to do but wait. Thanks to the twins’ explanations, she knows that last year’s trip had been for the purposes of revenge—though, from what she’s heard, it seems more like preemptive revenge. Stan had systematically trashed his competitors up and down the highway, resulting in a predictable comeuppance. But that won’t be the case this time, whatever Stan’s intentions had originally been. Pacifica hadn’t witnessed it herself, but Ford put his foot down. The scientist is willing enough to let Stan continue running the Shack, but given it’s Ford’s house, he has some real leverage when he wants it.

She’s about to go back inside when she sees a familiar lanky figure striding down the dirt road to the parking lot; Wendy has a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and her eyes are bright and eager.

“Yo, Pacifica!” she says, dropping her bag next to a pile of luggage which is, optimistically, somehow going to fit in the trailer. “Dude, I’m so psyched for this trip. I haven’t been to Portland since I was little. You know who all is coming?”

“Both Stans, me and the twins, and Soos,” Pacifica says.

“Right on, Shack crew road trippin’!” Wendy looks at the trailer with its forest of sensors. “Also, science. Excellent. Good thing we have that trailer, it’ll be a tight fit otherwise.”

Pacifica knows that the trailer is packed to the brim with Ford’s junk, with just enough space between it for someone to move around. The only possible relief it might provide from overcrowding is giving Ford a place to work on the go, segregated from the rest of them; and it will be the rest of them, because if Dipper thinks he’s going to spend the whole trip crammed in the trailer with his great-uncle, he can think again.

Wendy clambers up the side of the trailer to join Dipper up top. “What’s with all the wires?” she asks.

As Dipper begins to explain, Pacifica turns and walks to the Shack, figuring that since they won’t be leaving without more prep time she might as well check and make sure there’s nothing left that she should bring. A few days on the road should be fun enough, so long as she isn't overly deprived.

She enters through the gift shop, pushing through the ‘employees only’ partition. Soos lumbers past with an armful of what looks like camping equipment and she steps out of his way. In the living room, she finds Mabel lying sideways on Stan’s chair with her legs dangling over the side. Mabel is on the phone, gesturing animatedly with one hand.

“Yeah, we’re going to Upside-Down Town, and that log place, and probably a bunch of other places. And I’ll send you all the Portland pictures! I bet they have so many ports,” Mabel is saying. “…Yeah, Grunkle Stan is closing the Shack for a few days, but it’s cool because most people show up on the weekend anyways. …Of course she’s coming! She’s here right now.”

Pacifica passes by the chair, intent on heading to her room, when Mabel suddenly stops her by catching her arm.

“Mom wants to talk to you,” Mabel says, holding out the phone.

Pacifica blinks in surprise but takes the phone automatically, putting it up to her ear. “Hello?”

Mrs. Pines voices comes through the speaker, made tinny through the miles. “Pacifica, how are you doing? Mabel says you’re getting ready for the trip.”

Pacifica isn’t sure what Mabel has told her mother, but she is pretty confident that none of it involves Gideon or revenge road trips. “Yeah, I just finished packing,” she replies.

“Well, have fun, honey. Try not to let Stan get you into too much trouble,” Mrs. Pines says wryly. Then, in a marginally sterner tone, “Just don’t think the rules are any different because you’re on the road. You and Dipper behave yourselves.”

“Yes,” Pacifica says immediately, cursing the slight burn of the blush she knows is creeping across her cheekbones. “We’ve always been… very appropriate.”

“Glad to hear it,” Mrs. Pines says in a tone as dry as it is lacking belief. “Have a good time in Portland! I remember it being very nice.”

Within the next hour, everything is ready. Pacifica steps up into the RV; it’s a little musty inside, but cleaner than she was expecting. The interior is covered in fake wood paneling and accented with yellow curtains and brown plush seats. There are only three places to sit: the passenger seat up front, the tiny table in the kitchen, and the couch-like seat in the far back. Pacifica does some quick mental math and figures there will be enough room for everyone, even if Ford decides not to ride in the trailer. How cramped it will be depends on who sits where.

