I do not own Gravity Falls.

Whew, this chapter took forever. Never rely on me for consistent updating. Here's the final chapter, and I hope you enjoy it.

Thanks for reading this four-shot, and until next time, AnimationNut out.

Peace!

Heads up, this story contains corporal punishment. This particular chapter also contains alcohol and drugs.

The Party Fight

Standing in line with a green basket of groceries, Mabel shifted from side to side, her black sequined sandals squeaking against the shiny white tiles. She hummed softly under her breath, listening idly to the continuous beeping as the cashier rang the items in one at a time. There were three people ahead of her, all of them with a decent amount of groceries. It would be a while before it was her turn, not that she minded.

"What's the hold up?"

The soft mumble came from directly behind her, and Mabel cast a glance over her shoulder. She locked eyes with a tall, lanky teenager, and in an attempt to lighten his seemingly impatient mood, she said, "Produce, I think."

He regarded her in surprise for a moment before a slight smirk crossed his tanned face. "Probably. Didn't meant to come off like a jerk. It's just that I have somewhere to be and I hate being late." He paused and added, "Though I guess it's my fault for deciding to do a snack run before my appointment."

"It's okay," assured Mabel. "We all have our grumpy moments." She cast a quick once-over, noticing the silver rings that glinted in his nose, lip and ears, and the black and gold tattoos that snacked up his arms, designs ranging from elegant eagles to fierce panthers. "I don't think I've ever seen you around before," she remarked. "Are you new to Gravity Falls?"

"Easy to tell, huh?" he asked in amusement. "Yeah, I moved here with Pops four months ago. Spencer Long, and you know, I don't think I've seen you around either."

"Geez, call me rude," realized Mabel, flushing slightly. "Totally forgot to introduce myself. I'm Mabel Pines. I'm a seasonal visitor. Been coming to Gravity Falls for every summer vacation since I was twelve. The rest of the year I live in Piedmont."

"You could spend your vacation in sunny California, and yet you choose to come to the middle of nowhere?" asked Spencer in bafflement.

"I love Gravity Falls," defended Mabel, voice growing slightly sharp on instinct, for she never liked it when people bashed her beloved home. "All my friends are here, and the community is amazing. There may not be much to do, but the scenery is gorgeous."

Spencer raised his hands in a surrendering manner, his own basket of groceries dangling from the crook of his elbow. Amusement glimmered in his crystal blue eyes and he said, "Whoa, sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I didn't come here by choice, so I'm shocked when I learn people actually leave the big city to permanently reside here."

"I know you didn't," said Mabel with a sheepish smile. "I get kinda passionate about Gravity Falls."

"Clearly." Spencer tilted his head to the side, lips curling upwards and revealing a set of straight white teeth. "Don't worry about it. I like women who are passionate…"

He trailed off, charming smile still on his lips, and Mabel felt warmth coursing through her body, overriding the chill she had previously felt from the grocery store's powerful air-conditioner. "That's me," she managed to say in response. "Passionate Mabel. I'm sure you'll come to like Gravity Falls. I think it's impossible not to."

"You may be right. This place can't be too bad if you're around."

Is this flirting? Are we flirting? Oh my gosh, I think I'm flirting!

Mabel struggled to keep from squealing, for though she had read and fantasized and tried flirting with guys, most of them never flirted back. She grinned and said coyly, "I'm glad I'm starting to change your mind. I hope it stays after I return home."

"It might, so long as you come back," replied Spencer smoothly. His brow furrowed slightly, and he added, "Though I gotta be honest, the woods give me creepy vibes. Does that make me crazy?"

Mabel giggled, images of gnomes, unicorns, and all the other mystical creatures that inhabited the forest flashing through her mind. "Nah, that happens," she said casually. He clearly did not know of the freaky and magical side of Gravity Falls, and she would not tell him. It would be more fun if he figured it out for himself.

Her turn for check-out finally came, and she quickly aligned her groceries on the conveyer belt. "What's your appointment for?" she asked as she rifled through her pink glittery purse for her wallet. "Doctor's?"

"Not quite," drawled Spencer, casting a hand through his spiky raven locks. "But it would be very bad for me if I didn't make it on time."

"Yeah, those late charges are the worst," spoke Mabel, missing the mysterious undertone and vagueness of the teen's answer as she searched more intently for her elusive wallet.

"That'll be twenty-five eighty," the cashier spoke, bagging the last of Mabel's groceries.

"Dang it," the girl groaned, retracting her hand and setting it against her forehead in frustration. "Okay, I hate to be that guy, but I totally forgot my wallet in my other purse—"

"In that case, I got it." Spencer promptly removed two twenties from his vest pocket and handed it over.

"Wow, thanks!" exclaimed Mabel. "I'll totally pay you back."

