Chapter Text
Wendy was cool. Wendy was chill. She was somehow considered the chillest and calmest person during the apocalypse last year. She had just turned 16, and was heading into her junior year of high school. She could manage her rowdy brothers – Marcus, Kevin, and Gus – and her annoying (affectionate) friends. The world was her playground and she was ready to conquer it. She could handle anything.
Unfortunately, that did not cover what was currently happening at the mystery shack. The first Saturday of June, right before the summer season was about to start, just as schools were letting out. Right before both sets of twins came home for the summer. Nothing that she had faced last summer or even during the longer than usual school year could have prepared her for today.
Today should have been any ordinary Saturday. Sleep in. Get to the shack an hour late. Annoy Soos until she has something to fix — she’d gotten an additional set of responsibilities when Stan retired, and was now in charge of maintenance when necessary as well as running the front — then finally actually do her job in the gift shop before heading home to deal with her brothers. That and ignore the text from Tambry on just about every gross thing she and Robby had planned for the summer. God did those two really just need to get a room with a lock on it.
Today? She’d gotten to the gift shop on time, which was the first problem. The second problem was who greeted her when she unlocked the door — Soos hadn’t even opened up apparently — a tall stranger with a heavy build, a bright shining head, and the most comically twirled mustache possible. He was wearing an outfit that was most certainly not seasonally appropriate for the time of year, and there was a look in his eyes that caused Wendy to stop in her tracks, boots squeaking against the freshly polished floors of the Mystery Shack.
Soos always polished the floors on big days, even when Stan has been in charge. Today was an extremely big day. The Mystery Shack's first full season under the new management, with an expected inflow of customers and what should honestly just be called cultists at this point. The shack had to be perfect for big days.
“Parden mois madam, is this la casa of uh, Ramirez? Jesus Ramirez?” The stranger gave Wendy a blinding smile, revealing a set of obviously fake white teeth with how bright the smile was.
The amount of alarms going off in Wendy's head would have concerned even Dipper. Questions she couldn't even put into words, concerns that were piling on top of one another as her un-caffeinated brain tried to figure out what was happening. Everything inside her was telling her to run, that this was extremely bad, something had to have happened to Soos. These were the alarms that honestly, probably only now exist because she spent one singular summer with the world's most anxious – not technically a teen – teen ever.
“How the hell did you get in?” Wendy snapped, balling her hands into fists, wishing she had brought her axe with her, the heavy handle of it a usual comfort when she was anxious or stressed, but the desire to try her best to respect Abuelita’s distaste of weapons in the house overcoming that comfort today.
“The back door was open,” the man turned slightly and pointed towards the residence itself, past the employees only sign, and into the living room, the lights still dark.
Soos really needed to start locking the door at night. With the new found popularity of the Mystery Shack, it had started becoming more and more common that they’d have late night visitors. That and the irritating following – no, cult – of stinky sweaty basement dwellers that kept showing up.
“That’s not for guests.” Wendy said flatly, “and the museum doesn’t open till 10.” She glanced past the stranger, towards the cuckoo clock behind him. It was 9:52. Wendy really was early, which was honestly so much worse than on time. The cuckoo clock in the gift shop was always dead right on time. Never slow, despite the numerous times he had needed repaired because it somehow had managed to ‘fall off the wall’ once again.
“Oh excuse moi, je n’pas aware of that.” The man was trying to look apologetic, hunching his shoulders, wringing his hands, his eyes darting around the room with an evil glint in them.
Wendy could see the gears turning in his pea sized head, the thoughts trying to form as he tried to make some sort of an excuse as to why he was breaking and entering. “You’re gonna have to leave till tours start. I can put you down for the first available opening, but we got reservations. First day of the season.” Wendy knew immediately she was going to regret not sending this asshole packing, but somehow Soos’s soft side had rubbed off, and she was now willing to give people who break and enter a second chance apparently.
Oh was Stan gonna skin her alive when he got back.
“Oh, that would be magnificent. Quelle heure est your first tour?” He took a step towards Wendy, blocking her path to the desk and herding her towards the entrance.
“Dunno.” she shrugged. “Gotta look at the book.” She squared her shoulders and marched past him, doing the best that her still lean frame could to push him to the side on ’accident’.
“Excuse voux!” The man said, obviously insulted by the brashness of Wendy’s action.
