The Children Under the Tree's of Our Youth

by Artistically-Morbid

An AU I made for Parapines. Was going to originally post it on Tumblr, but it was too big to post in one, so I'm going to post it here. Warning: contains sensitive material. This is a sad, depressing AU, so just be warned. This isn't some happy go lucky Parapines where they hold hands and chase spooky ghosties through the woods.

My parents feared me.

It wasn't hard to understand. When you can speak to the dead, most people tend to be afraid of you. Nothing's worse than giving birth to a necromancer. Seeing a kid talking to thin air isn't exactly what you would call normal. Those poor parents, having to raise such a...child. That's what I was, That Child. It was uttered with such contempt, such repulsion. Folks would stare at me from the other end of the sidewalk, That Child on the tips of their lips, threatening to carry in the wind. Squinting eyes, snarky smirks, There goes that child again. I'm not deaf, but sometimes I wish I were. Then I wouldn't be able to hear the voices, living or dead.

I tried not to talk to the dead. I really did. I knew my parents were fed up with the rumors, the whispers, the looks. With me.

I tried...I truly did. But if I didn't talk to them in the day, they invaded me in the night. I can't tell you how many times they've morphed my dreams, turning counting sheep into horrifying recollections of a gruesome death not my own, but so real that it felt as such. They wanted me to help them, and when I ignored them, they found ways to grab my attention again. Possession hurts more than you think. Those crazy exorcist movies can't even measure to what it really feels like to remove a spirit from inside you. There's a burning; so hot, you feel like you're melting from the inside. There's a tearing as you rip the spirit's soul from your own, like pulling a band aid slowly from your skin. There's a whole lot of quick movement; your head whipping in different directions, threatening to snap in two. You want to scream but you're so drained you can't find your voice. You thrash against the sheets, clinging desperately for a lifeline that isn't there, needing something, anything to anchor you. Your memories are jumbled with those of the spirits and you see flashes of red, blue, and white before there's a scream and then black. The scream is never your own, but it ripples up your spine and leaves you shivering and in a cold sweat. How many nights I've lost sleep for the fear of having to go through it again.

My parents had finally had enough of me when I was thirteen. They said that I was going to a special place to help with my "gift". In other words, I was going to the place that housed the schizophrenic's and the nut jobs. I knew this day was coming; the hushed phone calls behind semi-closed doors. The whispered arguments drifting from the paper thin walls. The pamphlets stuffed deep in the unused kitchen drawers. I saw all the signs, I just never figured they would follow through, and so soon. While my mom was terrified and ashamed of me, she still held some semblance of love for me. I figured she'd hold dad off for a few more years, just until I had enough cash stored away to make a run for it when this day came. I guess I was wrong. I barely had enough to get out of Blithe Hollow.

"Don't worry honey. It'll be fine, you'll see," my mother cooed as I sat sulking in the back of the car. My stuff was packed and we were all ready to go, some of us more reluctant than others. Courtney sat quietly at my left, giving me a prolonged glance before averting her eyes back to the window again. I wish I knew what she was thinking. It's always hard to tell with her sometimes.

"Yeah," my dad butted in, starting the car as he spoke. His input was the last thing I wanted. "Think of it as a vacation."

If this was supposed to be a vacation, god was playing a very sick joke on me.

---

When I arrived, I could already tell I wasn't going to have a good time. There were kids in the courtyard, staring at me through blank eyes. A chain link fence surrounded them as they crowded against one another, watching our car as it moved closer to its destination. They had a face that screamed, "It's a trap. Turn back around kid. Run as fast as you can." I really wish I could. Break through the door and roll into the street like those characters in action movies, narrowly avoiding an incoming 16-wheeler like they always did. But dad had the doors locked and I had a feeling I wouldn't be as lucky as the action stars. Besides, everyone knows actors don't do their own stunts.

There were men and women in lab coats standing by the front entrance. Waiting for me. A feeling of dread coursed down my spine and I swallowed the bile that threatened to bubble up. Why was the car spinning?

The car began to slow as it neared the front, the tires scraping against the gravel. The sound only continued to further intimidate me. This was happening. This was really happening. My parents were leaving me in a nut house. OH GOD!

Dad shut the ignition off and everybody scrambled to get out: everyone, except me. "Come on honey, there's nothing to worry about. Everything will be fine," my mother promised, trying to soothe my frayed nerves. But her promises meant nothing to me. She was leaving me here, her youngest child, her only son; in my eyes, this was the ultimate form of abandonment. Her promises were no longer trustworthy. How could you hold to a promise, when you already broken the biggest promise you ever made as a mother, the promise of always loving and protecting your child?

Dad was pulling my stuff out of the trunk, the men and women in lab coats coming over to help. Don't touch my stuff.

One of the women came to my window and gave me a smile. "Hello young man, what's your name?" Don't talk to me.

"Now son, don't be rude. Tell them your name," my dad reprimanded. Don't tell me what to do.

"His name's Norman," Courtney answered in my place. Don't tell them my name.

"Come on Norman, you have to get out," my mother said gently. Don't talk to me with such a sweet voice.

"Noman! Get out right now!" Don't yell at me.

"Norman," Shut up

"Norman?" Shut Up

"NORMAN!" SHUT UPPPPP!

"I'm coming dad," I finally replied. I opened the door and stepped out. Already I could see them: the ghost. This place was filled with the dead, I could feel the aching in my bones.

My stuff was in the arms of each doctor. I guess I had to say goodbye now, didn't I?

My mom leaned down and held me, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Don't worry Norman, you'll see. In no time at all you'll be better and back at home. Everything's going to be fine," she whispered. They were more empty promises.

"Bye son," my dad said, giving me a pat on the head. Not even a hug, talk about father of the year award.

My sister remained silent. This was the longest she had ever gone without talking. It was unnerving.

They all gathered back into the car and dad started the ignition. I wanted to scream in that moment, scream and beg for them not to go. Cry my eyes out until mom felt so guilty that they would have no choice but to take me home. Instead I stood quietly, showing no emotion on my face as the car began to turn away. There was nothing I could say, nothing I wanted to say to them. I could cry and beg, but I didn't want them to see me so weak, so dependent of them. They had betrayed me. They had betrayed my trust. They had branded me crazy and left me for dead. I thought they had loved me, I thought I was their son. I felt disowned, forgotten. I felt...

I watched the car drive away, my family inside and me out here. One of the doctors placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. I only felt sick.

Don't abandon me...

---

I was given my own room. Most people are given roommates, but I guess none of the doctors wanted to place another kid in here with a "necromancer". They probably thought I'd perform some voodoo-human sacrifice on them. It didn't matter to me whether I had one or not; at least I could be left to my own devices. Well somewhat. Every hour a doctor would check on me to make sure I wasn't doing anything that was...'odd' or 'out of place'. These hourly check ups usually stretched to a 2 hour checkup around midnight; so that doctors wouldn't wake any of the patients while they slept, but they usually reverted back to 1 hour by 6am. If there was ever a time to perform my "voodoo witchcraft", I would make sure it was around one in the morning.

"Are you hungry Norman?" The lady who had showed me to my room asked. She told me her name earlier, but since she's technically my enemy, I chose not to remember it.

I want to tell her to leave me alone; that all I really wanted to do was sleep this off and pray to some unknown force that this was all a nightmare, but my stomach answered before I did. Traitorous bastard.

"Come on, I'll show you to the cafeteria," she said, taking me by the hand and leading me to some unknown destination. My cheeks burned as I tried to shake her hold off me. This was embarrassing, being dragged along like some five year old child. I knew how to follow, I wasn't going to run off...actually, maybe it was a good thing she was leading me by the hand.

We took many lefts down endless hallways, then finally took a right into a long corridor. There was only one door at the very end of the corridor, unlike the other halls that held multiple doors. It was a double door and a large neon sign hung from the top, spelling out 'C-A-F-E-T-E-R-I-A'. "At this time, we also allow our patients to wander outside and enjoy the fresh air. Of course, don't think you can run off; the whole place is surrounded by a chain linked fence. And don't try climbing over it either, or else you'll get a little shock," she said, laughing like she had told the funniest joke. Well this is comforting.

She dropped my hand and began shooing me in the direction of the cafeteria. Halfway there, I turned back around to see if she was still there. She was. This one's a lot smarter than I thought.

Entering the cafeteria, I found that I may or may not suffer from a slight case of claustrophobia. The room was too small and there were too many people, and that's excluding the non-living ones. The room was loud, way too loud. There was screaming amidst the moans of the dead, and whining amidst the cries of the living. I placed my hands over my ears, trying to block out the voices; there were voices on top of voices. I looked for an escape and saw the door that led outside. Even if it wasn't quiet or empty, it was better than being in here. I made for the door at a fast pace, dodging the people who reached out to grab me or yank at my jacket. I wanted to go home.

Outside, I found refuge under an old oak tree. There was no one around that spot, which was surprising because there wasn't even a ghost floating about it. It looked like a good place to lie down and think over my sad excuse of a life, so I sat there, my knees pulled up around me. The other children were running around the field below me, screaming like they were three years old when they were probably about my age, maybe even older.

"I've never seen you before. Are you new?" a voice asked, directly in my ear. I felt my skin crawl and I flipped around, ready to sock the kid who had made me nearly shit myself. My fist were raised too, but I stopped when I saw the boy who had spooked me. He was wearing an orange T-shirt, a blue puffer vest over it. His shorts were gray and stopped at his mid-thighs; his knees were covered in grass stains and bandages. He was wearing a pair of black Chuck's, white socks pulled up high and to complete his ensemble, a light brown hat with a dark brown star sewn into the top. But it was his face that really caught my attention. He had a baby face, smooth and showing no signs of puberty yet. He had a button nose that stood out on his pale skin; it being a rosy contrast to the white. Most of his hair was covered behind his hat, except for his bangs which covered his forehead and curled upwards in little chocolate swirls. He had tiny freckles decorating his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. But his eyes. It was his eyes that tripped me out most. I had never seen a person with battier eyes than the boy in front of me. They were way too wide on his face, like he was purposely trying to open them past their limit. They were hazel, the normal brown mixed in with bits of green, specks of a much darker shade of brown and flashes of gold. It was both hypnotizing and frightening, staring into the eyes of a boy clearly off his rocker.

"Umm...who are you?" I asked, attempting to shimmy away from him without letting him know that I was. The boy took another step forward, wobbling slightly as he tried to keep himself balanced on the balls of the feet. I scooted back again. He wobbled closer.

"When did you get here? I've been here for awhile, so I would have seen you here before. I always remember a face. My sister says I have the best memory," the boy continued proudly. I scooted another inch back.

"Again, I ask...who are you?"

The boy stared mindlessly, his smile reaching up past his cheeks. His eyes never seemed to blink. "I'm Dipper. And this," he said, gesturing to nothing in particular, "is my sister Mabel."

I followed the direction of his hands, trying to see this girl named Mabel. There was no "body" there: neither a fleshy one, nor a transparent one. Yep, clearly off his rocker.

"Nice to meet you and your...sister?" I said, preparing my legs to bolt. I didn't need to be associating with crazy people. I was already deemed crazy enough.

"What's your name?" Dipper asked, cocking his head to the side, his smile never faltering. I felt unnerved by it greatly.

"I'm...listen, I really have to be going back so if you don't mind-" I began, hoping he'd get the message to buzz off.

"Why?" He didn't.

"Why what?"

"Why are you going? Lunch isn't over. Where do you have to go? Do you have to go take your medicine?"

"I don't need medicine," I growled, my patience wearing thin with him.

"Then why are you leaving?"

"It's cold," I said, fishing for an excuse. He laughed.

"It's not cold, its 75 degrees out. That's not cold at all."

"Well I'm cold."

"Are you a reptile?"

"WHAT?"

"Reptiles are normally cold blooded and since you obviously can't be human, because you're cold when it's hot out, you must be some sort of reptile. Are you part snake?"

"I-"

"Mabel says you're more lizard-like. Are you part lizard?"

"No I-"

"See, I told you Mabel he wasn't a lizard. He must be part sn-" I had had enough.

"JESUS CHRIST KID, What part of get out of my face are you not getting? Are you brain dead?" I shouted, the weight of today finally hitting full force. All the pent up anger I was feeling at my family had finally boiled over and I was going to take it out on someone, even if it was a kid I hardly knew. He turned back to me from the conversation he was having with his "invisible" sister. He blinked once. Twice. Three times, trying to process the words I had just thrown in his face. When it finally registered, his smile disappeared.

"I...I don't know what I am?" he finally muttered, his head drooping. His eyes fell to his hands, which were shaking just slightly. Those bright, crazed, eyes of his dulled and his lips pulled into a soft frown. He seemed suddenly unsure and self-conscious of himself. My chest tightened with a heavy presence. Darn my guilty conscious.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to-"

"No...I...I really don't know what I am," he said again, and I stopped to listen. "Mom says I'm sick...but I don't know why? I don't have a cold, my stomach doesn't hurt? But she keeps telling me that I'm sick, and I need to stay here. But...I don't understand what it is that's making me sick?" he looked so confused, like a lost lamb. Poor thing, doesn't even realize he's living in a slaughter house.

"How long have you been here Dipper?" I heard myself ask. He bit his lip, struggling to remember. Days must blend together when you're here. Is there even a calendar in this place? Or a clock for that matter?

"I'm fourteen now...so...four years at most. I came here when I was ten...I think?" Four Years?! At Most?! I Think?!

"A-and you don't know why you're here?" I asked again.

He shook his head. I began to wonder if it had something to do with "Mabel".

"You're parents didn't tell you why you were here?"