"Don't even worry about it. I got enough to spare."

"I can't just let you pay for my groceries, we just met!"

"Well, then how about we get know one another a little better?" Spencer leaned close, so that he was almost nose-to-nose with the now-flustered Mabel. "I'm hosting a party tonight. Why don't you come?"

"Uh, yeah, sure!" said Mabel quickly, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "That'd be great! Where do you live?"

"On McCrory Road. Near the town-line. It's the ugly place with the peeling siding and rusted garage. Starts at eleven."

"Cool, I'll see you there then!"

"Here's your change," the cashier interjected, handing over the coins and bill.

Mabel tried to hand it over to Spencer, but he waved it away. "Keep it. I seriously don't need it."

"Okay…if you're sure." Mabel slipped the money into her purse and grabbed her bags. "See you!"

"You better."

Spencer winked, and Mabel quickly hurried from the supermarket, cheeks burning a bright red, and it was only when she was halfway across the road did she let the giddy giggle escape her.

I think the time has finally come for my epic summer romance! Wait until Dipper hears about this!

…

Legs clad in blue cotton slung over the arm of the worn-out chair, Dipper was engrossed in his mystery novel. As such, he did not hear his sister call his name, and was jolted back from his imaginative realm when a bag of pretzels dropped directly in front of his book, blocking the words from his sight.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "I'm at a crucial part of the case!"

"It's not going anywhere," countered Mabel, swinging herself to perch on the back of the armchair. "You won't believe what happened to me at the grocery store—I think I got a date!"

"Oh, here we go," grumbled Dipper, reluctantly setting aside the glossy-covered book. He ripped open the bag and shoved a handful of pretzels into his mouth. "Alright, let's hear it," he said thickly.

"Okay, so I was in the check-out line, and there's this guy standing behind me and he has all these cool tattoos. The line is taking forever, right, and so we get to talking. He's new in town, doesn't really like Gravity Falls all that much, but he said that now that he's met me, it's not so bad!"

"That's the best line he could come up with?" asked Dipper incredulously.

Mabel shoved his beanie further over his eyes, a slight snort escaping her. "What would you have used then, Mr. Pick-Up Line Master?"

"Not that one," returned Dipper simply. "Not that I know a lot of decent pick-up lines…or have ever used them on anyone…but then again, it doesn't take much to reel you in."

"That's not true," protested Mabel. "I don't just fall for any old guy."

Dipper laughed loudly at that. "Oh, come on! You were at the grocery store for what, ten minutes? In that time-span you just talked and then agreed to a date. Let's not bring up all those failed romances our first summer here."

"Ugh, that's a low blow." Mabel wrinkled her nose slightly. "And it wasn't exactly a date, per say. He invited me to a party. But that totally counts as something."

"Who invited you to a party?"

Mabel turned her head in surprise, having not heard her great-uncle enter the living room. The man leaned against the entryway, can of soda in hand, and he was eyeing her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"A guy I met at the grocery store," answered Mabel brightly.

Stan's eyebrows flew up. "You met some random tourist and got invited to a party within the span of ten minutes?"

Dipper snickered, and Mabel elbowed the side of his head lightly as she responded. "He's not a tourist. He lives here."

"Wait a minute." Stan's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're not talkin' about the tattooed punk, are ya?"

"His name is Spencer," said Mabel patiently, for she knew how her great-uncle felt about most teenagers.

"Yeah, thought so. No way are you goin' to that jerk's party."

Startled for a moment, Mabel's eyes enlarged. "Whoa, whoa, why not? Is it just because he has tattoos and piercings? You can't judge a person by how they look!"

"Sometimes all ya need is someone's appearance to tell you everything," said Stan dryly. "But to keep you from goin' off on one of your lectures, no, it's not because of his looks. The guy has been tanglin' with the Gravity Falls cops since he moved here."

"For what?" asked Mabel, arms folding over her chest.

"Usin' drugs, sellin' drugs, and all of that underworld-type junk," replied Stan. "That's the word around town, anyway. But the punk manages to get away clear every time a tip comes in."

"Well, maybe it is just a rumour," replied Mabel. "I mean, if there's no evidence, then he can't be guilty. Someone else probably said something because they also made the terrible error of judging him by his appearance. Spencer's really nice!"

"It's probably a front," said Stan bluntly. "Have you looked in the mirror?"

Mabel stared down at her summer attire, which consisted of a pair of white shorts that just reached her thighs and a sparkly purple halter top. "What?" she demanded.

"You know how many guys pretend to be nice just to score a girl? It's a common tactic, there are a bunch of creeps out there, and I bet my money that Spencer kid is one of them."

