(A/N: Hey, yo. So, uh, sorry for the super late update! This chapter just kept lagging and I had to delete some parts and I hit a couple of writer's blocks and wasn't really sure where the story was going for a while, so..... (;A;) Anyways, longer chapter than usual. Just for you, bro! Okay, chapter starts.... NOW.)

We weaved our way through the streets, my bat swinging and smacking into passing birds as the golf car swerved. Gideon, pale and paranoid, hunched forward at the wheel, his sweaty palms jerking and catching at every turn.

"Where are we going?!" He wailed at me over the cawing ravens. My hair snatched onto a raven's claw, causing me to cry out. I turned, swatting the bird in an instance, watching it veer away from me with strands of blond hair entangled in its talons. I hissed.

"Just keep going straight!" I responded, squinting my eyes. I had no idea where Dipper could be. But I had an idea.

Facing the wide streets of Gravity Falls, I received a veiny mental image of the town. Take a left, and you'll wind up at the laundromat. Keep going, and you'll hit the elementary school's local playground, seeded with elderly squirrel-feeders and precautions parents. Zoom past it, and there's a car's sales place, which leads into the downtown area, where a strip mall stands at the center of it all.

I turned my view to the sky, peeking cautiously past the golf car's top, to see a vortex of swirling ravens almost a mile away. Closer to the clouds, the birds expanded in a sort of feather-mesh, canvassing the tips of buildings. As the birds got closer and closer to the earth, you could see their trail narrow out and become a pinpoint to one particular spot in the downtown region.

That was our destination. I stuck my neck back within the golf car, just moments before a bird's beak could zoom past me and puncture my throat. They paid us little mind, though few turned to give us a peck, all flocking in a hurried migration down the street. I patted Gideon's back.

"The birds are all going to the same place! This'll lead us to Dipper!" I confirmed.

"Are you sure?!" Gideon's face scrunched up, sweating as he faced me. I bent down behind him, my left hand resting on his shoulder and my right pointed ahead.

"Positive!" I remarked. And, as I did, the feathers began to thicken.

~Dipper's POV~

Wendy rummaged through the liquor cabinets of the bar, pulling out bottles by the arm-fulls. Tyler sniffed at her, his arms folded, the room almost completely pitch black. The birds had successfully surrounded the bar on all sides, making retreat impossible. I sat on a stool, my elbows propped up, head resting on the backs of my entwined fingers.

It had been a long time, last I was actually welcomed here.

"Hey, Wendy." I mused. "I'll have a Malibu." Eyeing her back, I waited for her response. She refused to meet my eyes, continually going back and forth from the shelf to the counter, piling up the bottles. She huffed.

"Mind giving me a hand, pretty boy?" She cracked, giving me a crooked smile. "I'll get you a small drink later. Promise."

I felt a familiar twist of excitement, considering the drink, only to sigh.

"It was a joke." I said, half lying. I slid from my seat, getting behind the counter as I helped her unload her precious cargo.

"What are you doing exactly?" I pulled at a few bottles, slipping their necks between each of my fingers. Wendy had shown me how to carry them like that, back when I was still just starting out and held my bottles close to my chest. I'd carry three and hand one to Wendy, keep one for myself, and a third one we'd split. It seemed fine to carry them like that, until Wendy pointed it out.

She said I looked anxious, the way I held them. I probably was. And I told her that I was. She just laughed, taking my hand and sliding the bottle necks between my fingers.

"Cool kids do it like this." She smirked, patting my back. It felt nice. Really nice. And I just kept doing it. I'm not sure when exactly it became a problem that I could hold them so well...

Wendy snapped her fingers at me, pointing to her feet.

"Gimme a boost." She directed my attention to the higher cabinet, not tall enough to reach. I scoffed jokingly, shooing her to the side.

"Fuck that." I responded, lifting my arms as I pulled down the next load. The bottles clacked against each other, their glossy green glass still shining in the dimly lit room. I looked at Wendy before going back to the bottles.

"No. Seriously. What are you doing with these?" I repeated, straining myself to get to the bottles farther back. She paused for a moment, lifting one of the bottles as she examined it.