"No...they just said that it was best if I stayed here until I felt better."

I nodded, pretending I understood. So his parents had abandoned him too. I felt even guiltier for screaming at him, especially since he didn't even understand what he was doing wrong.

"Dipper...can I ask you something?"

He nodded, those eyes widening further (If that was possible) to focus on me.

"Do your parents...can they see...do they know your sister's with you?" I asked, trying to find how best to phrase this.

Dipper's frown seemed to deepen and he began picking at a scab on his knee. "Mom and dad don't like me talking to Mabel. They usually ignore her, and when I bring her up, they get mad. I don't know why they get so mad? Mabel's my sister, they're supposed to love the both of us. Mabel says I'm their favorite, which is why they ignore her. But that's not right. I love my sister, so they should too. They're shouldn't be a favorite," he grumbled, his eyes beginning to dampen.

"And is Mabel your big sister or your little sister?" I asked, looking at the empty space next to him.

"Can't you see the resemblance? We're twins. We've always been twins, although she's a couple minutes older than me, but don't say anything or she'll rub it in my face," he scowled, glaring at the space where his sister was supposedly.

"Oh, of course, I can see it now," I lied. So the kid didn't get it. Even if he was a few screws loose, I found myself pitying him rather than ostracizing him "Do the doctors see her?"

"No, she hides when they come. She never did like hospitals," Dipper muttered absently, adjusting the cap on his head.

"I see."

He nodded, and then began to rise to his feet. "Where are you going?" I asked. I don't know why I wanted him to stay all of a sudden, but I felt somewhat drawn to him. He was definitely out of his mind, but he didn't seem dangerous, so I found myself not afraid. He was like me in a way. In here for a reason he couldn't figure out why. I had an idea as to why, but I didn't want to say it; plus, I didn't quite know if it was right. He was innocent at heart, that much I understood. His innocence, mixed with those batty eyes, and I found myself intrigued.

"Lunch is over. The doctors want us in by the end of lunch. They get upset if we're out here longer. I have to meet with one of the nurses anyways. She wants to talk to me some more. I never quite understand what she's getting at. She goes to say something, but stops halfway and stutters something irrelevant. Mabel says she has something she wants to tell me, but she never gathers the courage to actually tell me what it is. Maybe she will today? I don't know. She ask about Mabel a lot though," Dipper said, dusting the grass from his knees and butt. I knew exactly who he was meeting with and exactly what she wanted to tell him. I chose not to say it though. I'll let him figure it out for himself.

"Hey Dipper?" I said as he was turning to leave. He glance back over his shoulder in response.

"Yeah?"

"I never told you my name...I'm sorry," I apologized; for more than one reason of course.

"It's okay," he replied. He seemed to understand the weight of my words. I was glad I didn't have to explain myself further.

"It's Norman, in case you were wondering."

And it was the first time he smiled since I yelled at him, but it was softer, less Cheshire. It was the smile of a normal, young boy and it made my heart flutter with something I had never felt before. Those eyes of his flashed with gold and gentle mischief. Yes, I was very intrigued now.

---

I spent the rest of the afternoon looking over the schedule the doctors had left on my bed and unpacking my belongings. I pulled out a picture of my best friend's, Salma and Neil. This picture was taken the year we spent that one special winter wonderland together. Neil is smiling despite dripping from head to toe from the snow that had been dumped over him by Salma. Salma is scowling, her arms crossed tightly over herself and her cheeks pink with embarrassment. I'm standing on the other side of Neil, my face set in a mix between worry and humor. The reason Neil is covered in melted slush is because he thought it'd be a good idea to slip some snow down Salma's shirt. He'd thought it loosen her up. It didn't.

I smiled fondly at the memory, gently placing the picture on the nightstand by my bed. My room consisted of a bed, a nightstand and a closet. There were no drawers on the nightstand. Probably so the patients can't hide anything from the doctors. It didn't matter, I didn't have any dirty magazines or crack stashed in my suitcase. I began to unfold my clothes, hanging them up on the available hangers in the closet. Other than my clothes and the picture of my friends, I had a few books on hand. They were mainly murder mystery or horror, the name Stephen King popping up on most of them. His books were hard to understand, and I usually got lost somewhere in between, but I won't tell you how many times I've read Carrie. 16...I've read it 16 times now. And don't even ask how many times I've pulled an all nighter to reread Pet Cemetery all the way through, cause I won't tell you. 22...22 sleepless nights.

I ran my fingers over the worn cover, the letters faded from age-old use. They say a book is truly loved when it's so worn that the words in the book are smudged to the point of illegibility, but you still know what each and every word is. That's what these book were to me. Even if it was hard to sometimes follow Stephen King, his books were always stuck in my head. If the doctors and nurses somehow believed that these books would be too hazardous for me and took them away, it wouldn't matter, because I could recite them from heart if I needed to. I smiled, stuffing the books under my bed. I also stuffed a small portable light under there as well. I had a feeling that when "lights out" were called, that was the end of it. Best to have it in case. I think I'll crack open and read Misery for the ninth time.

After I had finished packing and everything was put away, I began looking over my schedule. It seemed that just because I was at a mental ward, that didn't mean that I wouldn't be excused from education. Great to know that they believe in well-education loony's running about.

6:00-6:45: Breakfast

6:50-9:50: Morning studies

10:00-10:50: Morning Psychiatrist

11:00-11:15: Morning Medication

11:20-12:00: Lunch

12:10-12:25: In-room resting

12:30-1:50: Afternoon studies

2:00-2:40: Afternoon Psychiatrist

2:50-3:30: Outdoor exercise

3:40-5:20: Evening studies

5:30-6:30: Dinner

6:35-8:00: Movie (New one chosen every day)

8:10-9:40: In-room relaxation

9:50-9:55: Evening Medication

10:00: Lights out

Okay, what the hell? This schedule was all over the place, and what was that about medication? If they tried to force any pills down my throat, oh, it will not be pretty. They'll have to pry my jaw open and and hold my arms and legs because I will go down kicking and screaming before I ever let them feed me any medication.

I wanted to crumple the paper as an act of defiance...but I realized that just because I crumpled the paper, it didn't make things any different. I was still here, I would still have to follow their rules, I would still have to follow this schedule. I could rid myself of this paper, but I couldn't rid myself of this new life I was to live. I sighed, flopping down on my bed, the need to scream filling my lungs like poison.

My eyes found their way back to the picture of Salma and Neil. I reached over and picked it up again. Without realizing it, I felt my eyes begin to water, and it wasn't until minutes later, as they were running down my cheeks, that I realized this was the first time I had let myself cry. Even when I knew what was happening prior, even when my parents were abandoning me on the front doors of this mental institute, I didn't shed a single tear. But now, staring at this picture that suddenly seemed so long ago, did the ache and pain begin to fully sink in. I pulled the frame to my chest and hugged the living life out of it. I prayed that someway, somewhere, somehow, Neil and Salma would feel the power of my hug, even if Salma wasn't the touchy-feely type. I hoped they would feel it and would feel just how much I would miss them. I wondered if they would miss me too.

There came a soft knock at my door. "Mr. Babcock...I have come for your afternoon studies," a man's voice called softly from the other side of the door. I took those last few seconds to compose myself before finally answering.

"Come in..."

---

After Dinner, the bunch of us were lead into a giant auditorium. I could tell by the excited chattering and jittery expressions that something was about to happen. It was obvious that this occurrence happened on more than one occasion. I pulled out my schedule and looked down at my watch. 6:32. That meant the movie was up next. Were they actually going to show us a movie? Why would they do that? I shrugged; it was probably to keep us entertained, to give us a little break from the studies, and the medicine, and the "talking out our emotions" crap. I just hope it wasn't some cheesy kids movie. I mean, some people here have the mental capacity of a five year old, but if they play something like Blue's Clues or Barney, I'm out.

Speaking of medicine, I found out that medicine is only administered to people the psychiatrist feels needs it. If my psychiatrist thinks I'm in danger of having a break down or going on a rampage to destroy the place, he can sign me up for prescriptions. If I behave myself, I may only need to see a counselor and can carry on my merry way. I made a note not to do anything that would require me to get signed up. If I played my cards right, I wouldn't need any "injections", as my afternoon teacher told me. Looks like it wasn't as simple as swallowing some pills. I guess that makes sense; I don't think most kids would willingly open their mouths to have brightly colored pills shoved down them.

I found a seat somewhere near the back. I wanted to be as close to the door as possible, and as far away from everyone else as I could be. I had my head trained on the exit, so I only heard the person sit down in the seat next to me, his chair creaking as he put his weight down on it. If they start breathing heavily on me or try to pull my hair, I will not be responsible for giving them a bloody nose.

"Hi Norman."

I knew that voice. Hard to forget it when I had been talking to him only hours ago. I stopped my staring contest with the door and turned to the boy named Dipper. The spot next to him was empty. He had his hand on the empty seat though, indicating that no one else was allowed to sit there. So Mabel came to watch too then.

"Hello Dipper. How were your studies?" I asked, trying to be a casual as possible. How casual do you have to be to a person who probably doesn't even know what the word casual means?

He shrugged, though his face kept that overly-wide grin as he spoke. "Alright I suppose. My teacher talked to me about how the end of World War Ⅰ lead into the beginning of World War Ⅱ."

"Oh...how so?"

"Well..." he began, gnawing his cheek as he tried to remember. "After the War, Europe went looking for someone to pin all the blame on. Instead of just saying, "It was all our faults", they put the blame on Germany."

"Why Germany?" I asked, finding myself interested. I had never learned about this before; it was sort of fascinating, and watching him explain it to me was kind of adorable. He just looked so happy that someone was listening to him.

"Well because it was Germany who used the most weapons and did the most damage. So they made Germany sign this agreement saying that it was all their fault and they would take full responsibility for what they did. They were punished greatly after signing it, like losing their military men and equipment. They also had people watching them constantly. The Germans didn't like that much. Eventually all the anger and resentment towards the agreement they were forced to sign got the better of them and they declared war. They're allies were the Japanese and Italians. They were known as the Axis Powers. Oh and Russia was an ally too, until Germany turned on them and began invading. And that's all we learned for today. Tomorrow we're going into further detail about the events of the Holocaust," he finished, beaming by the end.

"Wow, you're really smart Dipper. I'm surprised."

"Why would you be surprised?" he asked, his smile faltering. "Did you not expect me to know this?"

I felt my cheeks flare up in embarrassment. "No...I didn't mean...I just thought that..."

"That I wouldn't know it, didn't you?" He narrowed his eyes and I knew I had offended him. Great job genius.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like that." I wanted to hit myself. Of course, just because he's loopy, that doesn't automatically make him an idiot. Aren't mad scientist really loopy and smart? Isn't that why they're called mad scientist? The thought of Dipper being a mad scientist didn't sit well in my stomach. We didn't need a fourteen-year-old boy building people out of corpses, now did we?

He tried to hold his glare, but failed in the end. He let out a sigh of defeat and his entire being seemed to deflate as the air left his lungs. "It's okay. It's not the first time someone assumed so. I don't know why they would? Does being here label me as dumb? I know that most kids who live here aren't very bright, but I know a few who are really smart. One kid is super good at chess; he once beat a kid with his eyes closed. And another knew how to solve this really tough equation that none of us could figure out; he did it in 10 seconds flat! So you see, they aren't all dumb. They're just all sick...like me," he said, rubbing at his arm and focusing his attention to his laces. "Although, I guess I couldn't call myself smart when I can't even figure out why I'm sick..." That feeling of guilt once more found itself wedged in the pit of my stomach. Why did this kid have to have such a kicked puppy dog look whenever he was sad?

Dipper then turned to the empty seat and began to address it, "Mabel, you don't know why I'm sick...do you?" There was a pause in which I assume Mabel was answering him. Judging by the pitiful sigh that left his lips, the answer wasn't what he was looking to hear. "You don't know either, hun? I guess maybe you're right Norman." Oh god, don't pin this on me. And don't look like that!

"Awww, come on, don't listen to me. I'm nothing more than a jerk. I'm sorry I thought you were dumb. You're really smart Dipper, smarter than me. Please don't be sad anymore, I'm real sorry," I begged. I didn't want to go to bed with this feeling in my stomach.

"You really mean it?"

I nodded, placing my hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

And just like that, the smile was back on his face. While it still made me uneasy, how far it stretched, I'd rather take his happy expressions over his depressed ones. His emotions changed as rapid as the wind. I had to be careful around him, cautious of what I said. He was like a mine and if I stepped wrong, I could set him off.

"Sooo," I said, looking to change the subject, "Do you have any idea what movie is playing?" It was the first time that I realized that the lights had dimmed and the previews were starting.

"Umm, I believe it's Grease. The people really like musicals here. It keeps their attention." Oh no, I don't want to have Beauty School Dropout stuck in my head all night...again. My sister was obsessed with that movie last year and played it over and over again. I just got myself to erase the lyrics from my head.

"You don't care for musicals?" I asked.

He shrugged, "Not really. I like the adventure ones better. My sister Mabel is more into musicals than I am. Although, if they had a movie with Babba, I would be more than happy to listen to that," he said, his eyes getting a faraway, dreamy look to them.

"Whose Babba?" The way he looked at me was like how someone might look when staring at a three-headed beast.

"Whose Babba? You're kidding! Sh-she's-she's like the most amazing singer that ever existed. She wrote Disco Girl?" I shook my head. "She wrote Nana-nia?" Another shake. "Jeez, that's like saying you don't know who the Mother and the Fathers are?"

"Ummmm..."

"No...No! Don't tell me you...oh my...Nononononono! This is not happening. This is not happening. I'm sitting next to a crazy man!" Hey, don't call the kettle black, pot!

