Dipper started planning his escape as soon as Pacifica fell asleep.
She was draped over the table with her cheek resting on the wood, breathing softly. He sort of wished she would snore, if only to make her seem more human. But no, the only sound of her sleeping was a soft, rhythmic breath.
Beside her, Gideon pored over the third Journal, oblivious to the world around him. A sleeping Pacifica and a distracted Gideon might mean an opportunity to run.
So Dipper sat, stroked his pig, and planned.
He could do this, he told himself. It was just like pulling a prank at school. Dipper was the Prank Master, and anybody who said otherwise paid less attention to society than Mabel. Back home in Piedmont, he set standards for anybody who wanted to prank a teacher or a classmate.
Okay, Dipper, he thought, you've got this. Just pretend that Gideon is the principal, and he confiscated Mabel's book for reading too much in class. You've got to snag the Journal and get out of his "office" before he can hit the security button.
Dipper's principal back home didn't actually have a security button, but it was the closest thing Dipper could think of to replace Gideon's amulet. Plus, it made him feel like he was in a spy movie.
An hour and a half after Gideon started studying the Journal, and half an hour after Pacifica fell asleep, Dipper started putting his plan in action.
He started muttering to himself. It was mostly nonsense, things like "should've stayed inside" and "can't believe this is happening." Generic phrases, but things that one might expect from a hostage. He said the words under his breath, looking down at Waddles but keeping a peripheral eye on Gideon.
It took about ten seconds before the Northwest turned around. "What are you doing?" he asked in annoyance.
Dipper assumed a blank stare. "What?"
"That mumbling thing."
"Oh." He frowned. "Was I mumbling?"
"Yeah," Gideon said. "Quit it."
"Sorry."
Gideon turned back to the Journal. Dipper watched the back of his head, counted to sixty Mississippi, and started muttering again.
This time, it took half a minute for Gideon to turn around — though his shoulders tensed up almost immediately. "You're doing it again."
Dipper looked surprised, then sighed. "I'm not doing it on purpose."
"Well, stop. I'm trying to focus."
Dipper threw in another mutter. "Yeah, focus on the book you stole."
Gideon let out an exasperated sigh. "Something to say, kid?"
"Nothing," Dipper said, glaring back.
Gideon went back to his study.
Dipper glanced over at Pacifica. She hadn't stirred. Good. He counted again, this time to one hundred twenty Mississippi. One more try.
"This is ridiculous," he mumbled. "Captive in my own house. Can't believe I'm sitting here."
Then, for emphasis, he poked Waddles in a ticklish spot. The pig squealed.
"Would you shut up!" Gideon whirled on Dipper.
"Hey, man, I'm stressed out!" Dipper protested, loud enough to show emotion but not loud enough to wake Pacifica. "It's automatic, okay? You try being the captive for a while and see if you don't mutter to yourself!"
"I would conduct myself in a far more dignified manner in your situation," Gideon sniffed. He ran a finger over his amulet, and it started to glow faintly. "If you don't shut it," he said, "I'll shut it for you."
"I can't stop myself, okay!"
With a small flick of his wrist, Gideon used his magic to hold Dipper's mouth shut. The two locked eyes in a silent glaring contest.
Come on, come on, come on. . . . Pacifica needed eye contact to use her amulet. If Gideon broke eye contact but was still able to use his magic, then Dipper would have to rethink his entire plan.
Finally, Gideon sighed and turned around. The magic deactivated, and Dipper could move his jaw.
Yes!
With that piece of information, Dipper kept the plan going. More muttering: sometimes intermittent, sometimes constant. He tried to keep it at the right volume: quiet enough to become background noise, and get Gideon used to it. Every once in a while, he would add a small jab at a sensitive spot on Waddles, so the pig would grunt or squeal. He had to keep this up long enough that Gideon would stop paying attention to it.
Rule number seven of pulling pranks: If you want to get away with something suspicious, do it so much that it stops being suspicious.
In this case, the muttering. He needed to communicate his plan to Waddles eventually, and he needed it to mask the sound of sneaking up on Gideon. If Gideon got used to him making quiet sounds, and Waddles occasionally joining in, he'd be that much more surprised when Dipper made his move.
So Dipper kept it up.
It took about half an hour to settle in — he could tell by how Gideon's shoulders relaxed gradually as time went on. Said half hour was painfully long. Despite what his twin may say, Dipper did have patience — but that didn't stop him from watching the clock on the wall tick slowly. After a while, he noticed that his muttering had started to fall into the rhythm of the second hand as it methodically worked its way around the clock face. He decided to keep it that way — it added to the "background noise" effect.
Finally, finally, when half an hour had gone by, Dipper decided it was safe to confide his plan to his pig.
"Waddles," he said, not changing his tone from the meaningless mutter he'd been using for the past half hour. "Waddles, wake up, piggy."
Waddles snorted as Dipper prodded him, but opened his eyes. As they looked up at Dipper, he thought he could see a flash of intelligence in them — a feeling he'd often gotten since finding Waddles. He wouldn't be surprised if Waddles was magical somehow. After all, the pig did appear randomly in the forest.
Which was why he thought it only fair to get Waddles in on the plan. With the pig's attention won, Dipper said, "All right. You've caught on to what I'm doing, right?" Waddles made a snuffling sound. "Good pig."
He glanced up to make sure Gideon hadn't turned around.