"You'll see." She replied finally, messing with the tips of her hair. I paused, only to shrug it off. I had never in my life seen Wendy wrong or unsure or weak. Not once, and today was no acception. Whatever the hell it was she was doing, she was probably doing it right.

"Alrighty then." I set down the last bottles, acquiring my previous seat. I looked at the shelves, now empty and barren, surprised by the depth of them. There had been a fair number inside, so much so that many of the bottles couldn't fit on the table.

I looked to the floor, the later half sitting low before my stool. There were more bottles than people for sure, and what Wendy wanted to do with them, I couldn't understand. I stole a glance at her sitting in her seat, counting each individual glass. Once or twice, you could tell she had lost count or couldn't remember if she had already counted a bottle, and she'd start over.

I considered counting with her, but that seemed more detrimental than helpful. I opted for courteous silence, only to remember the cawing, scratching, flesh-eating pigeons outside.

I suppose no one had forgotten, looking about the room. I saw muscular men, their eyes glazed over in despair, slouch as they watched their empty cups. Wendy's speech had done much to lift their spirits, but that was back when the shop across the street was visible.

Now, we were being consumed. I sighed, pushing out of my seat. It made a screeching noise, causing Wendy to bunch up her shoulders.

"Shit..." She whispered, turning back to the first bottle, recounting. I shifted my attention to the windows, canvised in the bleak shade of feathers, only periodically interrupted by orange beaks.

They pressed to the glass desperately, as if drawn by some magnetic force. I examined them cautiously, only for something to catch my eye. A raven, pressed against the glass, cold-eyed. His head hung to the side, his body still held there by the multitude of birds, while his tongue sagged out of his mouth.

A dribble of blood, sliding from the side of its beak, seemed to gush out as the ravens continued to press. It's neck twisted grotesquely, a crunched jumble at the side of its neck when it had snapped, and suddenly I felt sick to my stomach. I stepped away, clasping my hand over my mouth, staring into its dead eye. This room suddenly felt much smaller than before.

I shifted on my heels, turning my back to the glass, my own breath catching in my throat.

"Wendy..." I shook for a moment, trying to regain myself.

"Yes, Dipper?" She drew out with a groan, turning back to the first bottle as she began to recount. I slid back into my seat once more, giving her an eerie look.

"What exactly are you doing?" I questioned, hoping for some reassurance. Wendy grumbled, swiveling in her seat.

"I'm kind of busy, Dipper." Wendy gestured to the mass of bottles, waiting to be assigned some sure amount.

"I know. But why? Why are you counting?"

"To keep count, my boy." She patted my back, turning back to her stash. I sat for a moment, hoping for some additional information, only to be left in silence. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I squeezed her lightly in hopes of gaining her attention without disturbing her calculations. It didn't work. She sucked in air through her teeth, reluctantly returning to me.

"Yes?" She hissed out, retaining her composure just barely. Her brow twitched at the base, her lips curled with a nasty grimace as she looked at me. I thought she might snap my neck like that bird's, making me shift in my seat.

I'm not sure what face I was pulling, but the second she met my eyes, her expression softened. I wasn't fairing well. She sighed, resting her head in her hand with a 'thump'.

"This place getting to you?" She smirked a little, her eyes calm and calculated, massaging the bridge of her nose. "Yeah. I know. This place is killing me, too."

"What are we going to do?" I leaned forward, waiting for her brilliant plan to surface.

"Didn't I tell you before? We're fighting. Simple as that." She tapped one of the bottles, a shrill 'clink' escaping it. I paused for a moment, trying to make sense of it. Slowly, the pieces came together.

"With... bottles." I confirmed, speaking with a complete lack of belief. There had been maybe a couple thousand birds outside, pegged against less than twenty men. I wasn't even sure how to respond.

"With bottles. Yes." She looked at me grimly, all signs of confidence gone. Her eyes greyed instantly as the words passed her lips, as if she had confirmed our death dates. Her lower lip shook, fighting back the urge to grimace. As she bunched up her fists, clenching her jeans, I could feel myself being swallowed whole by her desperation to live. She wanted to live.