"You HAVE to listen to them. I'll let you hear them tomorrow. I'll bring my IPod. Oh my I..." he shook his head in disappointment. I huffed. Now I was feeling insulted. The little brat.

Before I could even say anything else, the first song started and I groaned. My ears were not ready for this. Dipper giggled. I wanted to tell him to shut it, but his face was giving that cute look so I stuck to pouting instead, stealing glances at him every so often. His cheeks were tinged with pink, the freckles having disappeared from his face. He really need to stop with the faces.

---

That night, after the movie, I decided to drown myself in Misery. The book...not the emotion. I needed something to get the damn catchy tunes out of my head, and there was nothing better than a horror story to do so.

I spent the rest of the hour deep in my book, not even realizing it was lights out until there was a sharp rap on my door, followed by a doctor peering in to tell me they were going to turn off all the lights. There were no switches in our room; the lights were turned off by one switch somewhere in the faculties office. I nodded, knowing there was no way I was going to bed when I was already three chapters in. I'd just wait for all the lights to turn off before I went down and got my portable light tucked under my bed.

The doctor was going to close the door when he noticed the book in my hands. "Ahh, Misery? That's quite a good read. Do you enjoy books by Stephen King?"

"Yeah. I really like his writing style and the plot lines he cooks up."

He smiled at me, before his expression transformed to one of worry. "Yes, although, I'm a little wary of you having that book. You see, some doctors don't like patients to have things that might be...unsafe for them," I knew this was coming. I turned to give him my full attention, placing the book gently in my lap.

"Don't worry sir, you need not worry. I'm not planning to chop anyone's legs off and use an instrument of fire to stop the bleeding, I'm not planning to send an entire school to their deaths for spilling pig's blood all over my pretty, pink, prom dress, and you can be sure as hell I'm not going to crawl through human feces in an attempt to break out of here. I read them for enjoyment and have no desire to act out any of these scenarios that I've read."

This brought him some form of relief and he let out a noise that was a mix between a sigh and a laugh. "Well that's good to hear. But just to be sure, I'll inform your psychiatrist. You may not want to act them out now, but lets make sure you don't want to act them out later. Goodnight then." And with those final words he was gone.

I sighed, rolled my eyes and began searching for my light. What these people didn't understand, was that I wasn't insane. While my parents believed that there was something wrong, I knew in my heart that there wasn't. Sure I could see and talk to the dead and no one else could, but that didn't make me crazy...did it?

---

The next morning, after breakfast, my morning teacher gave me a tour of the place. She said it was best I learn my way around, since I may be here for awhile. I had no intention of staying here for more than a year.

"And this is the shower room. You'll be expected to take your shower after your outdoor exercise every afternoon. Two doors down is the laundry room. You'll be able to wash your clothes every Saturday, so you'll have them fresh for the next week. On sundays, we have church, but that's only if you want to go or if your parents have demanded it. Your parents didn't mention anything about being religious, so you have the choice to go or not. Church is held in the main auditorium where you watched the movie last night." I half-heartedly listened to her, my eyes focused on the thousands of ghost that occupied the halls. Many of them were very young looking, but there were a few older looking men and women. I noticed that the older ones were wearing straight-jackets and their eyes were similar to Dipper's, only less inviting.

"Ummm, Mrs...Mrs. Kennedy? Before this was a hospital for adolescents suffering from mental diseases...what was it?" I asked, breaking my stare with one of the ghost to look her in the eyes.

She gave me a sheepish grin, to hide the grimace that was threatening to make an appearance. "This used to be an asylum in the 1800's until the 1970's. After that, it was abandoned for awhile until 1985, when the co-founder refurbished it and turned it into an institute and hospital for young children suffering with mental illness."

"So, it's just a fancy term for an asylum then?"

"No, not an asylum. It's an institute to help nurture and care for children who are too...boisterous for their parents to handle."

"It's a place where parents leave their children because they can't deal with raising someone who isn't normal...isn't it?"

"Now Mr. Babcock, you are perfectly normal. Your parents have just informed us that you have an... active imagination."

"No...No I don't. I know I'm different. I know I'm not like other kids. I know I see things that others can't. I know I can talk to things that don't seem there. I know that I'm out of place in the world and people are afraid of the things I can do...but I was never going to hurt anyone."

"Of course you weren't..."

"...Then why does it feel like I'm being locked up? Why do I feel like I'm dangerous? Why did my parents give up on me? What did I do to feel like a criminal?" I let out a dry-heave and turned my back to her. My eyes were filling with tears and I willed them away. I wasn't going to let her see. No one would ever see my pain. I would make sure of it.

"Lets just continue the tour...shall we?" I said, already five paces ahead of her.

---

A week had passed since my stay here. I was getting used to it...or as used to it as someone like me could. I followed my schedule, kept my head down, and pretended like I couldn't see or speak to ghost. It was actually working well since the ghost never seemed to talk. Some made shrill screams and noises in the middle of the night, but that was about it. It still scared the living hell out of me.

The only thing that was really throwing me off balance was that boy. Sometimes he appeared... and other times he was nowhere to be found. Sometimes he would be standing right behind my shoulder, smiling like he hadn't seen me in years, and sometimes there was no one at all. I couldn't make heads or tails of his odd behavior. And the more this happened, the more obsessed I became in trying to find him. By the second week, whenever he didn't show up, I would go looking for him myself. I once skipped lunch just to find him, with no satisfying results.

It was Wednesday today and as I was pouring over "The Body" by Stephen King, chowing on I-don't-even-want-to-know-what-the-hell-this-was, I felt a shadow's presence looming over me. "Hey Dipper," I said, not even looking up to see who it was. I didn't need to.

"How'd you know it be me?" he asked, sitting beside me in the grass. We had, somehow, made a silent agreement that the tree we first met would be our usual hangout spot.

"Because I don't know any other person who comes over here and casually says hello to me," I answered. I didn't have to look over to know he was grinning from ear to ear. His smile was radiant enough that I could feel it.

"What'chu reading?" he asked again, leaning over to look at the book in my hands. His chin found perch on my shoulder.

"A book," I replied, flipping to the next page.

He laughed and I felt his warm breath caress the side of my cheek and chin. I knew the heat that was emanating from my cheeks was not from his breath.

"I know silly, but what is it called?"

"This story is called "The Body" but the book itself is titled "Different Seasons."

"How come?" Dipper inquired, truly fascinated. It was nice having someone who found interest in everything you said, even if that person found interest in everything period.

"Because this book holds four novellas."

"So... four stories in all then?"

"You got it."

"Oh cool. What's this one about?" he asked, scooching closer, spreading his legs out on either side of me. He wrapped his arms around my neck and adjusted himself to get more comfortable. I felt the heat in my face rise as I realized just how intimate this position looked.

"U-uhhh... well," I stopped to clear my throat which was much more constricted than I remembered it being, "It's about these four boys who go on an adventure to discover a dead body. It sounds pretty creepy, but this is actually one of his more tamer stories."

"Wow, how cool. Do they find it...the body I mean?"

"Yeah, they actually do. ...They find a lot of things, actually."

"Like what?"

"Friendship...I guess? If you want to count that, then yeah."

Dipper chuckled, his lips curling up in that famous grin of his. His eyes were closed and a gentle breeze rustled his hair. His face was red from the sun, masking his few freckles. I realized his brown hat wasn't on his head, but right next to him, allowing his curls to fly free in the autumn wind. Something in me started; my heart felt as if it had skipped a few beats.

"Will you read to me Norman?" he asked, opening one eye to peer at me.

"I can let you borrow the books if you want?" I offered. He shook his head.

"No...I can't really read," he whispered solemnly.

"You can't?" This surprised me. He was so smart, how could he not be able to read?

"I've tried to read before...but I can't handle it. I can't focus on the words. My body gets too restless and I find myself getting upset over words or sentences that aren't even that difficult. I once tried to read this children's book that barely had any words, but I couldn't focus and I lost my temper. I like it better when people read to me; it's easier to follow and I don't have to sit still and focus as hard." He looked away, ashamed of himself. I turned so my body would be facing his, placed my book down so I could use my fingers to cup his chin, and lifted his head so he would be looking into my eyes.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of Dipper. Reading isn't for everyone. I can understand. For eccentric people like you, sitting still must be a real challenge. If you don't have something to stimulate you, you become antsy and that begins to affect your mood. It's okay." I reached over to wipe the stray tear that had caught in his lashes.

"You don't think less of me because I can't read?" He looked so worried, so reliant on my opinion. Like my opinion mattered so much more than it really did. Maybe because he's never had someone's opinion to look to before, unless you count his sister's.

"Of course not Dipper. I don't think any less of you because you can't read. Promise." I linked my pinky with his and squeezed. He looked down at our hands, an expression of utter puzzlement, like he wasn't sure what was happening.

"What are you doing?"

"What?"

"This...what is this?" He shook our linked pinkies to show what he was talking about.

"It's a pinky promise."

"A what?"

"A pinky promise. When you make a pinky promise with someone, it means you're telling the truth and you promise never to lie to that person or betray their trust," I explained.

"Never?" he questioned.

"Never ever," I repeated.

He studied our fingers for a few seconds longer, before his face burst into a million different expressions of glee. I felt that same thudding in my heart again, like it missed a few beats, and I hoped beyond hope that he didn't hear it slamming in my rib cage, because it sounded way too loud in my ears, so I prayed it wasn't the same in his.

"So does that mean you'll read to me?"

---

The first time I read to Dipper, it was a week after I learned about his inability to read. After the movie we watched (Batman Begins), he took me to his room and told me we could hang out there until lights out. I noticed he had a second bed in his room, but after five minutes of waiting, I realized that the bed was going to remain unoccupied.

"Hey, where's your roommate?" I asked. He laughed, and I wondered what I had said that was so funny, because I was sure I was being serious when I asked.

"Silly, my sister's my roommate. You're so funny sometimes." Ah, right. I keep forgetting he has a "sister".

"Was your sister always your roommate?" I tried again.

"Nah...there was this one kid I had...but he moved out."

"Why?"

"I don't know, but I see him around. He tends to walk the other way when I come near. He probably has somewhere important to go." Or he's avoiding you. "Anyway, enough about that, did you bring the books?" He asked, his eyes alight with mirth.

"Yeah, I brought a few. Uh...where should I sit?" I asked, looking for a chair to sit on, even though I knew it be fruitless. There were no chairs in any of the patient's rooms; the doctors brought in their own fold out chairs to sit on when they did lessons.

"My bed is fine, but Mabel wants to sit too, so we'll have to make room." He patted the spot next to him. I took that as incentive to sit. He scooted closer to me until his knee brushed against mine.

"It's too squished," he muttered absently to himself. While I agreed these beds were too small, there was a gaping space beside him that he could have easily filled...if his sister wasn't sitting there.

"I know! Norman, back up." I didn't know what he was up to, but I followed his order obediently until my back found itself pressed up against the wall. He then began to push my knees apart, indicating that he wanted me to spread my legs. I did so, but this time more reluctant to follow. When they were spread out, he crawled closer, turned away from me, and then leaned back until he was nestled comfortably between my legs. "There, now it's not squished anymore," he purred, curling even further into my chest. I willed my face to cool down before I spontaneously combusted and lit the two of us up like matchsticks.

"Shut up Mabel!" he snapped, and I watched his pale face pinken. Whatever she said, it must have been something embarrassing.

"S-so these are the books that I brought," I stuttered, digging into my hoodie pocket, having to push past Dipper's body to reach them. "I would have brought more, but my hoodie doesn't hold that much space."

"Oh, what's this book?" he asked, picking up the most faded, tattered book I brought and flipping to the first page. "Carrie? Oh this one, let's read this one," he said excitedly, passing me the book.

"Hey, I thought you couldn't read?"

"I can read words...just not that many. It's more of a focus thing than an actually reading thing," he explained, as if that would answer everything...which, it kind of did.

"I don't know about this book? It's pretty...well it's kind of a scary book."

"Why did you bring it then if we weren't going to read it?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and giving me a look that said, "what an idiotic thing to do".

"Okay, okay. You're right. I should have probably thought that through. It's a good thing I didn't choose to bring Misery with me or you would have never gotten to sleep."

"Oh, can we read that one next?"

"Let me finish this one first...then we'll slowly make our way up," I said, moving my arms around him so he and I could both see the book. I used his head as a chin rest, since he was shorter than me by a foot. "Is Mabel nice and comfortable?" I asked as an afterthought.

The expression that appeared on his face was a mixture of astonishment and adoration. "No one's ever asked that before. No one ever even mentions Mabel, unless I bring her up. Thank you."

"Well of course, she is your sister, isn't she? And she's standing right next to us, isn't she? It only feels right that I know if she's comfortable too."

If it was possible for him to get any happier, it was in this moment. His eyes fell closed, he furrowed deeper against my chest and he never looked so content. "She says she's good...and thank you."

If there was ever a moment that I got pleasure from bringing someone else joy...it was this moment right here.

---

Weeks changed to months. I was becoming more accustomed to life here, which wasn't a good thing. The doctors were nice, but I kept to myself whenever my psychiatrists asked about my ability to speak to the dead. I didn't need them to prescribe me to any pills. I try to avoid the topic altogether, but it usually comes up sometime during the day.

"So see any ghost today Mr. Babcock?"

"A few...but-"

The man scratches down something on his clipboard before I can finish. I don't like my afternoon psychiatrist. He's cold and I get the feeling that everything I say is another mistake that he tallies up. I also get the feeling that he doesn't really like where he's working.

