Work Text:
Phoebe groans, just soft enough for no one to hear. Except for Dipper. But only because he isn’t constrained by fallible mortal organs and things like that. She was going to do homework . She had a study date (do not think of it as a date do not think of it as a date ) with Ria. They were going to work on pre-calculus problems and she’d spend the whole time distracted by something stupid like the way Ria’s hair curls against her forehead or something.
Instead, she was stuck here, in the middle of the road, battling some guy with a stupid costume and an even stupider plan.
“So,” she says, eyebrow raised (even though it probably doesn’t even show through her mask), “You’re going to smash all the buildings in the entirety of Asherville to the ground, completely ignoring the fact that it is raining and most sensible people are inside right now.”
Oh yeah, did she mention that it’s raining? Because it’s raining. Her costume is plastered to her skin. It sucks.
“And you’re going to do all of that,” she continues, “with that… really big hammer of yours. Why?”
The man growls. Under his limp, dripping cloak, he’s wearing what is probably supposed to be armor but looks more like a crop top made out of metal. “You wouldn’t understand, kid.” She wonders if he has a cold or if he’s just trying to sound menacing.
“I’m not a kid,” she says, trying her best to keep her tone even and not overly defensive.
“This isn’t about you,” he snarls.
“Could you maybe… you know, stop just standing there? ” Dipper looks completely dry. She needs to tell him to be a little more subtle. “And maybe stop parroting cliche supervillain lines.”
“Stop mocking me!” Stupid Plan Guy fires a laser blast from his hammer — why do they all have laser blasts? — at Dipper. He effortlessly quintuple backflips out of the way. “I’ve had it with you pests. I will kill you. And then… I will tear down Asherville.”
Phoebe glances at Dipper. “Why do people keep calling us pests?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. We’re perfectly delightful.”
“Don’t you dare mock me!” the man bellows. Another blast nearly knocks her on the floor, and she jumps in the air to dodge it. “All quiver before the might of Messy Hammer!”
“Messy… Hammer?” She tries to hold back laughter. What? It’s even worse than Stupid Plan Guy.
Dipper, however, doesn’t seem to be able to control his amusement the same way. He’s currently doubled over in midair, clutching his ribs and cackling. Mr. Messy Hammer blasts him again, and his form flickers briefly, like a character in a video game.
“Dude!” she hisses. “You should maybe try to be a little more careful. Do you want everyone to find out that the neighborhood sidekick’s a demon?”
“Oh. Yeah, sorry.”
“Okay, good — shit!” She drops to the ground. Behind her, a thrown hammer spears the metal of a road sign.
She curses. “Come on! Hammers aren’t for throwing!”
“If you want sharp things to throw so badly, just invest in knives!” Dipper dodges a hammer and watches him trip over a pebble that most certainly was not there a second ago. ”You don’t need to stay so attached to this particular gimmick!”
The supervillain scowls from his position face down on the road and throws a few more hammers at him.
Phoebe takes the opportunity to breathe. The fight seems to have reached a lull, what with the badly-named villain just throwing hammers at Dipper for daring to insult him. It’s like he’s forgotten she exists. Now maybe, while he’s distracted, she can go in and —
There’s a flash, a blinding pain, and the world grows red and fuzzy. She’s been knocked off her feet — she can feel the wet pavement on her back. The ground is cold and damp and she feels like she’s burning.
“I feel… strange…” She can’t breathe. Why can’t she breathe?
“Yeah, no shit!” she hears Dipper say. He’s floating above, looking oddly panicked.
Through the haze of pain, she can see a bright, oozing gash across her suit, feel something warm (blood, it’s blood, it’s her blood) seeping through the fabric, sticking to her skin. The rain has slowed to a drizzle. She watches the stain grow and grow until it’s dripping onto the floor, vaguely apathetic. She thinks that she probably shouldn’t have made her suit white.
Then the haze grows dark and she thinks of nothing at all.
When Phoebe opens her eyes, the first thing she sees is Dipper, nervously peering down at her from his position curled up in midair. His Comet costume is stretched thin over his dress suit, with little rips in the sides from where his wings have seemingly burst forth. He’s sipping a tall glass of something thick and red with a crazy straw.
And now she can’t see anything because Dipper has dived to hug her. “Oh, thank the stars you’re awake!”
“Yep. I’m awake.” Her voice is weak and soft.
Oh, shoot. She was stabbed, wasn’t she? Or more like slashed. Impaled, maybe?