Dipper, who had been watching the exchange silently, arched one eyebrow in surprise. His great-uncle did not use the word 'bet' lightly, and when he did, it was because he was absolutely certain he was right.

Mabel bristled, feeling bubbles of anger boiling hot in her stomach, cheeks flushing red. "You don't know that," she snapped. "He probably just wants to get to know me!"

"Over my dead body."

"Come on Grunkle Stan, it's just a party!" pleaded Mabel, who did not want to pass up her chance at the first possible romance of the summer. "I won't be gone long, and even if he does drugs or whatever, I have good judgement. I wouldn't stay in an environment like that."

"You won't get the chance to," countered Stan. "I've been around a long time, and spent most of it in the streets and dealin' dirty business. I know shady characters when I see 'em. A sweet girl like you doesn't need to be around a crowd like that. I can only imagine what his friends are like."

"I can take care of myself," said Mabel insistently. "At least let me go for an hour."

"Don't make me say it again," warned Stan, levelling his persistence niece with a stern look. "You're not goin' to any party by Spencer Long."

Mabel fisted the hem of her halter top in her hands, eyes sharpening with ire. "What if a random tourist invites me to a party?" she asked bitterly. "Is that okay?"

"We'll see after I complete a background check," shot back Stan. "Watch your mouth, kiddo. You may not like it, but you don't know as much as you think you do. Promise me you won't go to that party."

Mabel glared at the stained carpet for a moment, moving her arms to rest casually behind her back. "Fine. I promise."

Though her tone was short and clearly displeased, Stan still nodded in satisfaction. "One day, pumpkin, you'll understand that I'm not a buzzkill for no reason."

"Yeah, sure," she grumbled.

"Alright, I'll leave you to rant to your brother now."

Knowing she would need time to let off steam, Stan departed for his bedroom. Dipper waited until he heard the click of Stan's door shutting before levelling his twin with a knowing look. "You crossed your fingers behind your back, didn't you?"

Mabel triumphantly removed her right hand, showing her index and middle finger interlocked. "Think he suspects anything?"

"Mabel, we're not twelve," said Dipper in exasperation. "You think crossing your fingers makes your promises void? You think Stan is going to go for that?"

"He's not going to know," said Mabel stubbornly. "I'm going to do what all sixteen-year-olds do—sneak out after dark."

Dipper stared. "Alright, who are you, and what have you done with my sister?"

"Come on Dipping-Dots, it's not fair!" complained Mabel, flopping off the chair to sprawl on the carpet, glaring moodily up at the ceiling. "This is the first guy who's shown any interest in me this summer, and Grunkle Stan won't even let me take the chance! I bet he's never even met Spencer before. How can he make a judgement on someone he's never met?"

"I think Grunkle Stan has some sort of built-in radar that lets him detect lowlifes, criminals and just general creeps," replied Dipper, tugging the hem of his beanie lower over his forehead. "Actually, I'm about sixty percent sure he did something with drugs at one point in his life. Pretty sure he'd know a drug dealer when he sees one."

Mabel scowled. "Not you too!"

Dipper held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm not necessarily saying I agree, I'm just saying that I don't think Grunkle Stan would make such an accusation if he didn't think it were true. He even used the word 'bet'. He doesn't do that lightly."

"Rumours aren't always based on fact," said Mabel stubbornly. "Maybe he's just misunderstood."

"I get that you're all about giving people chances, and not judging them, and accepting everybody. It's your best quality. But—"

"Not all people are deserving of it," finished Mabel with slight annoyance. "I'm not stupid. I know there are jerks and creeps in the world, and there are people I have to be wary of. But I want to form my own opinion of Spencer. I'm not a kid anymore. I have the ability to make my own judgements, and if I find myself in a bad situation, I'll leave."

Dipper regarded his sister, exasperation crossing his features. "I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"

"Nope." Mabel sat up from the floor and formed a determined fist. "I'm going to this party."

"Well, I'll come with you," declared Dipper.

"Thanks bro, but you don't have to," assured Mabel.

"I can't let you go alone. What if something goes down and you get hurt?"

"I really think you and Grunkle Stan are overreacting, but even if junk does go down, I can take care of myself." Mabel smiled slightly. "If I can handle Bill Cipher, I think I can handle pretty much anything."

"Fair point, I guess," conceded Dipper. "How long do you plan to be gone?"

"Three hours, at the most. I'll leave at eleven."

"Then I'll text you every half hour, and if you don't answer back within five minutes I'm coming after you."

"Fine," sighed Mabel, but she was smiling. "Now I just have to figure out how I'm going to get there…"

"I hope you're not thinking of taking Stan's car," said Dipper flatly. "He wouldn't let me take it at midnight to go to an arcade. I can only imagine what he's going to think if he finds out you took it to a party you're forbidden from attending."