Whether or not I did, she did. And she wanted me to live, too. She wanted all of us, every one of us, to survive. Because she knew what death felt like. And in that moment, I found myself smirking.

"Bottles... Yeah, okay. Bottles." I turned around. "Anybody got a lighter?" I propped my elbows against the bar table, waiting until someone slowly brought one up, held depressingly in their right hand. I bounced over, snatching it. "You're a model citizen. Thanks." I suddenly felt full of life.

Turning from Wendy, I waltzed over to the bar's wall, covered by news clippings and dark posters. Snatching a yellowed paper, I rolled it up tightly before turning back to her.

"What did you intend to do with them?" I asked, skidding her way. Her head, at this point, has sunken low into her arms as she took over an air of silence. She continued to lie her head, speaking only through the muffled stuffing of her arms.

"Break them. Fight. You know..." Wendy waved her hand in the air, as if to shoo away the idea. "Dumb stuff." I grinned.

"What about explosions?"

"We don't have explosions."

"Yes, we do."

Wendy looked up from her folded position, locking eyes with me.

"Where?" She asked. I placed the lighter and paper on the table.

"Right here." She squinted her eyes at them, lifting up the lighter and examining it. She looked skeptical for a moment, only for the dots to connect as her mind caught.

"HOLY SHIT, DIPPER!" She slammed her fists against the bar's top, pushing out of her seat. "Everyone! Everyone, hey!" She clapped her hands together, a shock wave of volume julting people from their depressed state.

She looked to me, am amazingly bright grin spreading over her face. People looked up at her, grumbling, only to be met with the most reassuring beam of their lives.

"Alright listen! We've got one shot at survival and this is it! No sugar coating it, okay?! One shot!" She waltzed over to the table, grabbing a bottle, my rolled up scrap of paper, and the lighter.

"This is what we'll be doing, got it?! Don't any of you guys fuck this up somehow, because we've got a limited supplies! I'm going to need you guys to pop these bottles open, dip the paper in liquor, and lite the tip, got it?! And make sure you get away before it catches fire!" There was a sniff in the room, a brawny man's boots propped up on the table.

"And why should we do that?!" He barked coldly, crossing his arms. Wendy sneered, placing the paper's long body in the bottle. She lit the edge, instantly throwing it in the air as the flame met its flammable substance, exploding. An instantaneous wave of heat expanded the glass, shattering the bottle as glass showered the room. She looked back at him.

"Get to work."

~Pacifica's POV~

I coughed, the feathers making their way into my lunges as I huffed in response. We were close. At least I assumed we were. The roads were covered street to street in ravens, making my vision a spoiled sheet of black dots and meshes. I turned to Gideon.

"Can't you turn on the windshields or something?!" I yelled, shrinking down in the passenger seat.

"What windshields?!" He remarked. The ravens continued to ignore us, thankfully. They had given us scratches and small pecks, but were otherwise entranced by some other target, and I already feared the worst. Dipper. They were trying to get to Dipper. To kill him. To free themselves. And, as long as he still breathed, the two could never coexist.

I turned around, leaning into the cart's trunk, pulling out a bag. It was large, a sturdy fabric canvassed in black, as I slid it onto my lap with a grunt. I hunched my body forward, covering it against the birds, as I unzipped the pack. I looked inside to examine my materials: Flame thrower. Weed wacker. Two extra bats. Slingshot. Throwing knives. Golf clubs. Switchblade. Bread.

I pulled it out, quickly flinging it behind me with a peep. A cluster of ravens, previously in our view, swooped to the side, devouring the crumbs. I looked behind me, taking note of the time they spent occupied on it. Maybe a good 15-20 seconds. It would have been even less time if, thank God, they didn't fight so violently over it. I looked at Gideon, rubbing the fuzzy bits of feather from his eyes.

"Are we close?" I asked. He sneered, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Why are we doing this, Pacifica? Why do we have to save him?" He remarked, to which I smacked the back of his head for.

"Because you're the one who made this mess, remember? He wouldn't even need saving if you weren't such a peeping tom." I pulled my knees in, hugging them as the birds finished their meal and returned to flying. I groaned, pulling out a few more slices. The road opened up a little, and I could just make out the stripmall.

