Hey, guys. My second Gravity Falls fanfiction here. I hope you like the start of this one.
WARNINGS! READ!: TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR!: - abuse, alcohol use, violence, language, future (light) sexual content. That's all I can think of right now, but there are the warnings.
I hope you guys like so far, please leave a review, it helps me continue with the story! I'm taking a light break from "Dissociate" because I'm a little stuck on it, but it shall resume soon, so no worries.
The sound of Converse sneakers hitting linoleum flooring resounded through the busy halls of WoodWorth High School. "'Scuse me! Getting through here!" yelled a lanky male, pushing past the numerous students flooding the area. He huffed tiredly, trying to catch his breath as he rounded a corner, his shoes squeaking furiously. He expertly dodged past incoming students, mumbling apologizes. Every so often he would glance over his shoulder, stealing looks at the three young men chasing him.
"PINES!" yelled one of the pursuers, anger in his voice. "GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!"
"Fuck…" Dipper cursed under his breath, his legs cramping. His eyes widened in relief as he saw the men's bathroom, darting inside, hoping his pursuers hadn't noticed. He finally caught his breath, leaning over with his hands on his knees, at the edge of gagging. Sweat rolled down Dipper's forehead, his brown hair stuck to the sides of his face. "Jesus fuck, they never let down…" Dipper coughed. He was left alone in the bathroom, the sound of dripping water plip plopping into the sinks. The door swung open, banging against the wall behind it harshly. Dipper rolled his eyes. Guess not. He thought. The sound of three pairs of boots clicked on the tiled floors, following in one after another.
"Hey, Pines." A gruff voice bounced off of the walls of the small restroom.
Dipper slowly got up, air back in his lungs at last. He spun around, ready for whatever these bullies had for him today. "Hey, man." He replied, a cheesy grin on his face. He quickly surveyed his attackers. Davie, John and Mike. All upperclassmen. Davie's the leader. The other two are just followers. Dipper recognized.
Davie was the stereotypical jock; the school colors of brown and red shown proudly on his hundred dollar varsity jacket, along with many patches and pins. His short black hair was greased to the max, and this guy was over the top buff.
John was just about as lanky as Dipper, but followed behind Davie like a lost puppy, at his every beck and call. His messy blond hair reached his shoulders, barely covering his eyes.
Mike had the kind of face that screamed, 'Hey! Punch me!', according to Dipper. He reeked like a gallon of body spray and raging teenage hormones, but somehow he had girls head over heels for him. Mike's slick brown hair and sideburns reminded Dipper of Wolverine; he expected him to grow sharp knives out of his knuckles at any minute.
"Don't give me that 'hey, man' bullshit, Pines. I aint dealing with that shit today." Davie snapped, cracking his knuckles.
Dipper shrugged. Might as well not fight it. I've lived through a year of it already and I can live through this one too. Dipper thought, trying to see the light of the situation. Sophomore year sucks so far. And I've got seven more months of this torture. "Alright, Davie. I've got class to go to next, so just… let's get this over with. Lay it on me." Dipper sighed, leaning against a stall door, bracing himself for the oncoming punishment.
"You think you're funny…?" Davie grunted. "Because I'm not laughing." He grabbed Dipper by the front of his shirt, throwing him against the opposite wall. The air was knocked out of Dipper's lungs, leaving him to groan in response. He slid down the wall, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted. Davie motioned his friends over. "Hey guys, Pines thinks he's funny. Give him something to laugh about." He backed out of the way to let the others do his dirty work, smirking from behind John and Mike. Dipper was kicked in the gut by Mike, which left him writhing on the floor in pain. The two continued to kick Dipper while he was down, leaving him trembling in a ball. Davie held up a hand to signal the two to stop. "Alright, guys. Let's get out of here. I think Pines has had enough for today." He chuckled slightly. "We had fun. See you tomorrow, Pines." And with that, the three assailants left.
It took several minutes for Dipper to get up as he gasped and squirmed in pain on the dirty bathroom floor, his sides and gut sore. He stumbled out of the bathroom, feeling defeated. He roamed the quiet empty halls. Classes were over for the day. Dipper lifted up the sleeve of his blue varsity jacket and glanced at his watch, the digital timestamp showing '3:32 PM'. "Fuck, the next bus will be here in five minutes. I missed the first one. I can make it out in time for this one." Dipper cursed under his breath, making his way down the hall and pushing open the double doors to the outside world. The bright California sun blinded him, causing him to shield his eyes with his hand, squinting. He trudged to the bus stop, mingling with the other students. Dipper stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, humming to himself.
The bus rolled up to the stop, coming to a halt and letting off hot steam with a screech. Dipper was pushed and shoved for a spot to be first on the bus, grunting in pain with every elbow that made contact with his bruised sides. Dipper settled for last in line, making his way to the only available seat, numerous eyes staring at him as he sat down. Dipper stuffed his earbuds in his ears and pushed play on his music device, turning up the volume over the loud kids on the bus. He zoned out until the bus rolled up to his house, and Dipper swallowed the lump in his throat. Home.
Dipper got up from his seat, slinging his bag over his shoulder and making his way down the walkway, the eyes staring him down once more before he hopped off. The bus rolled on to the next destination, leaving Dipper behind in a cloud of rank diesel fuel. Dipper felt as if he was rooted to his spot on the sidewalk. He stared the picture-perfect house down; its stucco finish, neatly trimmed bushes and gleaming windows beckoning him closer. It may look picture-perfect on the outside, but it may have as well been called the definition of hell to Dipper on the inside.