"Have any spoken to you recently?"

"No, not really. I haven't spoken to them either, in case you're wondering," I answered, boasting slightly, feeling confident that I had nothing for him to write down. At least I was, until I heard the scratch of his pen again. What did I do now?

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Babcock?"

"A little irritated actually."

"Does this have to do with the ghost?"

"No, but it has to do with someone whose on their way to becoming one," I glowered, eyeing him. He looked to be in his late 80's, his 90th birthday right around the corner. He had sad, droopy eyes, and a smile to match. He wore thick, horn rimmed glasses and dressed in clothing that was as ancient as he was. He also had no taste in humor, because he was writing on his board again, his lips set in a deep scowl.

"I think that's enough for today, Mr. Babcock."

"No, really? That time already? I was hoping you'd stick around a little longer. We could talk about the civil war? You remember that, don't you?"

He shot me a dirty look and snuffed his nose like he caught whiff of something bad. My bad attitude maybe? "Your sarcasm is, as ever, charming, Mr. Babcock," he replied coolly. I rolled my eyes and turned to pick up the book I was currently reading. If he was done for the day, that was fine by me. He muttered a soft curse under his breath about "kids having no respect for their elders", before slamming my door shut. I smirked.

Point one goes to the ghost freak.

---

I found that sharing a shower room with a bunch of other kids turns ugly...fast. After running around, sweating buckets, you'd think they wouldn't have any energy left in them. But here they were, running about, pulling other kid's hair, boys sneaking into the girl's locker room, shampoo bottles and soap bars flying like confetti. And everyone seemed to lack decency, for many of them were running around stark naked. I stood in the far back corner, where no one cared to venture. All the excitement was in the middle anyway.

Just a year. You'll only be here for a year. Then you can go home and forget about this place for good.

---

Autumn quickly turned to winter and not once had my parents visited me since they left me here. I'm not going to lie, it stung a little. I had, at the very least, expected a phone call. A letter? Anything? But instead I was rewarded with silence from their end.

Dipper and I had grown closer over the few months we'd been together. It was nice. We often spent lunch period talking about nothing in particular, making up stories that entailed adventure, mystery and often from my end, a zombie apocalypse. During one of our lunch period's he sat me down, stuck some headphones in my ear and had me listen to his idol Babba. I had to sit through the whole track, pretending that I liked it more than I did. She wasn't bad, but she was more my sister's taste. Of course, if I told him that, I wouldn't be surprised if I found myself impaired in the eye with his plastic spork. He really loved his Babba.

I also learned that he shared a passion for many 70's and 80's singers and bands. His Ipod had a whole list of musicians, but none were from this generation. Then again, he's been here for four years. I don't think he's had time to update his Ipod, although, the fact that there were no 90's artist drew the conclusion that he only listened to the 80's and back. This list consisted of artist such as "The Mothers and The Fathers", "Ground, Sky, and Ash", "Babba", "The Seductors", "Thee Ol' Constables", "Dutchess", "Bobby Jay", "The Raspberries", and a few other bands I wasn't familiar with.

"And I say oh-eh-ay,

Say do you recall,

Oh-eh-ay,

dancing in the fall?

Oh-eh-ay,

Never was a stormy night~" Dipper sang, his left leg bouncing over his right knee as he kept in time to the music. I sat quietly, letting his voice be our conversation.

"My dreams are yours,

Pressing lips in the dark,

Against yours,

Only sweet talk and hugs,

Remember,

How we knew you would never stray.

Now November,

Gave way to the days of

December,

Only sweet talk and hugs,

Remember,

The love that's here to stay...hey, hey, Hey!

And I say oh-eh-ay

Say do you recall,

Oh-eh-ay,

Dancing in the fall?

Oh-ey-ay

Never was a stormy night~

And I say oh-eh-ay

Say do you recall,

Oh-eh-ay,

Dancing in the fall?

Oh-ey-ay

Lovely dreams were guiding lights~"

His voice was like rich chocolate, and the longer I listened, the more I wanted to hear. He wasn't the greatest singer that ever existed; he was mediocre at best. But when he sang, he was filled with so much euphoria, I could do nothing but pay attention. His voice was like the falling leaves; carried away by the wind, swirling and dancing in the chill of the November air, bringing a nostalgic peace to whoever was open to watch...or listen.

---

"So Mr. Babcock, have you seen any of your "friends" lately?" my afternoon psychiatrist, or enemy as I have come to known him as, teased. I knew who he meant when he said "friends", how his voice went an octave higher in amusement. I pretended to play dumb.

"No, I haven't seen my friends since this summer, considering I'm here." I felt victorious when the smile fell from his face.

"That's not what I meant, Mr. Babcock."

"I know you didn't mean that...I just like to piss you off."

I didn't think it was possible for a person's face to turn purple from anger. I always assumed it only happened in cartoons. He showed me that was not the case.

Another point for Norman.

---

It got colder.

I tried to bury myself in my sweater, to no avail. I still felt chilly, even with the longsleeve shirt I was wearing underneath. But if I was chilly, it was nothing compared to Dipper who was still wearing shorts, even as it was snowing lightly. His whole body was spasming, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, trying to bring warmth to his freezing skin. His teeth chattered violently when he spoke.

"S-sh-shut u-up M-m-Mabel!" he hissed, his breath ghosting in the afternoon air. I don't really know why we were outside, considering how cold it was. Maybe it was because of our faithfulness to the tree that we didn't go sit inside at lunch.

"W-what did s-she say?" I asked, my teeth chattering less than Dipper's were.

"S-she's l-l-lau-laughing at m-me because I d-d-din't listen to h-her and w-wear w-wa-warmer clothes," he stuttered out, blowing into his hands to bring feeling back to them. I began to worry when I noticed the tips of his fingers looked a little blue.

"D-do you want to g-go back inside?"

"N-No...i-it'll b-be cr-cro-crowded in t-there. I'd r-rather fre-freeze then be s-st-stuffed inside."

"B-but you don't look so g-good. Y-You're s-shaking."

"I-I'll be f-f-fine," he waved away my concern with a shaky flick of his wrist. I reached up and took his hands in mine. Mine were cold, but his were ice. And I was right, they were starting to purple. I did the only thing I could think to do in that moment. I started to remove my hoodie.

"W-what are you d-doing?" he asked, when I pushed my hoodie into his arms.

"Take it, y-you're cold," I replied, the loss of my hoodie a mistake, but a mistake I was willing to make.

"B-but w-what a-about y-you?"

"I'm f-fine. Besides...I'm not even cold." I forced my body to stop shaking and my voice to stop quivering. Dipper eyed me skeptically, but I gave him my best, "I'm totally fine and not freezing my ass off" smile.

"M-mabel d-doesn't be-believe y-you...b-but sh-she says I s-should t-t-take it." He looked at the hoodie, weighing his options, before a cold breeze made the decision for him. He threw the hoodie on and hugged it tightly to himself.

I was taller, but skinnier, so the hoodie had hung loosely against my frame. Dipper was shorter, but thicker, so while it hung past his thighs, it tightened around his belly, fitting him snugly.

"T-thank you N-norman. W-when s-should I give i-it back? I co-could bring i-it tomorrow, cl-cleaned and f-fresh?" he asked, his voice easier to understand now that it wasn't constantly being blocked out by the shuttering of his teeth.

I shook my head, "No problem Dip, keep it as long as you want."

---

He never did give me back my sweater.

But that's okay...he looked better in it than I did.

---

On Christmas, I received a gift package filled with Christmas presents from my family and friends. From my mother, I got socks, fresh underwear, a few thermals, sweats, and a new pair of red converse. Good thing too because the one's I was currently wearing were falling apart.

From my dad, I received car magazines, and a bottle of aftershave. These were going in the thrash, just like every year. I don't even have hair to shave!

From my sister, she had given me her old Ipod, which meant that she had gotten a new one from mom and dad. At first I was hesitant, but when I looked through the songs, I found only my favorite bands on there and a couple of B-rated zombie films. Thank you Courtney.

From Neil, he had sent me a bunch of my favorite sour candies and a box of chocolate dipped pomegranates. There was also a huge bag of caramel corn at the bottom of the sweets basket. You don't know how much this means to mean Neil, especially when the food sucks here.

And from Salma, who knew exactly what I wanted, she had sent me over two new Stephen King novels, "The Shining" and "IT", plus the complete Walking Dead graphic novel series. Now this will keep me occupied. I had to remember to thank her when I saw her again.

I tucked all my new gifts under my bed, except for a bag of sour gummy spiders and began making my trek to Dipper's room to see what he had gotten.

---

"What'd you get Dipper?" I asked, popping another green, gummy spider into my mouth. I handed him a red one, since he liked them best. So there are people who actually like the red ones.

"My mom gave me new clothes and a box of sweets. My dad sent me some CD's for my collection and more batteries," he answered, digging through his closet to pull out a battered, old boombox. He undid the back, took out the batteries that were most likely dead and placed the new ones in. "You want to listen?" he asked. He looked really excited, so I got the feeling he'd been waiting for this for awhile.

"Sure, I'd love to."

"Ready?" he asked. I nodded and he pressed the power button. We waited for the song to begin.

"Midnight trail,

Into the breaking sun,

Thoughts swirl round my head,

I can't look back,

Aching chest,

Sleep in solitude,

Sending all my dreams through endless lines.

They say that the road is a unforgiving temptress,

Between the nights, I find us so complete,

And the love of a music boy ain't so picture perfect,

Oh girl you stand beside me,

I will always be yours...

Faithfully"

The music was calming, but I felt chills crawling through my spine. "Who is this?" I asked.

"Travel. Do you like them?"

"Yeah, they're amazing." I breathed, my eyes falling closed to fully enjoy the music. I could hear the breathy chuckle that escaped Dipper.

"I'm glad you like them."

I hummed in response, finally understanding the expression, "Lost in the music".

---

A ghost had been following me as of recently and I was starting to feel on edge. I usually wouldn't feel so nerve-wracked if it were a normal ghost, but this one was not. He was an older man with shaggy, black locks that hung in his face, covering half of it from view. His eyes were hollow; what once was a vibrant color, now had dulled to an almost black, inky void. And if that wasn't scary enough, he was one of the patients from before. As in, he was currently wearing a straightjacket.

He never spoke to me, but whenever I walked down the halls, I'd get the feeling that someone was behind me. When I turned to look, he'd be waiting there, staring at me with those blank eyes. When I turned around, walked a few more paces, then turned back, he would be gone. Like he hadn't been there at all.

I found myself becoming more lost in my books during the night, afraid that if I fell asleep, he would be in my room, waiting for me.

---

December changed to January, which rolled around to February, and so on and so forth until an entire year had passed me by. I only realized that a year had come and gone because my parents had come down on my birthday to visit me. I couldn't even believe I had turned fourteen. It didn't seem real. It didn't seem like a year had passed. It almost felt like I had arrived yesterday.

"Happy birthday son. How have you been? We've missed you so much," my mother cried, wrapping me in one of her overly tight, bear hugs. I struggled against her grip, but finding that my attempt would prove no result, I admitted defeat and allowed her to hold me. My dad gave me a nod of acknowledgement. I nodded back.

"How has your therapy been going? You haven't been seeing any ghost have you?" she asked desperately, wanting me to give her good news. But I wouldn't lie to her, especially since it would do me no good if I got caught later on.

"Therapy is okay...but I still see them. I don't think they're ever going to go away mom. This isn't a disease I have...it's just what I was born with."

Their faces dropped and they had the gall to look disappointed. At me! I wasn't the disappointment here...the real ones were in front of me. I wasn't the one who sent me here. I wasn't the one who expected things that I knew would never happen. I wasn't the bad guy! I hadn't done anything wrong, and they knew it too; they just refused to admit that I was this way. That I would always be this way.

They left that night...and I wasn't going with them.

---

I couldn't sleep. My eyes were red and irritated from crying. I tried to read earlier, but my focus always shifted back to my parents. Back to their disappointed stares, their broken hearted faces. I had crushed them. I had smashed their hopes and dreams into dust. They wanted to make me feel guilty, like this was my fault. Like it was my choice to be this way. Oh why didn't I try harder to be normal? Why didn't I try acting like kids my age? Why wasn't I like my perfect sister? Did I not want to get better?

These were all the things my parents wanted me to say. These were all the things my parents wanted me to think.

I curled up into fetal position and began to sob, not caring if there were ghost who could hear me. Let them see the pain they've brought me. Let them hear my sobs and know that these tears were because of them. I wanted them to feel my pain. I wanted everyone to feel my pain. I wanted everyone to hurt...

---

I decided to visit Dipper the next day. For awhile he had not been showing up at our usual spot. I was growing worried. I thought I'd visit him in his room. If he wasn't there, then I didn't know where else he could be. I needed to see him. I needed someone. I couldn't take this burning pain in my chest, this gross feeling that tore my insides apart.

I stopped at his door and knocked gently. There was no response. It couldn't hurt to just peek in, could it?

I twisted the doorknob and opened the door wide enough to stick my head through.

---

I came at the wrong time...

"Mr. Pines, please stop struggling," one of the nurses begged as she held his left arm down. Another nurse was holding his feet and the last nurse was trying to grab hold of his flailing right arm, a syringe grasped in her other hand.

"Nononononono! Let me go! LET ME GO!" he screamed, fighting off the nurses who were trying to pin him down.

"Please Mr. Pines, we go through this every week, please stop!" The nurse holding his legs begged. Dipper only began to wail louder, his screams becoming more panicked. He thrashed against the sheets, his neck snapping from side to side so fast I was afraid he would get whiplash.