"Take a left here." I ordered, jamming my thumb. Looking up, the birds in the sky circled about like vultures. We had to be close.

"What's our plan when we find Dipper? Are we supposed to just fight?" Gideon asked, flinching at his own imagination. There was no way we could overpower the birds.

"You know as well as I do how we get rid of these birds, Gideon."

"Yeah, but how are we going to expose his secret? How far does expose even go? Does it mean to the whole town? How would we spread the news?"

"Well, you're the one that made the deal. If it only needs for you to see it, then that's all that needs to be done, right?" I splat ahead, particles of feathers catching at my tongue multiple times. The birds just kept thickening and thickening until even the cart was filled with pests. I could hear Gideon, his breath snatching as wings began to block our path. It didn't take long to lose the last bit of site I had, causing me to cry out.

"Gideon!?" I called in a panic, just to make sure I hadn't been abandoned. He shrieked in response. In a moment of fear and concern, I shot my hand out, hoping to grasp at him, only to be met with a glass surface... Glass? Glass. It's a shop window. We were here. We had to be. The hot spot for all of these birds, the pinnacle point of our journey. This had to be it.

~Dipper's POV

The pub was a hurling mesh of papers and bottles and sweaty men, all pouring themselves over their work. The popping of tops never seemed to cease, nor the rolling of paper. Everything was moving so quickly, I hardly noticed the soft pink hand pressed against the shop's glass. For an instance I blew it off as a trick of the mind, rubbing my eyes. However, the palm continued to press, its nails curling up against the glass, and I became unnerved.

Was it real? I reasoned against it, acknowledging how crazy someone would have to be to actually venture out during this. I began to turn away. In an instance, the hand balled up into a fist and gave a single pound on the glass, and I jumped in surprise. The eyes of the men looked up for a split second, registering the disturbance, only to snap back down to their work.

That was no imagination. That was a person.

"Uh... Wendy?" My stomach began to clench, feeling the unmistakable sensation of bile rising up my throat, seeing the single hand still pressed against the glass.

"Yeah, man?" She bound up to me, wrapping her arm around my neck. This whole conveyor belt system we set up with the bottles was doing wonders for her mood. Just moments ago, she was trying to convince me of our own survival, true dread impossible to mask. Now, she was pulling her own weight, actually giving survival a consideration.

I wasn't sure how to bring the news to her, so I just pointed. Her eyes followed my direction, her smile instantly faltering.

"Oh shit." Her eyebrows melted together, eyes shot wide open in disbelief.

"Can we do something...?" My face mimicked her own, understanding the gravity of the situation. That single hand. That single damn hand, pressed against the glass and attached to some faceless body, was begging us to open the door.

They would surely be eaten. If not now, soon. For a moment, I almost hoped she would order me to open the door, risking the lives of everyone else inside. It just seemed so unnerving to imagine being consumed by a multitude of ferocious pests. Wendy grimaced for a moment, only to turn on her heels.

"No." She replied, her pale face pained and unguarded. There was no way of opening the door. Not yet. Not with the conveyor belt still in effect. Not with so many men still unarmed and unorganized. Impossible. I understood just as well as she did. And yet, I found my body gravitating towards the door. A foot. Maybe even less.

That's how far away the hand was from the door. They were so close. So damn close! And yet so far. I could hardly contain my own disappointment. If they were closer to the door, maybe it was possible. An instance, opening and closing, allowing only a few birds in. A couple dozen would be no match for such masculine men.

But, they weren't at the door, and opening it for more than two seconds would surely kill us all. I scowled at my own rationale. For whatever reason they still had life to them, that reason was sure to dwindle away once the birds got peckish. It was only a matter of time.

Another bang at the glass, followed by a muffled cry. I was suddenly shook from my thoughts, a second hand pressed against the glass, level with the first one. They both seemed to belong to the same person, patted evenly against their little barrier.

Slowly, the palms began to move, sliding from side to side as they felt around. Searching. Searching for a knob or a handle or a push bar to a door that was most certainly there. And it was. I wanted to scream at them that it was. Just a few inches to their right, there was a door. For a moment, they shuffled right, and hope began to build in me.