Mabel pursed her lips. "Good point," she grumbled. "All the noise the Stan-mobile makes might actually overpower Grunkle Stan's snoring and wake him up. He's got a special sense or something when it comes to his car."

"Where is this party, anyway?" asked Dipper.

"McCrory Road," she replied.

"That's practically near the town-line. It'll take you all night to walk there."

"Guess I'm splurging on a taxi," muttered Mabel, propping her chin in her hand. "Dunno if I'll enough for both trips, though…"

Though it was against his better judgement, Dipper offered, "I've got some cash saved up. You can borrow it."

Mabel's eyes lit up and she sprang to her feet eagerly. "Seriously?"

He nodded, and let out a grunt when his sister tackled him in a hug, pressing him down into the chair. She released him and scooted over to let him up, a slight smirk on her lips. "You realize this makes you an accomplice in teenage rebellion."

"Well, you supported me when I raced off to get those water sprites," recalled Dipper. "So I'll support you in this. But seriously," he aimed a stern finger at her, "you're gonna text me every half hour."

"Definitely," confirmed Mabel. She jumped to the floor and clasped her hands together, eyes ponderous. "Now I just need to put together a super sweet party outfit."

"Try to cover your stomach this time," drawled Dipper, and promptly flung up his hands to defend himself against pillow that came his way.

…

Lingering outside of Stan's bedroom, Dipper listened intently, his breathing slow and soft. A small surge of relief went through him when Stan's thunderous snores soon rumbled from the other side of the door, and he crept up towards the attic. When he entered the space, it was to see Mabel smoothing out the glittery purple sweater that hung from the ends of her shoulders. She also wore a white sequined skirt, long purple socks and black sneakers with purple and pink striped laces. Her long brunette hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, and there was a dusting of makeup on her face.

"Well? What do you think?" asked Mabel, performing a small twirl.

"You'll be the best dressed girl there," assured Dipper. "Grunkle Stan is snoring away."

"Then it's time to make my great escape," declared Mabel, casting a quick glance at the silver watch strapped to her wrist. She was reasonably, fashionably late now. "I'll call the taxi once I get a distance away from the Shack."

"You got the money I gave you?"

"Yep."

"Your grappling hook?"

Mabel lifted up the hem of her sweater, revealing the handle of her beloved weapon. "Always."

"Cellphone?"

Mabel slapped the pocket of her skirt. "Fully charged."

"Okay." His nerves still not quite settled, Dipper added, "If any guys try to give you trouble—"

"I'll get 'em where it really hurts. Dipper, I'll be fine." She gave him a smile. "If you can survive those water sprites, I can survive a teenage party."

"I know, I know." Dipper rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess this is how you felt when I ran off to face said water sprites, huh?"

"More or less." Mabel moved closer so she could playfully punch her brother in the shoulder. "Payback, Dipping-Dots."

"Yeah, yeah." Dipper rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Whatever. Go to your dumb party."

"Will do. See you in three hours or less!" Mabel gave him a fist-bump before going over to the window. She pried it open and wielded her grappling hook. She offered Dipper one last salute before disappearing into the darkness of the night, the whirr of her grappling hook a soft whisper in the night air.

Dipper walked over and balanced his hands against the edge, watching her shadowy figure disappear into the night. "Good luck, sis. If Grunkle Stan finds out about this, you are so going to catch it."

…

The yellow taxi pulled up to a two-story house, and the pulsing music pounded throughout the area. Mabel paid her fare and climbed out, surveying the dozens of people that were scattered about the sprawling green lawn, glass beer bottles and cans in grasp.

"Okay…not teenagers," she muttered, moving cautiously down the stone path, listening to intermingle of loud chatter and music. But she did not think much of it, for she herself had a decent amount of older friends.

When she got closer to the house, a foul stench struck her nostrils, and she instinctively shot a hand up to cover her nose. "Ugh. Skunk!"

But she soon forgot the smell when she spotted Spencer leaning against the side of the house, speaking rather intently with two other teenagers, neither of which looked happy. He glanced up and saw her, and he waved the two away before coming to greet her.

"Hey," he said with a charming smile. "You came."

"I said I would," returned Mabel. "Did you doubt me?"

"Not at all." Spencer slung an arm over her shoulders and started leading her to the large blue cooler situated on the low-rising porch. "You want a drink?"

"Sure. You got cola?"

Spencer looked at her with a raised brow. "Oh, no. You're not one of them goodie-goodies, are you? I could have sworn there was a bit of a bad girl behind those bright eyes."

"I'm in the middle of the spectrum," she returned. "I'm not old enough to drink."

"Neither am I," he returned with a dismissive shrug.

