"Dipper?"

Sleepy as he was, he didn't respond until she said his name a second time.

"Dipper?" Pacifica called out. Her voice came from far off, somewhere else in the apartment.

Dipper cracked his eyes open, sat up, and tried to get himself put together enough to respond. "Yeah?" he finally managed. His voice had a slight rasp to it, from having slept for so long.

"Could you go to the store?"

He sat up slowly and made his way to the edge of the bed, sheets wrapped around him like a toga. With a long yawn and some squinting, he freed himself and stood. He looked down at his clothes—an old t-shirt and jeans—and came to the foggy conclusion that he fell asleep while working. His eyes still felt heavy and everything was a bit blurry around the edges. Thoughts were hard to process, so he worked through them slowly.

Who's calling me? Pacifica. Right. Pacifica was calling me. Okay. Why was she calling me? To go to the store. Why do I need to go to the store..?

"What for?" he yelled back.

Pacifica seemed to hesitate. "We, um, you need eggs. Yup. You're out of eggs." She sounded unsure, but Dipper neither noticed nor cared.

"Okay," he yawned.

Go to the store, Dipper, he thought. You have to get eggs. What are eggs again..? Eggs. Food. Go buy some!

Giving his hair a ruffle, he started to get changed, not really caring about the fact that he should have checked the mirror. He really should have.

After splashing a handful of water on his face, he ran a brush through his hair to get it to cover his birthmark, and jolted as it got stuck on a knot. Deciding that was enough, he plodded out the door and down the hall. Pacifica was nowhere in sight, but that didn't bother him; she was probably in Mabel's room. Right now, he had a mission: buy eggs.

(Odd that he didn't remember that Mabel had bought some only yesterday. And that Pacifica usually kept stuff like this well-stocked in her own apartment.)

Out the door, into the car, another attempt to wake up so there's no car accident, very quick glance in the rear-view mirror—nothing out of the ordinary—and he was off. He saw Pacifica smiling through the window, but what he didn't know was that smile was the result of bottled-up laughter. He also didn't notice the hand reaching up behind the blonde to snap picture of him as he left. (Scratch that, the arm that belonged to Mabel took multiple pictures, including the ones she took before Dipper left.)

Dipper found the eggs easily enough (after bumping into a couple shelves, and nearly tripping over his shoelaces into the magazine rack). When he went to pick them up, he noticed a lady out of the corner of his eye. She sniffed disapprovingly in his direction, covered the eyes of her two kids, and started to walk away. Dipper shrugged it off. He went to the checkout, where he tried getting his thoughts in order again.

Okay, I'm at the store, buying eggs. I'm tired. Why? Because I was up late last night. Last night? When was the last time I slept? It's Tuesday... right?

Dipper tapped the shoulder of the man in front of him. "Excuse me, sir."

The man turned his head, then his eyes widened a little when he saw Dipper. "Y-yes?" he stammered. The man briefly considered offering the brunet a handkerchief, but that train of thought was cut off by Dipper asking his question.

"What's the day today?"

"Friday."

"Okay, thanks."

The man gave him one last look and faced the register as his turn came.

So today's Friday, Dipper thought. Huh. Thought it was Tuesday. Last time I slept was... last... Friday. Oops. What was I working on? There was... a report... a business one...?

Dipper snapped out of his thoughts as he heard snickering not too far off. He turned to his left to see a group of three or four children whispering to each other—sometimes glancing up to point at him, albeit not very discreetly. They noticed him watching and turned around, still giggling. Puzzled, Dipper reached a hand up to his hair and noticed his bangs weren't quite where they should be.

They must have seen my birthmark, he thought. Dangit, Dipper, get your act together.

He used his fingers to brush the hair over his forehead and stepped up to the register as his turn came up. The cashier eyed him curiously as she rang up the eggs.

"Umm... sir. Have... You do realize..." She didn't really know how to word her question. She shook her head and decided not to bring it up. The man in front of her probably already knew, so the cashier continued the transaction as normal. "Do you want any bags?"

"No thanks." Dipper took the eggs and went back to the car. He was feeling a little more awake now, so he decided to take stock again.

Got the eggs. I'm tired. Why? Because I fell asleep working on a report for Great Uncle Ford, and one for Soos, and tried to do some calculus homework. The people at the store were looking at me funny. Why? Probably because I didn't bother to brush my hair at all. I must look like a mess. Do I care? Nnn... maybe.

Dipper went to start the engine and glanced in the rear-view mirror... and did a double-take when he saw the red marks on his face. He pulled the overhead mirror down and inspected the marks. He blushed that same colour as he realized they were lipstick marks... all over his face... and he went in the store... where all those people saw him. He let his head fall onto the steering wheel with a thump.

So... when that woman saw me... a-and those kids... they were laughing at...

"Aw man," he whined out loud. He looked in the mirror again to inspect the marks that had caused his humiliation. They were scattered all over his face—forehead, nose, cheeks, jaw, one on his eye. Feeling behind his ear, Dipper found a small, rolled-up sticky note, with a quick message scrawled on it: Finally wake up, Sleeping Beauty? He rested his forehead on the wheel again.

Awesome, he thought sarcastically. Just great. I can only imagine what all those people were thinking.

On the bright side, he wasn't tired anymore. Quite the contrary, he was fully alert and already trying to figure out a way to get back at the culprit.

Or, maybe, culprits.

If you're reading my other story—What Do Ya Think?—please read this message:

Sorry about the uncalled for hiatus. It's taking a little longer than I thought to get some things done. (And I'm not exaggerating when I say I've gotten through at least five drafts of the latest episode.) So, really sorry. *mumbles* Gotta do better than that... *clears throat* I sincerely apologize for taking so long to complete this task. Aside from the writer's block (how I loathe to call it that), I just haven't been feeling like myself for the past couple weeks. Excuses, excuses, I know. All in all, I'm just letting you know that I'm still alive, still here, and that I'm still writing those couple requests. So... ciao!

"And may the odds be ever in your favour."
~Effie Trinket, Hunger Games

(*coughs awkwardly* IDK, I just felt like writing that.)