Dipper swallowed his fear as he took a step closer to the house, and another. Soon he was at the door, fishing out a key from his pants pocket. He shoved the key into the lock, turning it and hearing a click, opening the door with a creak. He shut the door quietly, slipping off his shoes and placing them with the others by the door, neatly in a line, organized by family member. No one seems to be home yet. Dipper made his way upstairs, opening the door to his bedroom and going in, shutting the door and locking it behind him. He slid down the door, closing his eyes and smiling slightly in relief. Dipper took a few more moments to relax, before hopping up carefully, keeping his bruises in mind. "Finally, finally, finally…" Dipper huffed, rummaging through a locked box under his bed. He sifted through it before pulling out a flask, unscrewing it with shaking hands and taking a large gulp, liquid dribbling down his chin.
Dipper sucked down the remainder of the flask's contents, the strong liquor burning his throat. He gripped the container tightly in his hand, scooting to the nearest wall, leaning against it and closing his eyes. The pain in his gut and sides started ebbing away, but Dipper knew it wouldn't last long. He fumbled with his phone, jamming his headphones into the port and succeeding after several tries, lazily shoving the earbuds into his ears, pressing play and resuming the music he was listening to earlier. The music played loudly; Dipper sitting in a dazed stupor, oblivious to his surroundings. Drunk. Hazy.
The blaring music drowned out the soft knocking on Dipper's bedroom door, evenly spaced and gentle. "Brother, brother." Came a quiet, cheerful voice. Dipper continued to stare off into oblivion. "It's your sister, Dipper! Open, open!" Mabel called, a little louder this time. She waited patiently for the door to open, no footsteps sounding from behind the closed door or shuffling. Mabel shrugged, holding a key in her hand, inserting it into the lock and turning the doorknob. She opened the door to Dipper's room, walking in and shutting it behind her, smiling brightly. "Oh, dear brother. Are you acting silly again?" Mabel asked, blinking at Dipper who was sitting against the wall, clutching the empty flask in his hand. Mabel skipped up to him, plucking the earbuds out of his ears. Dipper looked slowly up at his sister, a blank expression on his face. Mabel's eyes trailed to the flask. "That's brother's Silly Drink." She frowned.
"Fuck off, Mabel." Dipper mumbled incoherently. Mabel smiled and shrugged, skipping to the door and opening it to go back to her own room, leaving Dipper alone with the door slightly ajar. Dipper sighed, unable to get up and close it himself.
"And you go here!" Mabel giggled, admiring her large house of dolls, identical to her own family. The dollhouse was a bright pastel pink, white trimming with four large rooms and an attic. She had made it herself, rather proud of it, finishing it in a matter of days. She had made all of the dolls herself, crafting them to perfection with the likelihood of her family. Mabel grabbed a rag doll that had the striking resemblance of Dipper, patting the brown, stringy yarn hair. "It's alright, brother. I know you need the Silly Drink because of Daddy. He's meaner to you than he is to me." A look of sadness fell on Mabel's face but disappeared as soon as it had come. "But in here, in my perfect house, you don't need it. Daddy and Mommy are nice, they love each other and they love us. They don't hurt us." She grinned as she picked up the ragdolls of her parents, making them kiss. "See? They love each other. We are all happy. We have smiles." She poked each of the dolls' faces in turn, indicating the painted on grins. Mabel's smile fell as she heard the front door slam downstairs, shaking the house and making the toy figures rattle on Mabel's shelves.
"God DAMNIT!" yelled an angry male voice, resounding through the house.
Dipper blinked, recognizing the voice through his haze. Dad. He thought bitterly. The slamming downstairs continued. Dipper closed his eyes as he heard loud footsteps stomping up the stairs. Here we go.
Dipper's door was kicked open, the wood meeting the wall behind it, splintering slightly. "GABRIEL SCOTT PINES!" Dipper's father bellowed and Dipper flinched at the mention of his full name. He stood in the threshold, his face red with rage. "Ditching class again?! Are you fucking drunk, AGAIN?!" Dipper's father yelled, eyeing the flask and Dipper's mannerisms indicating that the young, seventeen year old teen was intoxicated. Dipper gathered the strength to shrug, a look of indifference on his face. His father looked at him in disgust before quickly walking up to him, grabbing Dipper by the back of his jacket and lifting him up, pinning him to the wall.
Mabel hummed as she played with her dolls, blocking out the commotion in the room next door. A large bang rattled a shelf on the wall, causing a stuffed elephant to topple over and onto the floor. "Dipper is okay. Father is just mad again." Mabel nodded to herself, smoothing out her frilly pink dress. She straightened out the laced white bow in her hair, twirling a finger in her long, wavy brown locks. The walls of her room swallowed the shouting and banging next door. Muffled, incoherent responses from Dipper went unanswered by his father. Only angry shouting from one party pursued, shutting the young boy up. A door slammed, footsteps rushing downstairs and out the front door from where they came.
Dipper writhed on the floor of his bedroom, clutching his stomach in agony. He crawled over to the nearest trashcan in his room and hurled into it, shaking. "F-fuck…" he gulped for air, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, the sick taste of alcohol and vomit burning in his throat. I just want to sleep before he comes back again… Dipper thought, his stomach churning, warning him for a second emptying. The room spun as Dipper rolled himself onto his back, coughing, his sides and gut aching badly, the pain excruciating. He didn't even want to look at how bad the bruises were now; and now that his father had finished the job he was sure it was much worse. Dipper didn't even want to think about going to school tomorrow. He knew he would have a massive hangover, have to deal with Davie and his followers again, and then come home. A constant cycle of torment. Dipper thought darkly. Day after day, it was always the same. The school was so oblivious that he could even get away with being drunk in class. They never paid any attention. They never care.
I'm Dipper Pines. And this is my life.