Mabel glanced around, eyeing the clusters of young adults drinking and gyrating. "Don't wanna be a bummer…but you realize that serving alcohol, let alone drinking it, underage is illegal?"

Spencer sent her a dry look. "There are two officers in Gravity Falls. I've seen them around. You should know better than me that we have nothing to worry about."

Mabel could not help but admit that he had a point, and relaxed ever so slightly. Spencer plucked a dripping can of beer from the cooler and gestured towards the icy contents. "Well?"

"Still gonna stick with my original answer," said Mabel firmly. She fished within and removed a can of sugary cola.

"If you say so."

Spencer cracked his can, and a spray of beer showered the front of Mabel's sweater. He stared in surprise for a moment before breaking into snickers. "Whoops. Sorry."

"Sure you are," countered Mabel. She wielded her cola can menacingly. "You want retaliation?"

"I'd rather not," he drawled.

They wandered over to the porch, where the awful stench got more potent. Mabel felt her stomach turn slightly and she glanced at him. "So…how long has that skunk been around?"

Spencer regarded her in bafflement. "What?"

"That smell—that means there's a skunk around here somewhere."

"Very funny," he said with a laugh.

Mabel blinked in confusion, not understanding the joke. But before she could inquire further, Spencer took a long swig of his beer and grabbed onto her hand. "C'mon, let's not stand around like losers. You dance?"

"Well, why don't you just see for yourself?" returned Mabel.

Her stomach fluttered hopefully when Spencer grinned at her, and lugged her off to join the crowd of people dancing wildly on the trampled grass. She fished her phone from her pocket and with one hand, sent her brother an update text.

'So far, so good! No drugs in sight! Just a little alcohol (which I'm totally not having), but hey, it could be worse, right?'

…

Slipper-covered feet stealing across the kitchen floor, Stan filled a glass with water from the tap, his vision half-blurry from fatigue. The glowing numbers on the microwave informed him it was just past midnight. Taking a sip, Stan left the kitchen and, instead of going to his room, headed up the stairs towards the attic. It had become his habit to check in on the twins during the night, whenever he was roused from sleep.

Placing his palm against the warm wood of the door, Stan carefully nudged it open. Snoozing in one bed was Dipper, the blankets tangled around his legs and head buried into his pillows. In the other bed was one pink pig, and no owner snuggled around him.

Eyes slowly narrowing, Stan's fingers tightened around the glass, so hard that he wouldn't have been surprised if it shattered. Moving purposefully towards the oblivious Dipper, Stan set his now-forgotten drink on the bedside table. He did not miss how Dipper's phone was resting directly beside his head, as if he were expecting a text or call and did not want to miss it.

Oooh, she better not be where I think she is.

The firm smack he gave to Dipper's pajama-clad bottom startled him awake. Dipper hastily scrambled backwards, smacking into his headboard with a dazed grunt. All sleepiness fled at the sight of Stan looming above him with a less-than-pleased (bordering on furious) expression.

"Grunkle Stan!" he exclaimed, nerves twisting into his gut. "What are you—?"

"Where's your sister?"

Dipper flinched slightly at the growl, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. A few feeble excuses and explanations ran through his mind, but he knew instantly they would do no good. Stan was the master of lies and deceit, and it was foolish to try and deny.

"She's at Spencer's party," he confessed reluctantly.

"And you did nothing to stop her?"

"I tried to talk her out of it," returned Dipper with a helpless shrug. "But she was set on it. She's fine—she texted me about twenty minutes ago."

"Where is this party?" demanded Stan.

"McCrory Road."

"I'll be back," he said shortly, striding for the door. "Do not move—and don't even think about giving your sister a warning."

He swept out with that, and Dipper collapsed against his pillow with a groan. I knew this was a bad idea…you are so in for it, Mabel.

…

The third song finished up and Mabel swayed her arms up to the last beat. She lowered them as the next song started, and Spencer took another chug of his second beer of the night. "Um…don't you think that's enough?" she asked carefully.

"Please, I'm not even close to feeling a buzz," dismissed Spencer.

Biting down on her bottom lip, Mabel felt her head ache as the scent of alcohol and skunk stench made her stomach spin slightly. Thinking a walk would help clear her developing headache, she did not get a chance to make the suggestion as a burly young adult with a scruffy beard strode forwards, eyes hard.

She instinctively took a few steps back at the intimidating male, hand hovering over where her grappling hook was located. Every movie she had seen about teen parties included someone getting into a fight, and she braced herself to break up a brawl.

What she did not expect, however, was for the man to snap, "We're out of the goods, Long."

Spencer only regarded him impassively. "Lucky for you, I've got the stuff. But only if you got the money. You know how it works."