By silent consensus, Soos gets shotgun. Mabel slides into the forward-facing table seat while Wendy sprawls across the other, one arm on the table with her legs in the aisle. Pacifica finds herself in the very back with Dipper. The rear area feels a bit distant from the rest of the cabin, separated by the bathroom door and a tattered curtain that can be pulled across the entry to serve as a divider. Pacifica can see straight down the length of the vehicle to the windshield, and there are two small windows to her left and right. The trailer looms through the rear window, blocking any possible upward view. She and Dipper are as isolated as two people can be in a tiny RV, which suits her just fine.

“This is kind of nice,” she says invitingly to Dipper.

He’s not listening—he’s on the walkie talkie with his great-uncle. “Great-Uncle Ford, can you hear me?”

The speaker crackles to life as Ford replies, “Loud and clear! Tell Stanley we can proceed whenever he’s ready.”

“We’re good to go, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper calls up to the front.

Stan adjusts the rearview mirror and leans around his seat to look into the back. “Alright, shackers, get ready for this year’s revenge-trip!”

“Road trip, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel reminds him.

“Right, road trip. No revenge this time.” He makes an odd face. “Ugh. Feels wrong even saying it. Alright, let’s hit the road!”

With a lurch, the RV begins to move. Pacifica braces herself as vehicle jolts down the packed dirt of Gopher Road, the suspension dealing with the uneven surface quite poorly. Soon enough, they are on paved roads and the ride smooths out. The shadow of the mining trestle flits overhead as they leave the valley, and then there is nothing but the highway framed by dense forest; the road splits through the woods, parting the green sea.

“I know you love yarn, but we’re gonna skip Granny Sweetkins this year,” Stan is saying to Mabel. “I promise you, that woman neither forgives nor forgets. We’ll head straight to Upside-Down Town. Holden will let last year slide as long as you buy somethin’, and I can respect that.”

“What about the Beaver Museum?” Mabel asks, pointing to a map.

“That collapsed. Beavers ate through the supports.”

Dipper is still talking to Ford. “Is the new software working?”

“Like a charm,” Ford reports. “The spreadsheet is populating nicely.”

Okay, Pacifica knows that the work is important or whatever, but Dipper is not spending the road trip talking about spreadsheets. Since her previous hint about where his focus should be apparently wasn’t hint enough, she reaches over and takes his free hand.

“Yeah?” Dipper says, glancing at her. He misinterprets her gesture as a desire merely to gain his temporary attention, saying, “Just a second. Great-Uncle Ford, are we already experiencing falloff? Not yet, right?”

“I think the numbers will surprise you!” Ford says.

Pacifica withdraws her hand with a quiet huff and stands up. She makes her way to the middle of the vehicle, one arm out to steady herself as she walks. It’s disorienting, moving through space like this in a driving vehicle. Mabel has moved to the front in order to converse with Stan and Soos, so Pacifica takes the empty seat.

Wendy observes with a knowing glint in her eye. “Give up on homeboy already?”

“He’s hopeless,” Pacifica sighs.

“Nah, he’s just new. He’s a good kid, he always gets it right eventually.”

Pacifica stares at the older girl. “Oh my god. Are you his wingman?”

Wendy cackles loudly enough to momentarily interrupt the conversation up front. “I think Mabel has first dibs!”

Pacifica can't argue with that, so she just nods. She looks out the window, watching as the wires hung on the telephones flow up and down like waves. They’ll be on the road a long time. Dipper will get romantic at some point.

Even if she has to make him.

“What are you looking forward to the most?” Wendy asks.

“Portland,” Pacifica says immediately.

“Same. I think I’ve been to every lousy tourist trap within a hundred miles of town. My dad used to take me and my brothers out in the truck sometimes, when it was a local run. The Shack is the best,” Wendy says loyally. That loyalty is immediately undercut when she adds, “Well, not really. But Stan’s the best at it.”

Mabel comes bouncing back from the cab. “First stop, Upside-Down Town in forty minutes!” she declares.

“How sure is Stan that dude’s gonna forgive him?” Wendy says skeptically.

“Sure enough to risk it,” Stan says, apparently able to hear over the rumble of the road. “But just in case, I borrowed Ford’s crossbow. If Holden’s feeling froggy, remember to tell the cops he shot first.”

Stan pats the crossbow where it’s tucked beneath the dash—it immediately goes off, sending a bolt careening off the floor at a sharp upward angle, where it embeds itself in the ceiling with a loud crunch.

The girls stare at it, stunned.

Wendy turns her head towards Pacifica with a wide grin. “This is going to be such a trip.”