"The psychiatrist has informed us that you need it. You have to take your medicine Mr. Pines."

"No! NO! NOOOOOOO! I WANT MY SISTER! MABEL! MABELLLL! HELP ME! STOP!"

"Please Mr. Pines, it'll be over soon."

"STOP! STOP IT! IT HURTS! I DON'T WANT TO- HELP ME MABEL!"

I threw a hand over my mouth to stop a gasp from slipping out. I couldn't believe this was happening. This was what it was like taking the medicine? This was what happened?

"ENOUGH MR. PINES! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS! KNOCK IT OFF!" the one holding the syringe finally snapped, striking him across the face and ceasing all movement from him. The other nurses' eyes widened gradually, but they didn't say anything. They didn't protest, or even look surprised by her actions; instead, looking away like they were ashamed...like this had happened before!? This had happened before and they knew it did! She's struck him before! And they've done nothing to stop it! Dipper remained silent, the only sound coming from him were his shaky breaths. The one holding the syringe poked the needle into his arm and began to push the medicine in.

"Please...s-stop. I don't want to. I don't want to anymore. M-mabel...help me...make them stop."

"Shut up brat!"

"s-someone...help...please...anyone...N...No...Nor ma-"

I couldn't take it anymore. His whimpers, the tears that streamed down his cheeks, it was too much to handle. I ran back to my room, slammed the door shut and fell back against it, sliding down to the floor. I put my head in my hands, wishing I hadn't seen anything.

I lied...I lied...I didn't want everyone to hurt. I didn't want everyone to hurt.

---

I made the mistake of coming back.

I entered his room, and found him sitting there, staring blankly into the wall closest to his bed. The nurses were gone, but I felt sick all over, like they were still present. "Dipper...hey...Dipper its me."

Dipper didn't make any sort of movement. He kept his back to me and I wondered if he was ignoring me. "Dipper, it's Norman...Norman Babcock...your friend?"

He gave no response. He made no movement whatsoever and my fear spiked. I tiptoed towards him, resting a hand gingerly on his shoulder. He didn't react to it. "Dipper, can you hear me?" I asked, hoping he'd say something. But there was no sound, no noise, no nothing. I turned him around to see what was the matter, and fell back in horror.

His wild, crazy, eyes were devoid of all color. They were half lidded and looked like two black, bottomless pits. He seemed far away: not quite here, but not quite there either. His lips were pulled into a straight line; not a frown, but not a smile. He looked as if the life had been sucked out of him.

"Dipper...Dipper, can you hear me? Dipper!" I shouted, giving his shoulders a violent shake. He blinked sluggishly, lifting his head to look at me. It looked as if it took him great effort just to raise his head. He cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowing as he studied me. It was like he couldn't recognize me, like he didn't know who I was.

"Do you remember me Dipper? Do you know who I am?" I asked, praying he would know.

He forced himself to focus, putting extra strain on himself to find the answer.

"Dipper, please, if you know who I am, please say it! Who am I?"

He struggled to form the words. It was like his whole body had slown down, from his physical to his mental state. Was this what the medication did to him?

"N...Nor...man? he answered, the words forming at last. My heart leaped with joy, but it was short lived because my concern for him overpowered everything else.

"Dipper, what happened to you? What have they done to you?" I begged. I knew he wouldn't know; he could barely even recognize me, but I needed someone to tell me what was going on, to tell me what to do. I didn't want to feel in the dark. I didn't want to feel lost. The fact that I could do nothing to help him, only watch in agony as the medication took over his system, was torture.

"Oh Dipper, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have run away. I should have barged in and helped you. You were begging for help, and I just stood and watched that horrible...horrible bitch hit you and inject you with this...whatever it is. I did nothing and now you're like this." And then something popped into my head that had never occurred to me before.

"Is this why you sometimes don't show up? Is that why I can't find you at lunch sometimes? Because you're in here? Because of this?" I shouted, my eyes filling with tears again. He didn't answer, having disappeared into his own little world again.

I had made a promise to myself that no one would ever see me cry, but these weren't my tears. I was crying, but not for me...for him. At least that's what I kept telling myself to make the pain stop.

"Norman...what's wrong? Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice so weak and lacking. I choked back a sob and hugged him to my chest, wanting to protect him from anything and everything.

"I'm crying because you're hurting," I whimpered.

"I...I am...?"

"Yes, you are. I'm crying because I let you get hurt."

"I'm sure you didn't mean to let me get hurt," he comforted. My anguish only deepened; how could he be so sympathetic to me when I had left him to suffer like this?

"I'm sorry Dipper. Please don't be mad. Please don't hate me. Please tell Mabel I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"...Whose Mabel?"

My heart stopped and I pushed him at arm's length to study his eyes, to see if I had heard right. He looked genuinely confused. "Y-you don't know who Mabel is?" I asked, my body about ready to collapse in on itself.

"N...no? Should I know her?"

Another effect of the drug? It had to be.

"She's your sister Dipper..."

"I have a sister?"

No. "Yeah...she's your twin sister..."

He gnawed his bottom lip, his eyes clouding over as he tried to rack his brain around the thought of a sister. "Why can't I remember her?"

"It's the medicine. It's clouding your head."

"Medicine?"

"Yeah...it's making you act slower. Making your reactions sluggish."

"Oh...I don't remember taking any medicine."

Taking isn't the right word to be using. Held down, smacked and forced is more like it.

"I think that's the effect of the medicine. Here, you should lie down Dipper. You need to sleep this off."

"But I'm not tired," he protested, even as his head was bobbing up and down, exhausted from trying to hold itself up for so long.

"You can't even keep your head up Dipper. Lie down. Come on," I crooned, acting as a mother might when her child was sick.

"Will you read to me then? If I lie down?"

"I don't have a book on me."

"Will you get one and read it to me?" he pleaded, but the medication made it sound like nothing more than a monotone drawl. Once more, knowing that I had done nothing but run away, the guilt consumed me and I could only nod my head in acceptance. Dipper's eyes widened and he tried to smile, but he was too weak and couldn't manage it. I heaved back another sob, letting my spindly finger weave through his chocolate locks.

"I'm so sorry Dipper..."

He was already half asleep when he replied, "Don't be. You're here now...and that's what matters...right?

I couldn't answer him. The pain was too much. I stormed out of his room, making a beeline for mine. I wanted to throw myself on my bed and cry until I ceased to feel anything at all. But I had promised him a book, and whether conscious or not, I wasn't going to break that promise.

---

It had been a couple of weeks since the incident and although Dipper was back to his usual self, I found myself avoiding him. I knew that everything was okay and he didn't remember what had happened, but just because he had forgotten, that didn't mean that I had.

"Why are you avoiding me?" I jumped a foot off my bed, not expecting to hear his voice here. I had been staked up in my room for the past few days, finding the best way to avoid him was in the solitude of my room. After all, he didn't know where I slept. Didn't, being the past tense.

"How'd you find me?" I asked, hiding into the crook of my book, my nose smushing against the page, blurring the letters. The bed creaked at the extra weight as Dipper sat down. His eyes were burning holes through the pages.

"Why are you avoiding me?" he asked again, ignoring my question.

"I'm not avoiding you," I denied. I wondered if I could press myself enough into the book that I'd disappear into the story. I'd rather be running from psychotic clowns than having this conversation.

"Yes, you are."

"No...No I'm not."

He snatched the book from my hands and tossed it over his shoulder. I was going to shout at him for damaging a perfectly new book, but stopped when I saw the tears streaking down his face. Shit!

"Did I do something wrong? Did I say something to make you mad at me?"

"N-No...t-that's not-"

"I'm sorry if I said anything to upset you Norman. Please don't be mad at me anymore."

"I'm not mad Dip,"

"T-then w-why are you avoiding me? Do you just not like me anymore?" he hiccupped, using the sleeves of my old jacket that was now his to wipe away the tears and small stream of snot. He reminded me of a young toddler whose favorite toy had just been broken. It was too much to take, how incredibly adorable and innocent and pitiful he looked. I grabbed him by his waist and tugged him into my lap.

"Of course not Dipper. I don't hate you one bit. I'm sorry I've been avoiding you. I've just been feeling guilty is all. Please stop crying," I cooed into his ear. My stomach twisted and bubbled as he shifted in my lap. My chest constricted tightly and another wave of sorrow washed over me, among the butterflies and the jitters. I was so confused, and emotional, and yet so happy that he missed me. I couldn't make sense of my feelings, but I knew that something was stirring in me stronger than it had before.

"So you don't hate me?" he whined into the crook of my neck, his breath sending shivers throughout my entire body. My skin prickled with goosebumps. Heat was pooling in my face and in other places that it shouldn't be. The disadvantages of puberty.

I blindly searched for his hand, not bothering to open my eyes because I believed if I kept them shut, it would stop these hormones of mine from coming out. When I found his hand, I wrapped my pinky around his and he knew exactly what was coming next, his breath hitching in anticipation.

"Pinky promise." And there was no more to be said on the matter.

---

The ghost who had been following me had become bolder. When I turned, he wouldn't disappear like he used to. He kept close to me and only stopped moving when I did. He usually gaped at me, like a fish out of water, wanting to say something, but never able to push the words from his throat.

Not only that, but more ghost were starting to talk to me. They usually spoke in random gibberish or shrill screams, which wasn't too comforting. But there were a few who talked normally...or close to normal. There was one girl I had met that I discovered had died from an overdose a few years back. She suffered from an extreme case of multiple personality disorder. While her regular personality was sweet as a lamb's, I didn't care much for her jerky persona. "He" needed an attitude adjustment.

As for the weird ghost who had been stalking me, I found that sleep was becoming less of an option. How much longer before he started stalking me in my room?

---

"It's your birthday today?" I stared dumbfounded as Dipper and I sat outside, under our tree, a giant package nestled between his crossed legs. When I had asked what it was for, he replied casually that it was his birthday.

"Yeah. Well, actually no. It's in two days, but Grunkle Stan always sends me my birthday gift early." He was smiling that smile I had grown to accept and love. It was his famous "Dipper Smile", and while it used to terrify me, I found it endearing now. Even a little cute.

"Whose grunkle Stan?" He had never mentioned anyone by that name before.

"He's my great uncle. I'm not suppose to talk to him or see him anymore," Dipper said as he tore the tape from the package.

"Then why are you opening a package from him?"

"Because he's my great uncle and he sent me a present and he's really awesome," he answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"If that's so, then why can't you see him?" This wasn't making sense.

"I don't know, dad just said I couldn't see him anymore. He said there was a restraining order between us or something...whatever that is," he said, digging through the packing peanuts for his gift.

"A restraining order? Dipper those are bad!...What did your grunkle do?" I asked. I didn't know if I wanted to hear the answer.

"I don't know." He stopped digging through the package to think. "When I was eight, my parents sent me over there to spend the summer with him. He was really nice, although a bit of a penny pincher. He always checked up on me and asked if I was doing okay. I don't know why my parents made me stop going."

"Well is it...I mean... did you grunkle ever...touch you?"

"Like hugs? Or when ruffling my hair?"

"No...like in places he shouldn't? Like, private areas?"

"What?! EW! No, of course not! That's gross! He's not like that! Don't say horrible stuff like that," Dipper snapped and I reeled back, throwing my hands up in defence. Stepped on a landmine.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was just making sure."

Dipper's eyes flashed like lightning. The gold overpowered the brown in his orbs and made him look more menacing than ever before. Yep, definitely set the bomb off.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I really didn't mean it. I just want to know why your parents have a restraining order on him? I thought maybe he had done something bad," I sped to explain.

It was here that Dipper's anger began to melt, but his mouth remained curved downward. "I wish I knew too. He was so nice to me...and Mabel."

"Wait...Mabel?"

"Well duh! We both went to grunkle Stan's over the summer. What, you think my parents wouldn't take her with me?"

That's exactly what I was thinking. "Did your grunkle talk to Mabel a lot?"

"No, not much. He sometimes asked me how she was doing, but he never talked to her directly. Sometimes at dinner he'd forget to make her a plate, but he always gave her an extra helping when I reminded him."

So that was it. His parents were mad because Stan had kept up the "Mabel" charade, pretending she existed for Dipper's sake.

"Did your parents not like that?"

"No, they didn't. When I returned home, I told them all about my summer with Grunkle Stan. At first, they seemed very happy, but when I mentioned Mabel, their smiles fell. They called up Stan and began screaming, saying that he shouldn't be 'filling the boy's head with lies'. I don't know what Grunkle Stan said, but the fight escalated quickly. We hid out in our room until it was over. When they had finished, my parents stormed into our room and forbade us from going back over there."

"How awful."

"Yeah. It got worse after the trial."

"Trial? What trial?"

"I don't remember it much, since I was so young. But... Grunkle Stan called me once, saying he was going to take care of me and that Mabel and I could live with him at the shake for a long time. He said something about getting "custody"? I don't know. All I remember were these people in suits asking me questions, a big room stuffed with grouchy looking folks, and my parents cheers when it was over and they had won. Grunkle Stan looked really upset and Soos looked pretty downtrodden too. After the trial, he was given the restraining order and my parents told us that we weren't going to be seeing him for awhile."

What horrible parents! All this, because of Mabel? They were doing all this because Dipper talked to Mabel. Leaving him here, not permitting his uncle to see him because his uncle was kind enough to accept his nephew and his mental state. If I ever meet his parents, I'm going to sock them in the face.

"I'm sorry you don't get to see him anymore. You guys must have been close."