She had one goal. Find the furthest possible tour reservation possible and warn Soos. She didn’t know who this man was or why he had deemed it so necessary to break into a private residence and business, but he wasn’t gonna make it back. Wendy pulled out a large print, glittery planner, and flipped to the last page of may, running her finger down the list for the 7th, looking at bookings and party sizes. The bigger the tour scheduled, the less likely this jerk face would be able to harass Soos. “Looks like the first one with an opening is the 12:10 tour, 3 spots left. $15 deposit.” She looked up towards the stranger, her hand still on the planner.
The man stepped towards the desk, towering over Wendy as he leaned forward to look at the planner himself.
That wasn’t going to fly. Wendy slammed the book shut, dust and glitter creating a cloud around her. She whipped out an equally glittery sheet of paper, with a perforation near the bottom, titled ‘Reservation for Mystery Shack Tours.’ Dipper hand designed them and they were well implemented, including a QR code for additional activities in the town, in an attempt to boost tourism and income for the community.
“Fill this in and keep the bottom part. We’ll see you at 12:10” Wendy said, placing a cheap, blue plastic pen on-top of the sheet, the security chain rattling as it rolled towards the stranger. Wendy watched as the stranger filled out the form, paying attention as he filled out what she could have sworn was one of the worst fake names in the history of names.
Flaviano Alexander Ramirez-Tibor. Talk about having parents that really just hated you.
Flaviano slid the sheet back towards Wendy, who mechanically took the bottom section, folded it twice, and ripped it at the perforation with well practiced precision, and then writing the time on both sides before giving the smaller sheet back.
“While you wait for your tour time please feel free to explore the rest of Gravity Falls Oregon, and we’ll be here at 12:10 for your tour.” Wendy gave him the closest she could to a sneer, attempting to disguise it in a smile that she’d seen Stan do a thousand times over, hoping this meat head would get the hint that it was, in fact, time to leave.
“Wonderful! I cannot wait to see how much my little champ has grown!” Flaviano gave a heart chuckle, and then turned on his heel, heading out the gift shop entrance thankfully, and leaving Wendy alone.
The entire interaction felt like a fever dream. Stan was gonna kill her once he found out what she’d done. Her thoughts drifted from the possibility of her untimely demise and instead to the final comment the stranger, Flaviano, had given. ‘My little champ.’ What the hell was that supposed to mean? For someone from out of town he had tried his best to be chummy.
Wendy quickly reopened the planner, scribbling in the new tour member to the 12;10 slot, followed by his last name. Ramirez-Tibor. Writing that atrocity down herself is the action that finally clicked the puzzle pieces together.
And this was the worst fucking possibility ever.
Wendy’s phone was to her ear, ringing loudly before she even had a chance to think, to figure out anything other than pure panic now. This was both the first and last person she should be calling in this situation, and the second she heard the gruff voice on the other end, she knew she should have already started digging her own grave.
“Who the hell is this and how did you get this number?” Someone obviously woke up on the wrong side of the bed
“Mr. Pines! We’ve got a problem!”
“Is this the corduroy kid?” Stan grumbled, his voice staticky as it came back through the phone.
“Jesus Christ old man, I thought you knew how to use the phone!” Wendy rubbed the bridge of her nose. She knew Soos had shown him how to create contacts. She knew she had been saved on that stupid iPhone. Still, Stan could never be bothered to read the damn screen when it popped up. “Never mind. Bigger issue. We got Flight Ban.”
“Kid I am not going to try and solve another cryptic puzzle right now I dealt wit-“
“Stan! It’s Soos's dad!”
The silence that responded from the other end was deafening. It had been ages since the bastard had last tried to show his face, back when Soos and Abuelita had gone on a cruise while he was still in middle school courtesy of a mysterious contest that had been unannounced until Abuelita won two tickets. The summer after Soos had started helping around the shack.
“Stan?”
“Where’s Soos?”
“Dunno. I unlocked the shop today. Haven’t seen him yet.”
“And dead beat?”
“Scheduled for the 12:10 tour. Sent him off to waste money in town.”
“Smart kid. Find Melody. Make sure she keeps Soos occupied on tours and out of sight, INSIDE!” Stan almost yelled that last bit. “Keep that asshole off my property. Keep him away from my family. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. We’re on our way. Keep Soos safe.” The line went dead.
Wendy sank into the chair behind the desk, gaze locked on the ceiling. She had two hours to figure out what to do before shit really hit the fan. And then the inevitable grave she still needed to dig herself.