She looks down at her chest. There’s no gaping tear in the suit. The fabric is cleaner than ever, with no trace of that horrible red. The only pain she feels is more of an echo than anything else, an afterimage of something that disappeared long ago.
“Thanks for healing me, Dip,” she says, because this has happened enough for her to know how it goes.
“No problem. And don’t worry about the price. I’ve already got it.” Dipper takes another sip of his drink.
Phoebe hums in affirmation. Now that the haze is clearing, her mind is on other matters. “Where are we?”
“Your apartment. Why?”
“Where’s that guy — Messy Hammer or whoever?”
“He’s taken care of.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Do you mean taken care of like returned to the proper authorities, or taken care of like killed?”
“Taken care of like the first one, obviously. He didn’t do anything. He just threatened to destroy all of Asherville’s already sucky infrastructure and made a fool of himself on a public road.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank god.”
Wait. She has a study da— hangout. With Ria. That’s she’s late for. Oh, no.
“Shit — Dipper, can you take me to the library?”
“Oh, yeah, for your date with Ria?”
“It’s not a date,” she says between gritted teeth. The I wish it was goes unsaid.
“Yeah, right. I can take you. But you should probably get your pre-calc stuff first. And, uh, change.”
She glances down at her Shooting Star suit. “She might just think it’s really weird cosplay.”
Dipper groans exaggeratedly, draping himself across her desk. “Ugh, come on, Bee.”
After she’s changed adequately, Dipper blips them next to the library. They land in a little alley lined with trees. Ria’s sitting at one of the outdoor tables (it looks like the rain has finally ended for good), scowling at her magi-orb. When Phoebe spots her, she runs forward and hugs her.
“Dude! Let me go! You’re crushing me!”
Maybe she should probably let go of her.
Ria gives her a look. “Phoebs, you’re, like, an hour late.”
Oh, shit. Time to come up with an alibi. “We got stuck in… traffic. Yeah. That.”
Stars, you are so bad at lying , says a voice in her head that sounds kind of like Dipper. Actually, it sounds a little too much like Dipper.
Dip, get out of my head , she thinks.
Sorry! says the voice.
“Seriously,” she continues, “like the traffic was so bad. Probably because of the rain, you know? We were there on that road for so long.” At least that last bit is true.
“Phoebe nearly died,” Dipper says. That is… also true.
Ria looks at him askance. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Bee’s ride.”
“This is…” Shit, what’s that fake name Dipper always uses? Tyler? Trombone? “Tyrone! This is… uh... Tyrone.”
Dipper snorts. “Yep. That’s me.”
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
Ria cuts in, looking slightly annoyed. “Phoebe, come on. We should at least, you know, get something done today.”
“Yeah, I’m coming.”
“Actually,” says Dipper, “can I borrow her for a second? We just need to talk a bit. In private.”
“Yeah, fine, whatever.” Ria rolls her eyes and heads inside the library.
Once Ria’s out of earshot, Dipper’s expression turns comforting. “Hey, uh, so. Your body is technically healed, obviously, because I’m good at what I do, but if anything starts happening, like the wound suddenly reappears or something… call me, okay?”
“I know.”
“Great!” Dipper takes another sip of his red drink.
“Did you seriously blip that over with us?”
“Mmhm.” Dipper smacks his lips. “ Man, that’s good.”
“What even is that?” And, because he seems to be enjoying whatever it is, she asks “Can I have some?”
“I… don’t really think you’d want to. It’s your blood, you know.”
Phoebe nearly drops her magi-orb. “It’s my— dude, what the fuck, that is so creepy.”
“That’s kind of what I’m known for. Just— generally.”
“Why?”
“There was so much! I had to do something with it! I couldn’t just leave it there!”
Phoebe pressed a palm to her forehead. “Oh my god why are you like this.”
“Well, it all started when my sister and I took a trip to a tiny town in Oregon for summer vacation—“
“We do not need your whole life story right now. That’ll take months. ”
“No, it would actually take... at least a decade.”
She laughs. “Whatever.” A smile sneaks its way onto her face. “I’m gonna go now, ‘kay? Bye, Dip!”
“Okay! Bye, Bee.”
Just as she reaches the door, she turns around again. “Bye!”
“You said that already!”
“I know!”
Phoebe laughs a bit, steels herself and heads inside, ready to completely forget about the shitty prior events of the day.
And if she still reaches for her chest every once in a while, half-expecting to find it slashed and drenched with blood? It’s not like anyone has to know.