"Yeah, but he still sends me stuff all the time, so he's not really gone. No, not really," Dipper mumbled, going back to the task of digging through packing peanuts. He finally pulled out his present: a blue and white hat, with a pine tree embedded in the front. "Oh cool! I've been wanting one of these since forever. These were in the giftshop but Grunkle Stan never allowed me to wear them. He said they were for customers only. I'm surprised they hadn't sold out." He took off his brown hat and placed the blue one on his head. "Ta-dah! How do I look?"

I smiled. If I ever met his great uncle, I'd be sure to thank him for his kindness. "You look fantastic."

---

"I want revenge..."

It was the first words the ghost ever muttered to me. I had stopped to tie my shoe and when I looked back up, he was there, right in my face. I mustered everything I had not to scream out loud and draw attention to myself, but I'll admit, anyone would scream if they had an up encounter with this guy.

"Y-you want what?" I panted, trying to catch my breath.

"Revenge... I want revenge..." His mouth didn't move, but I could hear him. Dread coursed through me. I didn't like where this was going.

"O-On who? W-who do you want revenge on?"

"The man who locked me up. I want revenge on the man who built this place. I want revenge on this place!" he moaned, his voice rising in anger with each word that he uttered. I took a step back.

"O-oh...well ummm, I wish I could help you with that...but I really have to...you know...go...somewhere else..." I took another step back, and turned to flee. He was waiting for me when I turned. I fell back, beyond scared now.

"You can do it. You can exact my revenge. You can burn those who burned me." the man hissed, floating towards me. I crawled backwards, hoping to create some distance between us. Oh please, someone come down this hallway right now.

"Sorry, but I don't do revenge schemes. You might want to talk to someone else about that. I could recommend-"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he shrieked, his eyes rolling back in his head, leaving me to see only the whites of his eyes. The lights above our heads shook furiously, flickering on and off, threatening to shatter.

"It must be you! Revenge! REVENGE!" He threw his hands out and grabbed hold of me, though his fingers fell through, which only proceeded to leave my insides cold and empty.

"S-stop! Go away! Stop it!" I shouted over his wails, the wind that had whipped up from nowhere, and the sound of the electric wires in the lights short circuiting.

"YOUUUUUUU! REVENGGGEEEEEE! I WANT MY REVENGE! BURN! EVERYONE BURNNNNNNNN!" he wailed, black liquid dripping from his eyes, nose and mouth. His face began to twist into a inhuman being; a monster.

"Stop! S-stay away. S-stay away f-from me! I said stop! Stop it! STOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!"

I don't remember what happened next. There was the sound of shattering, and then everything turned dark.

---

"Mr. Babcock...Mr. Babcock...Mr. BABCOCK!" I awoke to someone shouting in my ear. When my eyes fluttered open, I found myself in an overly white room, staring at a stark ceiling. Our room's were usually white, but they were darker, unlike this room, which was hurting my eyes. Whoever thought white was calming...guess what? It's not!

"Where am I?" My throat felt so dry. When I moved to sit up, a sharp pain arose and I fell back, gasping for air.

"Mr. Babcock, you're hurt, please don't move," the nurse begged, laying a hand on my chest to make sure I wouldn't get up again. I know that voice. It was that one voice! The one who treated Dipper. The one who allowed that other nurse to hit him!

"W-what happened?"

"A nurse heard your screaming and rushed to find you. You were lying on the floor, light shards scattered around you. Some of them managed to get themselves lodged in your skin. You had quite a few cuts, but nothing major. We removed them while you were unconscious. Whatever happened to you Mr. Babcock?" the nurse asked, feigning concern. I couldn't trust anyone of these people. Especially not this one.

"Nothing...I just...I don't know."

"Did this have to do with...you know?"

I shot her the most hateful glare I've ever given and she shrank back in the stool she was sitting on. I had just woken up, and she was already trying to see if I was crazy. "Hey, instead of talking about my issues...lets talk about you instead."

"M-me?" she squeaked.

"Yeah. What's your name?"

"A-angie..."

"Why are you here Angie?" I hissed, my voice dripping with venom. I had had enough of these nurses, I had had enough these ghost, I had had enough of this place!

"I-i'm here to h-help c-children who n-need it,"

"Really? So you love children do you?"

"Y-yes?" It came out as more of a question than a statement.

"So you protect children...right? You make sure they never get hurt?" I pressed on. I noticed that she shrunk just a little more in her stool. Also, her face was giving away what I was going to say next.

"Y...yes?"

"Is that why you stood idly by and let another nurse hit one of the patients?"

She gasped, her eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. "H-how did you know about-"

"If you love children so much, why did you allow a fellow employee to strike a child weaker than her? Why did you not say anything when she left her handprint on his cheek? Why did you do nothing when he was crying and screaming and she forced a needle into his arm."

"I-it's to...h-help-"

"Don't give me that bullshit! If it's to help him, why does he need to be held down? If it's to help him, why does he look so dead afterwards? If it's to help him, then why hasn't it worked?" I was fuming. Nothing could calm me down now and I was going to lay it all down here and now.

"M-mr. P-pines i-is a s-s-special c-case," she tried to explain, though it sounded more like she was trying to reassure herself than me.

"You people. You're all disgusting! But you're not fully to blame. You didn't send us here. You didn't give us up! You act like we can be cured, when you know in reality that we can't. You can treat it for a few hours sure...but we always turn back to what we were. You say you're helping...but you're only keeping us here longer."

"N-no! W-we work to-"

"To what? Turn us into hollow versions of ourselves? Like you do to Dipper?"

She was smart in not replying.

"I hate you...I hate every one of you. You're all horrible people. Pretending to care when you don't give a single damn about us. Get out...I never want to see the likes of you again."

"Mr. Babcock I-"

"Don't say anything...just get the fuck out of my room." I could have screamed. I could have shouted for her to leave. I could have thrown a tantrum until she left...

But my cold, whisper had more effect. I knew that I had struck her worse than an actual physical wound would.

Because I was right...and she knew it.

---

It happened again.

Months after my healing, in which I was bedridden so the cuts would fade to scars, I decided to visit Dipper. Dipper often came to my room to bring me company during my bedridden days, lightening my spirits with silly stories of the adventures he and Mabel partook as children. Now that I was finally able to stretch my legs and leave my room, I decided to show Dipper my new found freedom.

And I walked in to find him staring blankly at a wall.

"Dipper? Oh no...not again." I made my way towards him, sitting down beside him. "Dipper...can you hear me...it's Norman."

This time I got a response, but not the one I wanted. His body tensed, and he made a sort of wounded noise in the back of his throat.

"Dipper can you turn around for me? Please..." There was a pause of hesitation, and I wondered if he would comply, before he did as I had asked him. His eyes were blank again, but they were also red and puffy, tears clinging to his lashes. He was clutching his arms tightly, his fingers twitching against the jacket. He was wearing my hoodie, but something in me told me there was something hidden beneath that red fabric. The way his arms clung so tightly to his arms were warning signs.

"Dipper...what's wrong?" I asked. He didn't answer. He continued to stare through me, like he wanted me to not be there. He was staring with eyes that begged me not to be real.

"Dipper?" I moved to put my hands on his arms, and he flinched, pulling back so abruptly that the warning signs were ringing. His eyes had dilated and he looked like a trapped animal.

"G-go away...l-leave me alone..." his voice cracked, too weak to really shout.

I reached over and grabbed his hands, holding them tightly so he wouldn't be able to run, but not enough to hurt him. He began to struggle like I predicted, but it was weak, the medicine fighting him more than I was.

"Dipper please...calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. I want to see what's wrong. Please let me see," I spoke calmly, even though I was panicking inside. I had to keep my cool, so he would trust me enough to show me.

"Don't hate me..."

"I would never hate you Dipper."

"Yes you would. You would if you saw..."

"Do I have to make another pinky promise with you?"

"No...because I know that you can't keep it. You'll be mad. Just like mom and dad were." He put his hands over his head and began to rock back and forth, his whole body spasming.

I gently took his hands and pulled them closer to me again. "I will not be mad Dipper. I will not hate you...please...can I see?" I asked. There was another pause in which he took this time to chew at his bottom lip, tearing away the skin. Finally he nodded.

I took his right arm and pushed up the sleeve. There were angry red marks across his skin, some bright pink, others opened and bleeding. It started at his wrist, and ended at the crook of his elbow. I had to take a few seconds to process this, not sure what I was seeing. I took his other arm and pushed up the sleeve. There were more scratches; these more pronounced. Many of them were raw and fresh, some cuts dripping into others. I didn't know what to say; I didn't even know what I was looking at.

Then I saw his nails. They were red; dry blood caught between them. And suddenly it clicked into place what I was looking at.

"Dipper...did you?"

"Don't yell..."

"Dipper you didn't?"

"Don't yell at me..."

"Dipper why?"

"Don't hate me...don't hate me..."

I found myself at a loss for words. Yet, still they came out of their own. "How long have you been doing this?" I don't remember them being there last year.

"I don't know. I just...I get so scared and stressed and it just...happens. I don't even notice it until I see them bleeding. I...I've always done this. Mom got really mad once when she saw me doing it. She spanked me and told me if I ever did it again, I would get more than a spanking," he whimpered.

I didn't know what to say to this. I couldn't think, or speak, or breathe.

"You're mad."

I didn't respond.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?"

I didn't answer.

"Damnit Norman say something!"

"What do you want me to say!" I snapped and he recoiled. I didn't back down though, "You want me to say this is okay? That I'm fine with this? That it's no big deal? Because IT IS a big deal! It's a fucking huge deal Dipper!"

"I knew it! I knew you'd be mad! I knew you'd yell at me! You lied! You said you wouldn't be mad! You said you wouldn't hate me! You're a liar!" He started to weep again, but I was not going to feel bad. Not this time.

"I'm sorry I lied. But this...this is not okay Dipper! You can't do this Dipper! It's bad, it'-"

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child! I know it's bad! You don't think I don't know it's wrong! I know I shouldn't do it, but I do! I don't remember doing it asshole!" he shouted.

"Don't call me an asshole!" I shouted back.

"Leave! Go away! I want you out!" he sobbed, brokenly.

"I'm not leaving you!"

"I said GET OUT!"

"NO!"

He swung his right arm, but I grabbed his wrist before his fist could connect with my face. "You think Mabel would be proud of this? You think if Mabel knew you were doing this, she'd be fine with it?"

"I don't know her!" he cried, trying to pry his wrist from my hold. He was still on the medication, so he didn't remember Mabel, but I didn't care. I was going to make him remember, even if it fucked his head up more.

"Yes you do! You know exactly who she is! You just don't want to remember because you feel guilty!"

"Shut up! I hate you! I hate you!"

"Go ahead and hate me! But are you going to pretend that you don't remember your own sister?"

"I don't have a sister!"

I was screwing up everything his parents were trying to fix, but I didn't care. This was revenge on them for stranding him here. This was revenge on the nurses who tried to fix him with heavy doses of drugs. This was revenge against every single person who had hurt me and him. "Yes you do! You do have a sister! She's your twin sister and you and I both know what she would say if she knew what you were doing! She would be disappointed in you! And that's why you're blocking her out! Because you can't face her! You can't face what she would say! YOU CAN'T FACE HER DISAPPOINTMENT!"

Dipper screamed and thrashed against me, trying to tear away from my hold. I used all my energy to push him down and pin him with my body. His screams grew in vigor and he pounded his free hand viciously against my back. He sounded miserable and in pain. It hurt me to know that I was the cause of this, but I had no other choice.

"Let me go! I hate you! I hate you! Bastard! Stupid Bastard!" He was still fighting. I didn't fight him back, but I kept my hold on his left wrist and took the beating from his right. The medicine had made him weak, but my words had fueled his fire.

I could tell that I had won. I had broken this spell that he had been under. I had forced him to remember. The drug would no longer be as effective to him. It may still make his eyes lose their color and it may make his body sluggish, but he would remember Mabel now. I had fucked everything up, but I didn't feel guilty. In fact, I felt proud.

"Shuuuushhh, calm down."

"Fuck you!" he wailed, raking his nails down my spine. I hissed. Even with my sweater, I could still feel his nails digging into my skin.

Now this was becoming a problem. He was still yelling and someone would eventually come in to see what was going on. Everyone was at lunch now, but my watch was telling me that it would be over soon and someone was going to hear him. I had to calm him down. I didn't need to get in trouble for this. I didn't need him to get in trouble for this.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I kissed him.

He let in a sharp intake of breath, and his hand froze mid-strike. I pulled away, letting my fingers gently trace his cheek and wipe away the tears.

"I'm sorry." I apologized. He didn't snap at me this time. He stayed perfectly still, his cheeks dusted with pink and his eyes blown to proportion. His bottom lip trembled and I felt tempted to kiss him again. So I did. He didn't push me away, which boosted my confidence. I became a little bolder.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," kiss "I'm sorry I yelled at you," kiss "I'm sorry I got mad at you," kiss "I just can't stand to see you hurt yourself," kiss "Mabel and I care too much about you," kiss "I don't want you to hate me," kiss "Please forgive me," kiss "Please don't ever hurt yourself again," kiss "I wouldn't be able to stand it," kiss "I love you Dipper."

With each kiss I peppered on his lips, his body began to relax and sink into it. His raised arm fell to clutch the back of my neck. I had finally let go of his wrist, only to intertwine our fingers together. His eyes had fluttered shut and all his anger had dispersed.

"I'm sorry Norman..." he breathed when I finally allowed him to get a word in. More tears fell from his eyes, and I quickly wiped them away. "I'm sorry Mabel..."

I sat up, pulling him up with me. He immediately latched onto my waist and hid his face in my chest. Within seconds the front of my shirt had grown damp, but it didn't matter to me. I wrapped one arm around his shoulder and used my other to caress his hair.