A scowl twisted his features, but the man dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. Spencer in turn dipped his fingers into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a baggie of white powder. Mabel's eyes widened exponentially as he handed it over and took the cash into his hands.

"There," he drawled, idly counting the bills. "Oh, and try and do something about the smell, will you? My father is going to knock my head in if I can't get rid of it."

The guy grunted and walked off. Mabel stared at Spencer speechlessly for a moment before she managed to find her words. "You…you are a drug dealer?"

"It's got good income," he replied, sticking the money into his pocket and giving her a suave smile. "You want some? I can give you a discount."

"No," yelped Mabel. "I don't do drugs!"

"It's just weed," said Spencer with a raised brow. "It's used for medical reasons. It'll help you relax."

"I know," said Mabel, feeling her heart fall into her stomach, because Stan was right even when she was so certain he wasn't. "But isn't it illegal?"

"At a federal level, sure, and in most states. But this is Oregon, where state law has deemed it legal. Don't you love politics?"

Mabel bit down on her bottom lip. She was starting to get an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. She thought she could be fine with his underage drinking (it was in practically every teen-rebellion movie), but at the speed of which he consumed the alcohol she started to have her doubts. But drugs…legal or not, it wasn't something she believed in, especially if they were being used purely for recreational purposes.

"I'm getting kind of tired," she spoke. "I think I'm going to head home now."

"Are you seriously bailing 'cause of a couple joints?" snorted Spencer. "Geez, I knew you came across as naïve and clueless, but I thought that was an act."

Mabel bristled, and she snapped angrily, "I am not naïve and clueless!"

He was in her face before she could blink, eyes gleaming. "Well then, prove it. I do believe there was talk of getting to know each other…"

And then her lips were caught in a searing, invading kiss. After a second of shock she planted her hands against his chest and sent him sprawling to the ground. "What was that?" she cried out, scrubbing her mouth with the back of her hand. She glared fiercely at Spencer, who was climbing to his feet with a clearly irate expression. "You want to kiss me like that, you better buy me dinner first! Actually, you better ask for permission after dinner too."

"I thought we were going to have some fun," spat Spencer with a glower. "But you're just like all the girls in this backwater town—prude, snobbish and a tease."

Her hand promptly connected with the side of his face, and Mabel narrowed her eyes. "Don't talk to me like that. I came here expecting a fun time at a party, not to satisfy your dumb male urges. I am not a toy for you to use whenever you want, and no girl is. I thought you were a cool guy when we met, but clearly, people aren't what they seem, and sometimes they are exactly who they seem. And that's a lesson I need to learn."

She dug into her pocket and removed the cash she was going to use for her taxi home. She flung it at him, and he hissed when the coins bounced off of his forehead. "There—I paid you back for my groceries. I'd hate to owe you anything."

Spencer rubbed the developing welt on his cheek, and stiffly swiped the loose money. He then took cautious steps away from the enraged brunette. "Whatever," he finally scoffed. "Thanks for wasting my time. I'm off to have some real fun."

He strode away with that, and Mabel cast one more disgusted glower before striding in the direction of the road, hand yanking out her phone to call Dipper. Just as she started to dial, her phone trilled, and it was her brother's name that flashed across her screen.

"Dude, this is a total bust—Spencer's a total jerk."

"I'm sure Grunkle Stan will love to hear that he's right," returned Dipper, speaking quickly and his voice holding a note of franticness. "You can tell him when he comes to get you."

Mabel felt her heart freeze in her chest, dread welling up in her stomach. "Oh…no."

"Oh yeah. He just left. I wasn't supposed to call you, but clearly we both have problems listening."

"Sugar," she hissed under her breath. "How'd he find out?"

"I guess he was up getting a drink and decided to check on us. He put two and two together when you weren't in your bed."

"I am in so much trouble," she whimpered.

Her statement was further proven when blue and red lights suddenly flashed down the dark street, illuminating the area. The sirens blared and Mabel paled dramatically as those around her shouted and started to scatter.

"Please don't tell me those are sirens."

"Yup. There's drugs and alcohol being distributed by a minor, and I don't want to imagine what else is going on at this place. I'm outta here."

"Call if you need me. If not, I'll see you back home."

Mabel hung up and shoved her phone back into her pocket, racing across the grass as she went. The lone police cruiser was pulling into the driveway, their headlights throwing shadowy figures into clarity. She barely heard Blubs' orders to remain still, crashing through the trees that lined the property and fleeing into the neighbouring yard. She made a quick dash back to the road, stealing a glance over her shoulder. All the commotion was still occurring at the Long residence, and there was no one shouting for her to stop.

Slowing her pace, she started walking along the edge of the road, kicking up stones as she went. But her relief did not last long—another set of headlights blinded her for a brief instant, and her heart jumped up into her throat at the familiar license plate.