But, slowly, the hands began to shuffle left, perhaps unsure of their direction. My breath caught in my throat. No! No! This way, you idiot! This way! I hoped for the hands to return to their original position, but they just kept going and going. Left. Left. Left. My legs, wobbling, followed their palms, smearing the windows with sweat and drops of blood from small cuts. Their hands stopped for a moment, allowing me to place my own against theirs. I could feel their heartbeat.

Against the glass, against the sensitivity of bird winds and cawing vibrations and pecking beaks, I could pull from it the nervous racket of this person's own heart. The hands continued to move. Left. Left. Left. I could hardly stand it. My hands began to shake, seeing the distance they built up from the entrance. Two feet. Three feet. Four. It just kept climbing, and soon, I lost my cool.

"THIS WAY!" I banged against the glass, just right of the hand, the single motion sending a shudder throughout the entire frame. A few birds flinched, backing away just hardly, and in an instance, the hands stopped moving.

I stared, watching as the person's left hand's fingers stretched to the right side of the glass, acknowledging my pound. A sudden idea came to me. I moved over just slightly, maybe an inch from my previous spot, pounding again.

The hand jumped in shock, only to scoot over just slightly. I felt a surge of adrenaline pour over me, moving over once more, giving the glass a pound. The hands followed. I moved over, pounding, watching as the hands once again moved. A desperate smile spread over me.

"Yes. Yes! Come on!" I could feel my own hands shaking, a slow pain washing over my balled up fist. I ignored it, my focus on nothing but this. Slowly, meticulously, the hand inched to the right, until it was less than a centimeter from the door handle. My heart pounded in my chest, seeing my chance right before my eyes. I began to reach for the knob.

"Dipper." Wendy grabbed my wrist, giving me the biggest start of my life. I looked into her eyes, only now grasping the full extent of my nervousness. My entire body trembled, anticipation and adrenaline boiling throughout me. She looked at me firmly.

"You should warn them first." She finished with a whisper, nudging her head at the post of men, still absorbed in their assigned roles. I let out a shaky sigh, relief overflowing me. I sucked in a gust of air, turning towards them.

"Men!" I announced, keeping my traumatic eyes pointed forward. "We will know be simulating a test run!" At this, they all perked up, their eyes boring into my skin. I didn't even need to tell them to grab a bottle as they prepared themselves.

"When I open this door, you will be expected to kill any birds that come through. We need to test their efficiency before we go all out for escape... Okay?" I finished, my cool demeanor not strong enough to counteract my absolute anxiety. I thought I might puke. They bared their teeth, puffing out their chests as they gave hearty crys, pounding their chests. I turned to the door, gripping the knob.

"Get ready..." I braced myself, my eyes focused on the hands the whole time.

"Three." My hand muscles flexed, getting a firm grip on the handle. I could feel my heartbeat vibrate against it.

"Two." I placed my other hand on the door's frame, pressing against it. I would need to shut it as soon as I opened it.

"ONE!" My heart caught in my throat for a moment, only for my body to follow through, the door bursting open, a swell of birds spilling through in an unorganized and hectic manor. I pressed my shoulder against the door's frame instantly, feeling the pressure build as birds shot in, filling the room at an alarming rate.

I heard a shatter. A multitude of bangs and pops as the bottles went flying, raining green glass down on everyone. I wasted a millisecond taking this information in, only to shoot my hand out onto the other side, finally grasping as the hands. The body followed through with relief, allowing me to slam the door shut against the protest of bird wings and necks. I looked up, seeing a massive vortex of ravens almost simultaneously descend on me. I barrel rolled out of the way, a section of the flock smacking into the hard wooden floors, while the other half became caught in open fire against the bar's men. I expected the birds to spread out and attack everyone with equal force, only for a remarkably concentrated attack. Many had been clipped and cut down by the glass, others moaning and writhing in pain from their burns. However, the few that were left, maybe five, seemed to circle me alone.

"Duck!" The voice caught me off guard, making me freeze in shock... Pacifica...? I felt someone tackle me to the ground, just below a swarm of birds travelling past us in a rush. With that, they turned upwards and were trapped by ceiling, giving the men plenty of time to finish them off. I sat up quickly, bringing the body close to me as glass showered down, shielding them from any stray shards.