"So here's the plan." He held Waddles' face in his hands as he talked. "We're going to sneak up behind him, nab the Journal, and run like heck from the house before he can react. Your job" —he nudged Waddles to make sure he was looking him in the eye— "is to follow behind me, and be the distraction. Every good prank needs a distraction. Can I rely on you?"
The pig snorted softly, and something told Dipper that it was a resounding yes.
"Good pig," Dipper said, smiling. "We move in five minutes. I'm going to hold you when I sneak up to him, so don't squirm, all right? Then I'm going to throw you on top of him, so be as loud and startling as possible. And try to pull the amulet off his collar if you can."
Another look of intelligence flashed in Waddles' eyes.
"All right. Operation Piggy is a go."
He went back to meaningless muttering for a few seconds to mask everything he'd just said. Then he stopped and didn't start up again: If he muttered while walking up to Gideon, he'd be caught for sure. Five minutes later, Dipper adjusted Waddles in his arms and stood up very, very slowly. It was painfully hard, what with lifting a sizeable pig and freezing in awkward positions when he thought he made a sound. After a minute, though, he was standing, and Gideon was still immersed in his study of the Journal.
Now came the hardest part: walking up to Gideon without making the floor creak.
Dipper glanced down at the wooden planks beneath his feet. It's okay, he told himself. You can do this.
Stepping very slowly and carefully, putting weight on the balls of his feet rather than his heels, Dipper made his way to Gideon. The floor did creak a few times, but not loudly enough to be suspicious. The Mystery Museum constantly made settling noises, and Gideon was focusing intently on the Journal.
So when Dipper threw a pig onto him, he was understandably surprised.
Dipper thrust Waddles onto Gideon. The pig squealed louder than ever before, landing on the side of Gideon's face and nearly knocking him off his chair. Gideon shrieked in surprise, but Dipper had no time to laugh at the scene. He swiped the Journal off the table and dashed for the door with the book tucked under his arm.
His feet pounded on the wooden floor as he ran for the door. He was ready to dive behind the staircase if necessary, to get out of the line of sight; but from the shouting behind him, it sounded like he could just go for the door. He would have to pull the door rather than push it, which would cost him precious seconds; but he threw it open and got through, twisting immediately so he was out of Gideon's sight. He didn't close the door — Waddles had to follow — but the first danger was over. He was on the porch safely, and he had the Journal.
He was worried about Waddles — what if Gideon held him hostage? — but he couldn't let that stop him. Praying that his precious pig would be close behind, Dipper leapt from the porch and set off to the woods at a full sprint. The snow wasn't as deep here in Ford's backyard; Ford had Melody shove the worst of it back into the tree line. Dipper bounded through ankle-deep snow, running at an angle towards the woods.
He expected his body to freeze up at any second, surrounded by Pacifica's purple magic. He expected Gideon to call, "If you want your pig to live, you'll stop right there." He expected something to go wrong. But nothing did. He was almost to the tree line, and—
"Dipper!"
Without giving himself time to think, Dipper skidded around to the sound of the voice and started running towards it. Mabel! It was Mabel, and Grunkle Ford, and even Melody! They were all standing at the tree line, across the yard. To get to them, Dipper would have to pass through open space that he had wanted to avoid, but he didn't care. Mabel was right there!
He heard footsteps in the snow and looked to see Waddles burst from the Museum and sprint towards him. Good! He was safe.
But that also meant Gideon and Pacifica weren't far behind.
Dipper ran straight into Mabel, nearly knocking her over in his hug. "Mabel!"
She hugged him tightly in return. "Dipper — you're safe!" She pulled back slightly and looked down at the Journal, which had gotten sandwiched between them. She gasped. "And you got the Journal!"
Dipper's eyes flicked between her and Ford in worry.
"It's fine," Mabel said. "You got it back!" She hugged him again. "And you're safe."
He smiled despite it all. "For now. But we have to get out of here. Pacifica will be—"
"No," Ford said. Dipper looked up at him in surprise. "We're not hiding anymore," Ford told him. "We're facing her, right here, right now."
"Okay," Dipper said, "that's great, but—"
His muscles seized up and he floated a few inches above the ground. A purple glow sprang up around his skin.
No!
"Oh, look," came Pacifica's lilting voice. "Not just one Pines, but four."
Her magic turned Dipper around to face her. No longer the peaceful sleeping figure in the Museum, Pacifica stood a few yards away with a look on her face like a black widow spider. She was smiling, but the look in her eyes was pleasantly murderous.
"You can't freeze all of us, Pacifica," Dipper declared, praying that his family had the sense to get out of Pacifica's line of sight.
"I probably could," Pacifica said.
Dipper felt a tugging on his arm, and he knew it was Mabel, trying to break the spell. Stop it, he mentally shouted. Get out of here while you still can!
"But," Pacifica continued, her smile widening, "I have a much more enjoyable idea."
The violet aura around Dipper dropped, and he landed on his feet. He had some practice now with the whole levitated-and-then-dropped thing. He let Mabel pull him back, and he tried to shield her with his own body. She was probably the one in the most danger.
Pacifica spread her arms wide, and her amulet started glowing brighter and brighter. An aura sprang up around her, much like the one that had been around Dipper moments before — except this one was growing. And growing.
And growing.
Dipper craned his neck as Pacifica lifted into the air, borne by her purple glow. The light grew and twisted into a twenty-foot-tall, human-shaped creature. The purple behemoth loomed over them, and Pacifica Pleasure floated in the center of its chest.
Even at this distance, Dipper could see her smile down at him.