Unfurling himself from the front seat, Stan glared at his niece, who regarded him with a hesitant expression. "Car," he growled. "Now."

Now I'm starting to wish Blubs and Durland had gotten to me first.

Mabel hurried over to the car, yanking open the door and slipping into the back seat. She folded her hands tightly into her lap and stared out the window, heart pumping madly in her chest. Not a word was exchanged during the drive home, and by the grip Stan held on the steering wheel, he was furious.

Sooner than Mabel would have liked, they reached the Mystery Shack. With heavy feet, she shuffled up the steps and into the house, halting in the living room and standing stiffly. There was the sound of the door slamming, keys clinking as Stan hung them back on the hook, and his solid footfalls as he came towards her.

Standing tall and looming just above his niece, Stan said lowly, "That better not be what I think it is."

Knowing she probably reeked of both beer and weed, she felt some offense that her great-uncle thought she could be so easily influenced. "Why?" she countered, crossing her arms over her chest. "You never have a drink at my age?"

"Don't get smart with me missy," warned Stan. "Answer me."

"No, I didn't have any beer," said Mabel tightly. "Some just got spilled on me. I thought you'd have enough trust in me not to do anything illegal."

"I trusted you to listen to me when I forbade you to go to that forsaken party in the first place," countered Stan sharply. "You promised me."

Mabel felt the guilt rise in a swell, and she shifted her gaze. "I had my fingers crossed, so I technically didn't promise anything."

"Do not start with me," snapped Stan, pointing sternly at his niece. "You are not twelve, Mabel Felicity. Ya think crossin' your fingers gives you a free pass to discard whatever promises you make?"

"Funny, you still treat me like I'm twelve," returned Mabel, frustration entering her tone. "You make your own judgements of people, but don't let me make my own. And no, I didn't have any pass to break my promise, but you've broken your own promises."

Stan let out a long breath, rubbing the space between his eyes. "You ever hear the phrase 'do as I say, not as I do'?"

Mabel pursed her lips, giving a nod of her head. "Uh-huh."

"That, kiddo, is pretty much the base of parenting. We're all hypocrites, and we've done a good ninety percent of what we tell you not to do. But we've faced the consequences, learned the hard lessons, especially me."

A dark shadow crossed his face at that, and Mabel's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know you told me not to go, but…"

"Ya thought I was just spoutin' off at the mouth, and wanted to check him out for yourself," finished Stan. "Kid, I know I give teens a hard rap, but I don't warn ya to stay away from certain characters unless I have good reason."

"I know that now," said Mabel, sudden exhaustion overtaking her. "Spencer's a real jerk. He only wanted me there so he could have some fun."

The meaning behind those words did not go over Stan's head. He was in front of Mabel in an instant, cupping her face with his hands, eyes blazing with a rage not directed towards her. "Did he try anything?"

Mabel laid her slender fingers overtop his, assuring, "Nothing more than a kiss. I sent him sprawling and gave him a good slap. If he had kept pressing, I would have used my grappling hook on him where it hurts, but he got the message pretty quick."

Calmed slightly by this, Stan stepped back. "That's my girl. He better pray he never runs into me, or I'll knock his teeth down his throat." He reached to brush aside a strand of hair away from her face. "Pumpkin, Ford and I forbid you to do certain things because we want to keep you and your brother safe. We don't do it to be jerks. That's why I didn't want you to go to the part—Long is a shady, slimy character, and I can pick those creeps out a mile away. I knew he'd try somethin', and I didn't want ya to get hurt."

"I wish I listened to you," muttered Mabel. "I let myself fall for his dumb charm. Guess I'm pretty naïve and gullible."

"Ya have a strong heart," corrected Stan. "Nothin' wrong with that. But sometimes—"

"People aren't what they seem, and others are exactly what they seem, and don't deserve another chance," finished Mabel. "Trust me, lesson learned. I'll try to be a little more careful."

"A hard lesson that coulda been avoided if ya just listened," drawled Stan, ruffling her hair slightly. "Kiddo, ya know what has to happen, right?"

Mabel winced. "Yes…I deserve it, even if I'd rather not go through it."

"Clean yourself up." Stan wrinkled his nose. "Ya smell like weed."

Mabel flushed. "Yeah, you were right about that too. I didn't have any."

"Didn't think ya did," responded Stan. "As crazy as you acted tonight, I know you. I didn't have any worries there."

Warmth filled her at that. "Thanks, Grunkle Stan."

"Get in the shower, kiddo. I'll see you in my room when you're done."

Mabel scampered out of the living room and up the stairs. She entered the attic, where she found Dipper reading a novel, the bedside lamp turned on. He immediately sat up at the sight of her. "What—?"