The bird's screeches persisted for what felt like hours, bangs and shattering explosions swirling around us. I continued to pull them closer still, either of my arms wrapping around their head as they nuzzled into the crook of my neck. A moment later the cries died down, now simple, hopeless little whimpers in response to the men. One more sounding bash from the beer bottles signaled the end of the fight, but I continued to hold them, feeling their heartbeat resonate through me.

"Paz...?" I whispered out, earning a small shiver in response. Their grip tightened around me, their nose letting out small sniffles and their tears wet the skin of my neck. She pulled away, looking at me at arm's length.

"Hey..." She breathed out, her voice shaky as she grinned in relief. In an instance, my heart caught, and I thought I might die looking at her. She was the one. The one stuck outside. I should have guessed she was the only one crazy enough to do something like that. I looked at her, face scratched up and ravaged, her hair frizzed and feathered all over. She looked beautiful.

"Oh my God..." I began, disbelief present in my voice. "...Oh my God!" I repeated, pulling her back into a hug with a laugh.

"You're- You were- But- But the birds! Why? I- Oh my God, Paz." I looked at her again, watching as she laughed and wiped away another tear.

"I know. I know." She began, sniffing as she did. "Are you okay?" Her eyes searched my own, smirking as she cupped my face in her hand to tilt my head to the side. I had a cut on my cheek, a small drip of blood sliding down it. I could feel her thumb rub over it, the stinging sensation oddly grounding for me. I placing my hand over hers, pressing it closer to my cheek.

"I am..." I stated. "And you...?" It was really a rhetorical question, taking my other hand as I plucked a feather out of her hair. A thick, comically large feather that stuck up like some kind of indian headband. She took the feather from my hand, placing it in my own hair with a snicker.

"I'm great." And with that, she pecked my cheek. I grinned at her, only to here a groan from behind her.

"Gross." The little kid went. A pasty white fellow, chunky and visibly shaken, feathers under his star hat as well as in his vest. He pulled an obviously disgusted face, scrunched up and disapproving. I squinted my eyes at him, now grinning with a tease.

"Then don't look, Gideon." I said, standing up with Pacifica's hand in my own. I pulled her closer, bringing her hand to my lips, giving it a long, soft kiss, my eyes closed at I took in the scent of her palms. Once again, he groaned, gagging with a sour tone.

"Geez. Get a room!" He hissed, sticking his tongue out like the child he was. After he did, he shuffled through the room, trying to sink into the crowd, only for Pacifica to stop him.

"Don't even think about it, Gideon! Get back here!" She pointed, her demeanor suddenly hardening.

"He's got something to tell you." She turned to me with a sharp look, and I almost purred at the wicked expression she gave me. Her hand tightened in mine though, and she suddenly seemed very unnerved. I turned to look at him, his feet shuffling as he forced his face towards his toes.

"Can't you-" He began, only for Pacifica to let out a small growl, which I had to stifle a laugh from hearing. She looked like a furrocious little dog when she got really mad, which just made her seem that much more comical. Gideon sighed in response, not finding any humor in any of this. He shuffled forward, meeting me with maybe two feet in distance.

"Well, you see... Um, I was kind of messing around- Not being creepy or- or anything like that, really- I was just... Uh, yeah so anyways- it was maybe last night... Those birds, they- Well-... Geez, I um- Well I-" His eyes trailed off, his rambling going a mile a second as he spoke.

"Hey, what happened to your arm?" He paused, looking at me. I looked down, not sure what to expect, only to pale in realization. My right sleeve was in tatters, clawed and ravaged by the flock of ravens I fought past to grab at Pacifica and pull in. I visibly swallowed, swiftly sliding my arm behind my back, Gideon returning my gaze with a queer expression. This was not good.

"Don't try to change the subject." Pacifica bit out, putting her hands on her hips.

"Tell him everything." She demanded, and with that, Gideon shrank back. His head tilted down, fingers fidgeting and twitching in anxiety. He lifted his head slowly.

"Alright... It went like this."