I wasn't going to tell her. I couldn't. It would break her heart.
Stan and I had made a silent pact to not say anything about it. And in the event that it came up, I would brush it off like it didn't matter.
Stan was outside of the room talking to the doctor. On an unrelated note, It was a pretty cold night, considering it was the middle of Summer.
I sat aboard the braid train. I wasn't so big on doing hair, but it was the least I could do for her.
Thirteen years, and I had no idea we weren't even the same blood type. It was like being twins was suddenly meaningless.
And Stan wasn't even a match. Sometimes he'd joke about us being adopted, but I was beginning to believe it, just for a minute.
Nah.
Something I did notice, though, was that Mabel was shedding quite a bit of hair from stress. I tried to imagine all of it just falling out upon starting treatment. She loved that big ball of fluff that came out of her head. I sighed and looked down. Her hair was in a loose braid now, and she held up a small mirror and smiled.
"You should be a barber, Dipper! I'd totally trust you with scissors near my neck!" she turned to see that I wasn't feeling myself. "Are you okay? Is something wrong? If it's about me, don't worry. I know you'll save up all the money you need."
"Yeah, ...no, I'm fine, Mabel..."
"I don't see a smile," she poked my stomach until I gave in. "There it is!"
"See, I'm fine," I fixed my blue and white hat. I was more distracted than I should have been. "Never been better..."
"You're all down in the dump-dumps," she frowned. "We can go somewhere you like when I'm better, if that'll cheer you up. The museum? Taco Bell?"
"N-no," I shook my head.
She sat facing me, crossing her legs.
"Dipper, you can tell me what's bothering you. I won't think of you any differently."
"Well, it's just...," I shook my head. "No...nothing."
"You're still my brother, and I love you."
"Mabel, I told you, I'm alright," I smiled forcefully. "See?"
"You don't have to lie anymore. You should embrace it."
"What?"
"That you like boys," she looked at me and blinked. She laughed when she saw my puzzled expression. "That's not it, is it?"
"No, Mabel...," I looked at the floor. I couldn't possibly tell her. Not without hating myself more than I already did. Not without crying until my head hurt and my eyes burned. It was like all my efforts the past few days now meant nothing.
But...I had to tell her. I thought I had my mind set, but it was now or never.
"Dipper, are you crying?" I hadn't noticed the tears rolling down my cheeks. She wiped them with her thumbs. "Don't cry. If you don't want to tell me, that's okay."
I sighed.
"Mabel, I need you to know that-"
Stan opened the door hard enough to catch our attention. It was almost like now he made it a point to look like hell.
"Kids...," he kicked the door closed. "We have to leave."
"But we already agreed that I could-"
"No, Dipper, I can't afford for her to stay here any longer. I already tried slipping and faking a lawsuit, but...we're going home. I mean, really this time."
"But what about Mabel?" I cried. "We're a family, Stan. And when your family's on the line, you'll sell your soul if you have to! Why is that so hard to understand?"
"I've told you a million times, Dipper. We've lost."
"But she needs to get better so we can do things!"
"No, she's going to stay home and recover as best as she can. That's that."
"I bet you would sell the shack if it was Kylie."
"You keep her out of this, you little punk." He seemed almost half-serious. "You really think I'm not trying? I sold my car for a new, crappy one. We're not even halfway there, Dipper. We're only at about ten-thousand. So quit being a sweaty little jerk and face facts."
I looked down at the floor.
Neither of us could donate bone marrow. If we had her on a waiting list, it would definitely be too late before we found a donor.
We didn't have nearly enough for treatment of any sort.
She was dying. What do you do when your sister sits there, her eyes begging for you to do your best, and you have no choice but to give up? What were we supposed to do, use that hard-earned money to keep her there? Just prolong the inevitable, as we tried time and time again to raise enough, only to be brought back down by the hospital bill? It would be a never-ending cycle. I wasn't going to put her through that.
"I'm sorry, Mabel," I said, standing up. I felt like I was doing something so malicious, giving up like that. I expected her to cry and tell me I had to do something.
"It's okay," was all she replied. I knew it wasn't. It wasn't the slightest bit okay.
She placed a sticker on my cheek that said, You tried.
I tried not to cry when we left the hospital and into Stan's new, crappy blue Hyundai. Mabel couldn't walk well, so I had to help her into the car.
We drove home and walked inside. I carried Mabel on my shoulders. She was so light now, it didn't strain my back at all. We went upstairs into the attic, as if nothing had happened. Waddles was at Wendy's house, and would likely be home in the morning. Other than that, we tried to resume things as normal.
But I couldn't do it.
I sat on the corner of my bed. Stan was asleep at this point, and Mabel was in bed, groaning in pain, now that she didn't have heavy medication keeping it at bay.
I wasn't going to watch her die. Not like this.
I took out my suitcase and the jar of money. I packed some clothes, aspirin, and a few other things.
"Dipper, what are you doing?" she asked groggily.
I looked at her, smiling a little.
"We're going to Disneyland. We're going to meet the members of 'Joy Boys'. We're going to Sea World, the glitter factory, and The Puppy Cafe. And damn it, we're going to have the time of our lives."