"Please don't hate me..."

I kissed his forehead, "Never."

---

16...I was 16 years old.

Two years had passed. I had been at this place for three years now, and I had a feeling I would be staying here longer. My parents, after another year of visiting me, with receiving the same results, had finally dropped all communication with me. I hadn't spoken to them or heard from them this year. The only people who kept in communication with me anymore were my sister and best friend Neil. Salma had stopped talking to me after my 15th year.

Speaking of my sister.

"How are you?" Courtney asked. We were sitting across from each other, a metal table separating us. There was no glass between us and we weren't talking through phones, but it felt like I was in prison. A nurse stood near the door, watching us; eavesdropping on our conversation.

"I don't really know how to answer that. Do you want me to lie?"

She frowned, "No. Just tell the truth."

"I hate it. They make it seem like this is just a private school, and we're here to learn, but we never leave on vacation. We just stay here. They make it seem like it's a hospital, but we never check out. I feel cold and isolated from the rest of the world. I'm blocked in by walls and fences. I feel like an animal Courtney."

"I'm sorry. I've tried to talk dad into bringing you home, but you know how he is."

"He doesn't see me as his son anymore."

Courtney wanted to deny it, but we both knew it was true. "No...no he doesn't."

"So am I disowned?"

"In a sense yes. You're not literally disowned...but you are figuratively. If you were literally disowned, you would be taken from his place and put into foster care instead."

"So why doesn't he just disown me then? It be a win-win situation."

"Mom wouldn't allow it, you know that."

"I thought she disowned me too?"

"No...she just doesn't know what to do with you. She can't face seeing you. She's ashamed of herself."

As well she should be.

"You know," Courtney continued, tapping her manicured nails against the table's surface, "I'll have finished my final year of college. I have enough saved up for an apartment. A small one, but an apartment nonetheless. I'll be 22...I could get you out of here."

At this, my spirits rose. "Are you being serious?" I couldn't believe my ears, this was too good to be true.

Courtney smiled, "Yeah...I can. But you'll have to wait one more year. Just this last year."

Here my spirits deflated, but the hope kept some air left in them. "Why are you doing this? I thought you hated me?"

"No...I never hated you Norman. You were a pest...but when you left, it became quiet and dull. Our folks never stopped fighting. It felt like less of a home without you," she admitted, her eyes pooling with tears. I forced my own down.

"It was pretty lonely too, without your annoying gossiping on the phone," I said. She chuckled, wiping her eyes when she thought I wasn't looking. I was, but I wouldn't say anything.

"So has this place been completely hell? Is there no one here that you actually like?" she asked again. I could already feel my face heating up. She caught it too, "Wow, what's that? Are you blushing? Oh my gosh, are you not telling me something?" she exclaimed, bouncing in her seat.

"Well...I kind of...may...have a boyfriend,"

"Holy shit! Are you serious? Damn, am I the only girl who does not have a working gaydar, because first Mitch and now you? Jeez. Who is it? Is he cute? Wait-" Here she paused, taking a few seconds to fully digest my words. "You're dating someone in an asylum?"

"I know, I thought it was weird too. But I don't know. He's nice, and smart, and he does these things that are so adorable, and then he tries to be mad when I tell him he's adorable, but he fails at getting angry and it only makes him more adorable. Did you know he sneezes like a kitten?" I gushed. Courtney was giving me a knowing smile.

"Sounds like you're in love. Tell me, is he really sweet and on a scale of 1 to Batshit, how crazy is he?"

"He's amazingly sweet and he's about delusional on the scale."

"Yikes!"

"I know it sounds bad, but he's harmless I swear. He's not at all as bad as he sounds."

"So what does he have that's got him locked up in here?"

"I think he's bipolar, but I'm not sure. He's got an abundance of energy, and his emotions vary quite rapidly, but I don't know, he could just be a very excitable person."

"Well most people suffer from bipolarism. They usually have medicine that can calm down some of that energy."

"He also...can see someone who isn't there."

"Like a ghost? Like you can?"

"No...like, he believes in a woman who has never existed before. Like, she's neither living nor dead."

"A woman? Who, like a girlfriend? Because if he's seeing a girlfriend you tell him that you only believe in a monogamous relationship," she joked, trying to make light of the situation.

"No, not a girlfriend...a sister. He believes he has a twin sister."

"A sister? Well that's..."

"You don't need to say it. I already know how weird it is."

"How long has he believed in her?"

"He says he's always had a sister, since he was born...but I don't know."

"Well, does it bother you?"

"Not anymore. I mean, it's sort of strange watching him talk to thin air, but I'm fine with it now."

"You see, now you know how we felt whenever you talked to 'thin air'."

I laughed, "Yeah, I see what you mean. Still, he loves her, and I can't take that away from him. I even play along."

"You talk to her too?"

"It makes him happy."

"Wow, I heard the expression "Crazy in Love", but that's taking it to a whole new level Norman."

"I know. And hey, that's a song by Beyonce!"

She ignored me, "So you really do love him?"

"Yeah...I really think I do."

"Would you say you would even marry him, even if it meant your ring bearer would be his sister?"

"Yeah..."

"Wow...I'm proud of you brother. I don't think I'd have the courage you do to date someone like that."

"It's not courage Courtney...it's just love. He may believe in a non-existing person, but that doesn't change who he is inside. It doesn't change his personality."

"But doesn't his bipolar personality also make up some of it?"

"It's just another thing that he was born with. It's who he is. He can't control it, and I'd rather he be himself, than half of a person."

"I heard bipolar people can be happy one minute, and become violent the next. Has he ever hit you or attacked you?"

"A few times, but nothing that I can't handle. I always calm him down before it escalates."

"You should be careful Norman, you never know. He could really hurt you."

"I know, and I'm not trying to make excuses for him, but I know he never means it. After his moments, he becomes fearful and will try and avoid me because he's afraid that he's hurt me too badly. He always apologizes afterwards and I can tell that he really means it."

"I just...I don't want to see my little brother in an abusive relationship."

"Trust me, he would never hurt me if he could control it. And if it gets bad, I will not hesitate to end it. You taught me that nobody pushes a Babcock around."

She smiled, leaning over to slug me in the shoulder. "That's right!" When she had reseated herself in her chair, another thought popped into her head. "Hey, I remember something else too."

"What's that?"

"Aren't bipolar people, especially manic people, like, really sex crazed?"

I felt my entire face as well as my ears and chest flare up in embarrassment. Her smile turned more predatory and she leaned forward to make herself seem more intimidating.

"Have you two-"

"NO!"

"Not even-"

"NO!"

"You're lying-"

"I'm not having this conversation with my sister!"

"Why not?"

"You're my SISTER!"

"You have, haven't you?"

"NO!"

"Oh my god, you little pervert!"

"Look, even if I wanted to, we couldn't. We have people checking up on us every hour during the day, and every two hours during the night," I rushed to explain, hoping she'd drop it.

She never does. "Two hours is more than enough time to bump and grind," she sing-songed. I chanced a glance at the lady by the door who was focused on her phone rather than our conversation. I turned back to my sister who was grinning from ear to ear.

"Shut up Courtney! I'm done talking about this with you."

"Has he brought it up?"

"NO!" Yes

"Does he want to?"

"NO!" Yes!

Do you want to?"

"NO!" HELL YES!

"Why not just set your watch to beep every two hours? You can do it five minutes before so you have time to not make it look like the two of you were just screwing each other's brains out."

"We live in different rooms."

"Then five minutes to run back to your room... make it ten, unless you don't mind running back butt naked."

"Goodbye Courtney!"

"Alright, alright. I can see when I'm not wanted. I'll come visit you during the Christmas break. Alright? I should hear the good news by then," she winked, and my face turned 50 shades of red.

"Leave!"

---

I'd never say it out loud, but when I got back to my room, I set my watch to beep every 10 minutes prior to two hours.

Goddamnit Courtney.

---

""Watch." He opened the package of Corrasable and took out a sheet He took a freshly sharpened pencil and drew a line on the paper. Then he took a ballpoint pen and drew another line parallel to the first. Then he slid his thumb across the slightly waffled surface of the paper. Both lines blurred smudgily in the direction his thumb was travelling, the pencil-line slightly more than the one he had drawn with the pen.

"See?"

"So what?"

"Ribbon-ink will blur, too," he said. "It doesn't blur a much as that pencil-line, but it's worse than the ballpoint-ink line."

"Were you going to sit and rub every page with your thumb?"

"Just the shift of the pages against each other will accomplish plenty of blurring over a period of weeks or even days," he said, "and when a manuscript is in work, it get shifted around a lot. You're always hunting back through to find a name or a date. My God, Annie, one of the first thing you find out in this business is that editors hate reading manuscripts typed on Corrasable Bond almost as much a they hate hand-written manuscripts."

"Don't call it that. I hate it when you call it that."

He looked at her, honestly puzzled. "Call what what?"

"When you pervert the talent God gave you by calling it a business. I hate that."

"I'm sorry."

"You ought to be," she said stonily. "You might as well call yourself a whore." No, Annie, he thought, suddenly filled with fury. I'm no whore. Fast Cars was about not being a whore. That's what killing that goddamned bitch Misery was about, now that I think about it. I was driving to the West Coast to celebrate my liberation from a state of whoredom. What you did was to pull me out of the wreck when I crashed my car and stick me back in the crib again. Two dollar straight up, four dollar I take you around the world. And every now and then I see a flicker in your eyes that tells me a part of you way back inside knows it too. A jury might let you off by reason of insanity, but not me, Annie. Not this kid." I read, Dipper nestled between my legs, holding the book open so I could use my arms to wrap them around his waist.

After months of reading different Stephen King novels, I felt it was time I shared with him my favorite of them all.

"How come she's doing this?" Dipper asked after a few more minutes of reading. I stopped to fully look at him. He lifted his head so he could see me.

"I don't know...she's insane?"

Dipper blinked, "You know I would never do that right? I would never hurt you like that...you know that right?" Such doleful eyes, like a frightened lamb. I moved my hands from his waist to gently cup his face. I leaned forward and pressed a feather light kiss against his cracked lips.

"I know you would never Dipper."

His eyes fell away from me, "I just...I want you to know. Sometimes I worry that you hate me when I get frustrated and take my anger out on you. I don't mean to...I really don't."

"I know you don't. How are your arms?" I asked. He pulled up his sleeves. There were scars that bulged and contrasted to his regular complexion, but they looked old, some faded. Nothing new or fresh. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I promised I wouldn't."

"I'm so glad."

"Norman..."

"Yeah Dip?" I let my fingers find their way back to his waist, slipping them under his shirt to gently caress his skin. He shuddered, his eyes heavy with lust. I swallowed my own arousal down. Not yet. Not yet.

"I'm really glad I met you."

My heart thudded and he was being so adorable I could only kiss him in reply.

---

That night, as I was about to fall asleep, I was surprised to hear a soft rapping at my door. Wondering who could be knocking at this hour, I slid out from under the covers and shuffled over to the door. I opened it a crack and peered out, wondering if it was a doctor, or worse...a ghost.

Instead, clad in his usual orange t-shirt, a pair of cotton black boxers, and socks was Dipper. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know why he was here. "Dipper? What are you doing out of bed?"

"Can I come in?" he asked, shuffling from foot to foot. He tugged on his brown locks, pulling a strand straight and then letting it go to recurl itself again. I nodded, opening the door wider for him to come in. He stepped inside and I shut the door behind him.

"What is it? Something wrong? Couldn't sleep?"

"No, I couldn't," he said, surveying the area before turning to face me.

"Need something to help you get to sleep? I wish I had some stuff that would help, but I don't really know what you would need."

He took a step closer. Was it me, or were his eyes brighter than usual? "I think you have something that could help me," he breathed.

"Ummmm, could you tell me, because I don't know what it is." He took another step closer.

"I think you do," he replied, advancing another step.

"Ummm, a book? Is that what you want? Do you want me to read to you?" He shook his head, taking one more step until we were chest to chest. He threw his arms over my neck and pulled my head down until our foreheads were touching. My breath caught.

"Umm...Dip. what are y-?" I didn't get to finish because at that moment he rocked his hips against mine and I finally knew what he wanted. "Oh!"

"Norman..." he moaned, rocking his hips against mine again. I placed my hands on his waist to steady myself, which only brought us together again. The moan escaped me before I could stop it.

"Norman...please. It won't go away. I need you. Please," he pleaded, trailing kisses against my collarbone, his teeth raking against the sensitive skin there. I moaned again and forced our bodies together once more, side stepping towards my bed. I gently pushed him down and crawled on top of him.

"We could get caught," I fretted. He pulled me down for a kiss.

"I don't care."

"You could get in trouble." Another kiss.

"I don't care."

"What about your sister?" Another kiss.

"She's a heavy sleeper. She won't notice me gone."

"What ab-" A final kiss, this one a little more forceful and oh-so-sweet.

"Shut up Norman."

I complied.

His hands found their way to the hem of my t-shirt, fingers slipping underneath to gently caress my stomach. I moaned, letting my hips smash against his for the the fourth time that night. He threw his head back, stifling his own noise, and left me a patch of unmarred skin that was in need of a few lovemarks. I leaned down, my tongue trailing patterns and roads against his neck. I started from his jawline and worked my way down to his collar bone, stopping to sink my teeth into his flesh.

"Norman," he moaned, his hands moving from my stomach to rest near my spine. I hummed against his skin, continuing my mistreations until I felt a familiar copper taste. I pulled away with a slick "Pop", my fingers tracing the now bruising mark on his pale complexion. I moved down again, leaving soft nips against his neck, my finger tugging at his his shirt all the while. He understood what I wanted and sat up so I could remove his shirt. When it was off, he reached over and tugged my own shirt off as well. I pushed him back onto the bed and spent the next couple minutes just admiring him.