"I'll explain everything later," interjected Mabel, snagging her pajamas from the top of her sheets. "I have to shower and go see Grunkle Stan."

"Good luck," he said sympathetically. "I'll be waiting."

"Thanks, Dipping Dots."

Thought she wanted to linger under the shower's warm spray for as long as she could, she knew it was better to get everything over with. After giving her long hair a good scrub, she turned off the water and got dressed into her light pink pajama pants and shirt. She tied her hair up into a messy ponytail and began the trek to Stan's room, heart pounding in her chest.

Stan was sitting on the edge of his bed, reading an old issue of his favourite magazine. When she entered he set it aside. "You know why we're here, right kiddo?"

"I didn't listen to you," she said softly. "I lied to you and snuck out past curfew."

When he motioned her forwards, she crossed the room and stopped beside him. Her stomach dropped in dread when he guided her over his knees, but it was not something she didn't expect. She stared at the hardwood floor, muscles clenching nervously.

"We already had our spiel, so I won't go over it again," spoke Stan. "But if you ever disobey me and do something like this again, I'll make sure the next punishment drills this lesson into you."

"Yes sir," she said quickly.

The first strike nearly caused her to jolt, but she managed to keep still. Her skin was still tender from her shower, enhancing the sting. The smacks came in quick succession, igniting the burn more fiercely with little time for the sting to cool. Unable to keep still now, Mabel jerked as the uncomfortable sensation grew with each strike, tears building in her eyes. "Ouch, ow!"

"Don't move," ordered Stan, laying his other hand firmly against her back. "It'll drag on longer if you don't stay still."

Mabel flinched at the particularly hard blow she received in warning, and settled as best she could. "Ow, ow, ow, ow," she whimpered, her tears trickling down her cheeks as the stinging increased. "Grunkle Stan, I'm really sorry! Ouch! Really really sorry!"

Relief crashed down on her when Stan finally pulled her upright. Her bottom felt like it was on fire, the fabric scratching the red, irritated flesh. She sat up and was immediately wrapped into a tight embrace, which she happily leaned into.

"I am sorry," she murmured, wiping at her tears.

"I know you are, pumpkin." Stan kissed her hair affectionately. "You know I hate doing this."

"I don't like it either," said Mabel feelingly. "Maybe we should just stop doing this altogether."

Stan snorted. "And let you and your brother run wild? I don't think so. You gotta be kept in line."

"Fair enough." A tired yawn escaped her. "I think I'm ready for bed."

"You're gonna need all the sleep ya can get, kiddo. Ford's gonna talk our ears off about his nerd convention and I doubt he'll be amused if any of us fall asleep through it."

"Goodnight, Grunkle Stan." Mabel pecked his cheek lovingly. "I love you."

"I love you too, pumpkin." Stan tweaked her nose fondly. "But you and your brother need to stop scaring the heck outta me. The old ticker can't take it."

"I'll try my best Grunkle Stan," said Mabel. "But I can't promise anything here."

"I didn't expect ya too," said Stan in slight amusement. "Get some sleep."

Mabel hopped off his lap and started for the door. Before she left, Stan then asked casually, "Did Dipper give ya a heads-up?"

Shifting her eyes back and forth, she said evasively, "I plead the Fifth."

"Figures," said Stan with a slight roll of his eyes. "Night, gremlin."

"Night, old man," she returned playfully.

She headed into the hall and up the stairs. She entered the attic and promptly went to collapse in her bed, snuggling beside a slumbering Waddles. Dipper stared at her in sympathy and amusement. "Spill. What happened?"

Mabel recounted the events of the night, and Dipper's eyes narrowed when she mentioned why Spencer had invited her to the party. "That jerk. I'll sic the gnomes on him."

"Ooh, that's actually a good idea."

"You know, this wouldn't have happened if you'd have listened to Grunkle Stan."

Mabel craned her head to shoot her brother a look. "Water sprites."

"Right." Grinning, Dipper hopped off his bed and reached underneath, removing an ice pack he had smuggled in a few minutes ago from the kitchen. He went over and handed it to his sister. "Here. This should ease the sting so you don't feel it so much in the morning."

"Thanks, bro-bro," said Mabel gratefully.

Dipper sat on the edge of her bed, stretching his arms above his head. "We'd probably make it a lot easier on ourselves if we learned to listen."

"Probably. But I don't think that's gonna happen." Mabel laughed. "Besides, we have to keep Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford on their toes."

"Good point." Dipper smirked. "We have to keep them young."

"I hear talkin'! If you runts aren't asleep by the time Ford gets home..."

Dipper launched into his own bed while Mabel yanked the covers over her body. Dipper turned out the light and before he buried his head into his pillow he remarked,

"And they keep us in line—at the expense of our butts."