"You are absolutely adorable," I purred. Usually he would pout and deny this, but he was too lust-induced to really care; instead lifting his arms and whimpering softly from me to come closer. Not wanting to deny him of pleasure, I bent back down, low enough for his arms to once more find purchase on my back.

"I love you Dipper," I whispered, nuzzling against his cheek and planting a soft kiss there.

He hummed with content, the noise vibrating against my lips when his came to meet mine. "I love you too Norman," he whispered back. His nail gently raked down my back; not enough to draw blood, but definitely enough that they would leave angry red marks for at least a day or so. The feeling was both painful, and pleasurable.

I began to trail kisses down more than just his neck. I was like a map maker, and Dipper, my fine parchment that needed lines, circles, dashes, and an "X", to mark the spot when it was all done. I left behind streams of saliva, hickeys big and dark enough to last for weeks, nips that pinkened the skin but wouldn't actually bleed or bruise and for the "X", I found it as my fingers slipped down the front of his boxers.

His breath hitched and he bucked into my open palm. I began to move in quick tempos, my fingers gripping and twisting and tugging, and doing everything that would entice more noises from his mouth. He arched to meet my strokes, his moans growing in volume. I pressed my lips to his to muffle some of the sounds. While I would have loved to hear his voice without restraint, gettin caught was not on my agenda.

I had never done this before. I'm not even sure what I'm suppose to do afterwards. Being cooped up here, they don't really teach you sex ed. I do remember watching a few sex and violence movies when I was younger, but most of those sexual scenes involved a man and women. What were you suppose to do with a man and man?

I decided to do what felt natural. It seemed to be working fine, because Dipper wasn't showing any indication that he wasn't enjoying it. As long as he felt comfortable and I felt comfortable, I don't think it mattered what I did.

The moment only lasted for an hour, but it felt as if it had gone on a lifetime. And even after we had come down from our high, It still felt as if my veins were filled with cotton. And when he curled into my chest, fast asleep, worn from it all, I found myself pulling the blankets over us, ignoring the 10 minute warning beep of my watch. If we were caught, I didn't care. I was too drunk off kisses and the scent of sex to really care what happened next. Life was good and everything, for once, didn't feel quite as shitty as it did. I was happy, and nothing, or nobody could tear this happiness that lay bundled in my arms. He was my last shred of pure happiness, and it was going to stay that way.

Doctors be damned.

---

"Mabel is missing." This was the first thing out of Dipper's mouth when I sat down by our tree.

"Missing? Are you sure she didn't just take a walk somewhere?"

"She's been gone for two weeks now. I'm getting worried."

"Awww Dip, it's okay, I'm sure she hasn't gone too far," I reassured. How far could a figment of someone's imagination go?

"I hope she comes home soon, she's never been gone for this long."

"What's the longest she's ever been missing?" This had happened before?

"Once, for a week. It was the year I spent at grunkle Stan's. She didn't show up for a week, and just as I was getting worried, she showed up, sitting on my bed, like she hadn't left at all."

"Do you have any idea why she might have left?"

"No. She's not mad at me, at least I don't think so. I don't remember doing anything to anger her."

"Well like I said, maybe she just went for a long walk. Wanted to stretch out her legs."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I mean, lets just wait it out. She'll turn up."

He nodded, trying to find reassurance in my words. Still, the worried expression remained on his face throughout lunch.

---

"It's nice to fully meet you, Norman."

I stood perfectly still, staring at my boyfriend who had been waiting in my room when I entered. At least, It was my boyfriend's body. The eyes were different though; softer, toned down. There were no traces of gold, or brown, or green; just black. It was my boyfriend, yes, but it wasn't.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my boyfriend? Listen, if you're a ghost, you have five seconds to get out of him now before I-" he chuckled, cutting my accusations short. He gave me a soft smile, but I didn't return it. This wasn't my Dipper, even if it was his face. He wasn't my Dipper.

"Don't worry Norman, I'm not possessing Dipper, if that's what you think. I just wanted to talk."

"Who are you?" I growled. I needed answers, and I was going to get them.

Dipper's face fell into a serious expression, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

He sighed. Then his eyes met mine and he said something I never thought I'd hear. "My name is Mabel."

"Mabel? As in...Mabel Pines? Dipper's sister?" I gaped.

He nodded, and then to make sure the point had been made, he said, "Yes...exactly."

The news hit me like a slap in the face and I struggled to keep my balance. It couldn't be her...there was no way it could be her.

"But...I thought...I didn't think you were real."

"I'm not...I'm a figment of Dipper's psyche."

"A figment of- then how are you talking to me?"

"I'm not. Not really. I'm just a part of Dipper. A part of Dipper who has created this persona known as Mabel. Dipper believes in Mabel, and so that is who I am. I play Mabel. I play the part of Dipper that he has created."

"So Mabel is just a part of Dipper?"

"Precisely."

"Why?"

"When Dipper was little, he didn't get much attention. His parents didn't have much time for him and he often found himself alone. This isolation caused him to create an imaginary friend who he named Mabel. As time passed, his loneliness grew and his mental state began to diminish. Suddenly, Mabel was more than just an imaginary friend; she had become almost a sister like figure to him. As his mental state unhinged, she was no longer imaginary to him. He began to believe her real, as real as you are."

"So Mabel was created from loneliness?"

"Yes. Mabel is only real as long as Dipper continues to feel isolation."

"Okay...but then...why are you here? Talking to me about M-err, you?"

"Because I'm starting to fade. Or...at least, this part of Dipper is fading."

"Fading?"

"Yes."

"You mean, when Dipper said you were missing, you were actually-"

"Fading...yes."

"But why?"

Here Mabel smiled, "Isn't it obvious? I was created to protect and keep Dipper company. But...I'm no longer needed. He is no longer alone. He has someone else in his life now that keeps him company, that gives him attention. He has someone who protects and loves him now. Do you know who that person is Norman?"

"I...it's me?"

Mabel nodded.

"So does that mean...he won't see you anymore?"

"My work here is done. I have been waiting for years for someone to be there for Dipper. Someone to pull him out of the dark hole that's surrounded him. Now that he's opened to a brighter world, I no longer need to be a part of his life. I was only a small part of his world. You have opened him up to the rest of the world. You have done what I could have only hoped for. Thank you Norman," she said.

"Thank you...it must have been tiring."

"I'm very tired Norman...but I'm happy. I love him. He is a part of me. And I will always love him."

"Will you ever return again? What if...what if I'm not there for him anymore? Will you come back?"

"No...because even if you leave him, you've pulled him out of the dark. He can never go back to such a place that I will ever need to return. It will be a struggle for him, but he no longer needs me, so I will not return. He's ready to stand on his own."

"Will he still remember you?"

"For awhile...but eventually he will forget me. It's better this way. I was happy to be there for him. Now I want to sleep. Thank you Norman...for everything you've done. Thank you," she whispered one more time, before his eyes fluttered and his body swayed and he took two steps toward me before he collapsed. I rushed out and grabbed hold of him before he fell.

"Norman? Where am I?" Dipper coughed. This time it was my Dipper. Mine.

"You're in my room. You're okay."

"What happened?"

"Nothing...just...saying goodbye to an old ghost."

---

"Why are you leaving?" Dipper asked, sitting on my bed, watching me pack. He had such a heartbroken look on his face. I couldn't bear it, but I continued to pack anyways.

"I told you...my sister's coming to pick me up."

"I don't want you to go Norman."

"Trust me, while I hate it here and I'm glad to be leaving, I don't want to go without you either."

"Then stay. You can stay with me," he pleaded, his eyes begging me not to go.

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

"You're not going to come back if you go. You'll forget about me."

"No I won't Dip. You know I never will."

"Y-yes you will. Y-you'll forget m-me a-and I-i'll be a-all alone. First Mabel l-left...a-and...n-now you. I don't want to l-lose two people," he blubbered, hugging himself tightly, fighting back tears. He was wearing my old hoodie. Good thing he never grew that much taller.

It had been a year since Mabel. There hadn't been much talk about her, Dipper wallowing in self-pity for a little while before I finally convinced him that Mabel wanted to live her life a little and discover the world for herself, and that she would always be in his heart. It cheered him up, but I don't think there was anything I could say now to lift his spirits.

"Dipper, I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anybody else," I cooed, crouching on one knee by the foot of my bed, my hand over his. "I will visit you every chance I get. I promise."

"It won't be the same."

I knew that was true. I knew that nothing would ever be the same again, but I had to smile, because I didn't want him to see my fear. "Don't worry, everything will be fine...trust me."

"I don't want you to go...I don't want to be alone."

"You never will Dipper. You know I never will let you be alone again."

"Then don't leave..."

"Wait one year. I'll be an adult. I'll get some papers signed, I'll find a way to get you out. You'll stay with me."

"Why can't I leave with you? I'm eighteen. Can't I sign myself out?"

"You're an adult yes...but unless the doctors sees improvement, they won't allow you to sign yourself out Dipper."

"But I don't see Mabel anymore. She's gone. Doesn't that mean I can leave?"

"The doctors need to believe that you've been cured."

"I don't understand what that means. Cured from what?"

"And until you understand that...you can't leave. I'm sorry Dipper. There's nothing I can do...I'm sorry."

"There's nothing you can do...but maybe I can help." A mysterious man's voice said from my doorway.

I turned, and found an older man leaning against my doorway, wearing a crisp tuxedo with slacks, a red bow tie and a pair of scuffed brown shoes. He was holding a black cane with an eight ball on the top, and an eyepatch hung over his left eye. Dipper jumped up, his eyes blowing to the size of dinner plates. "Grunkle Stan!" he shouted, barreling toward the man and throwing his arms around him in a giant bear hug.

So this was his grunkle?

"Hey Dippy. Gosh you've grown. I remember when you were nothing more than an ankle biter," the man guffawed.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked. Why didn't I hear him?

"Long enough. So, you're dating my great nephew hun?" He gave me a glare only a protective parent could. I shrunk down despite myself.

"But I thought...I thought I couldn't see you anymore," Dipper said, voice laced with confusion. Honestly, I was a little bewildered as well.

"I've been spending those years since you were here getting that damn restraining order removed. Finally I was able to get rid of it once and for all. Since you're an adult, your parents can't make the decision as to whether you can see me or not. When they tried to say you were too loopy to make your own decisions, I took it upon myself to show the court what lovely, nurturing parents they've been the past few years. Let's just say, abandoning you here without any contact or visit, well the judge began to see me in a different light. I've been spending my years studying up on this here institute. Did you know that patients can be forced down in order to administer medication into their blood streams, even against the will of the patient? They also made it clear that they could use physical force to apply the medication, such as striking the patient, or pinching them until they stop struggling. Well, lets just say, that was all the proof I needed; that, and a few written statements from nurses who witnessed it. The judges all agreed, I was a much better fit for a guardian then they were. Custody was handed over to me, and the restraining order was removed from me and forced upon them by the court of law. Talk about irony."

"So you mean, Dipper's free to go?" I asked, unable to contain my excitement.

"I can go home with you?" he asked, his own voice rising in glee.

"You sure can Dippy. Soos has missed you since you left. He can't wait to see you again."

"Umm, excuse...Mr. Pines? Where do you live exactly?" I suddenly felt the need to ask.

"Gravity Falls, Oregon."

Oregon! While I was ecstatic to know that Dipper could leave, I was heartbroken to know that he would be thousands of miles away. Seeing him would be even more difficult to achieve.

"Come on Dippy, the meter's running. Let's get you packed," Stan chattered enthusiastically, pulling Dipper from my room.

I watched them walk off, and felt a growing lump in my throat.

---

"So I guess this is goodbye?" I said. We were standing side by side. Courtney was waiting in one car, his great uncle waiting in another. The cars would be going in opposite directions, miles and miles away from each other. I didn't know what to feel. He was my boyfriend and I loved him, but I always heard the rumors about long distance. They never worked out.

"You can come visit me in the summer. I can come visit you in the winter. We'll be apart for spring and fall, but we can visit each other after. And...maybe...one day...we can...I don't know. Meet halfway and get a house together?" he promised, but it sounded a little flat in our ears.

"You really think that will work?" I was being doubtful.

"It could. We could make it work. It'll take some extra willpower...but we could do it. We've survived a lot, haven't we?"

I laughed, albeit weakly. "Yeah, I suppose we have."

He suddenly reached down into his suitcase and pulled something from one of the pockets. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was his old, brown hat. He handed it to me. I went to give it back, but he pushed it back into my hands. "Keep it. So you don't forget...so you hold on until the summer."

"I don't have anything to give you though."

"You've already given me so much. Your jacket, your stories, your heart...you've given me so much Norman." A single tear rolled down his cheek and he quickly went to wipe it away. From somewhere in the distance, a horn blared.

"Grunkle Stan's getting impatient...I should go. I'll see you soon okay?"

"Yeah..."

"Hey Norman?"

"Yeah?"

He raised his pinky and I could no longer hold the floodgates. I raised my own and intertwined it with his, not caring that I was crying openly.

"Pinky promise?"

"Yeah...pinky promise."

He let go of my hand, stood on his tippy toes to plant me a final kiss, then grabbed all his things and ran towards the awaiting car. I waved to him. He waved back, before disappearing into the passenger's seat.

And I thought, as their car pulled away into the sunset, that this was not the end. I would see him again, for our story was not over yet. Because even though he was leaving me, he was not gone.

No, not really.