By the time Dipper was done telling Wendy, Mabel, and Pacifica about his most recent dream, he was yawning. He was curled up in the corner of Grunkle Stan's chair, and Mabel had draped a blanket over him.
"We can talk more about the dreams and Ford's letter later, bro-bro," said Mabel from her seat on the floor. She patted Dipper's foot that stuck out from under the blanket. "You should try and get some sleep."
"But it's the middle of the day," protested Dipper weakly.
"Dude. You nearly died yesterday," said Wendy, bluntly. "You just got out of the hospital like an hour ago. You need rest."
Dipper looked at Pacifica, to see if she held an opinion on the matter. She shrugged, and nodded in agreement with Wendy.
"Fine," grumbled Dipper. "I'll go take a nap." He threw the blanket off and stood, then nearly fell forward as he was hit with a wave of vertigo. Wendy leapt to her feet and caught him.
"Easy, there, dork," she said gently. "I'll help you up the stairs, okay?"
Dipper nodded mutely, embarrassed. He let Wendy steer him up the stairs and to his bedroom. She didn't let go of his arm until he sat down on the edge of his bed. She leaned down and hugged Dipper so tightly that his back cracked. Dipper grunted.
"Remind me," Wendy said, as she let go and straightened back up, brushing strands of her long, red hair out of her face, "as soon as you're feeling better, to punch you."
Dipper frowned. "What for?"
Wendy raised an eyebrow at him. "My God, have you always been this dense, you dumbass? I'm pissed as hell that 1) you lied to me about not needing me here, because you clearly did, and 2) you've been hurting yourself, and nearly killed yourself. I'd be devastated if I lost you, dweeb." She rested a hand gently on top of his head.
Dipper blushed, and looked down at his hands. The new cast he'd gotten that morning, to replace the blood-stained one, was day-glow pink—a garish reminder of his absolute stupidity—not to mention the line of stitches holding his skin closed over the gash he'd sliced into his own arm.
"I'm sorry, Wendy," he said softly.
Wendy sighed and ruffled his hair, before turning to leave the room. At the door she paused and looked back at Dipper, who was still staring at his hands, his cheeks red.
"I forgive you, dork. Now get some rest."
/
Wendy clomped back down the stairs and into the living room, flopping down gracelessly into Stan's chair.
"Well, I might be an idiot," she sighed.
"Might?" Pacifica echoed, her eyebrows raised. When Wendy shot her a look, the corners of Pacifica's mouth twitched upward, and she winked.
Wendy narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Mabel, are we sure this is really Pacifica? If so, when did this whole 'nice' thing happen? I find it highly disconcerting."
Mabel shrugged. "Dunno. What's this about you being an idiot, though?"
Wendy tipped her head up to look at the ceiling. "I just gave Dip some tough love, and I think all it did was make him feel bad."
"Why, what'd you say to him?" asked Pacifica. It came out sounding a bit more defensive than she meant it to. She shifted in her spot on the floor so that her back was against the chair, and she didn't have to make eye contact with Wendy.
"I just told him how pissed I was that he lied to me when he said he didn't need me here, and that his dumb ass nearly killed himself," Wendy said. "I mean, it's true… but I didn't say it to make him feel bad—and I think I did."
Pacifica sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against Stan's chair. "I know you meant well, Wendy, but 'tough love' is probably not the best tactic to take with Dipper right now. He must seem relatively normal to you guys… he's definitely perked up since he woke up and you were both here. But trust me—he has not been his normal self, even before he found the letter Ford left him. He's not mentally well. At all."
Wendy's cheeks flushed pink. "Wow, not only are you no longer a bitch… but apparently I am," she mumbled. "Should I go talk to him?"
Mabel shook her head. "No, let him rest. We'll pile on the saccharine love when he wakes up. Let's just chill out right now. I drove all night and you guys slept on chairs. We probably should try and rest, too."
Mabel turned on the TV, and flipped channels until she found a re-run of Ducktective playing. They settled back to watch the show, and one by one, the girls' eyes fluttered closed, until everyone slept.
/
The brakes of the eighteen-wheeler hissed as it pulled to a stop next to him. He climbed up, and stuck his head in the open cab window. The trucker shot him a gap-toothed grin.
"You looked like you could use a ride," the trucker said. "Where you heading?"
He shrugged. "North," he said simply. That was all he could remember. Home was to the North.
"Well, that's not very specific," said the trucker. "But hop on in. I'll take you as far North as my route goes, at least."
"Thanks," he said, as he opened the door and climbed in. He caught sight of himself in the side mirrors as he shut the door, and scowled.
It was an uncomfortable thing to not recognize the face staring back at you in the mirror. His face just didn't feel right. His hazel eyes were uncomfortably yellowish, and his high cheekbones were jarringly sharp. His nose was large and slightly red and beaky, while his mouth was thin-lipped and grim. The unkempt blond hair that fell in his eyes appeared to be his natural color—and yet, it still felt wrong.
What bothered him the most about his appearance, though, was that he looked nothing like Pine Tree and Shooting Star. He was absolutely certain that the kids in the photo were family, but he would have felt better if he at least resembled them. He didn't, at all.
He sighed and slouched down in his seat, then realized that the trucker was talking to him.
"Sorry, what was that?"
"I said, do you got a name, son?"
This question made him as uncomfortable as not recognizing the face in the mirror. He decided to make something up. He went with the first name that popped into his head.
"Billy. My name is Billy."
/
Dipper sat up in bed with a gasp. His head was pounding, and he was parched beyond belief, but neither of those things mattered right now. He got out of bed and scrambled to find his sketchbook and colored pencils in the dim evening light that reluctantly shone in through the triangle-shaped attic window.
He found the art supplies he was looking for, and held them to his chest as he rushed out of the room, and barreled down the stairs. He nearly collided with a panicked looking Pacifica at the bottom of the staircase.
"Dipper, what the hell? Are you okay? I thought you were falling down the stairs!"
Mabel and Wendy walked up behind Pacifica, yawning and rubbing their eyes.
"S'wrong, bro-bro?" asked Mabel. "You have another dream?"
Dipper nodded, and pushed past the girls, making his way to the kitchen table. He sat down and flipped his sketchbook open, his right hand flying over the paper as he rushed to sketch the face in his dream while it was still fresh in his memory.
"I saw him," he said, never taking his eyes off his drawing. "The person whose perspective I've been dreaming from. I had hoped—" he paused and swallowed. "It wasn't Stan. But I've been inside his head—he seems confused and sad, not evil. But that could just be the amnesia. Who knows what he'll eventually remember. Right now he thinks me and Mabel are his family. He's coming. He thinks he's coming home."
Mabel, Wendy, and Pacifica exchanged worried glances. Dipper's eyes were wild, and he wasn't making sense.
"Dipper, slow down," said Mabel. "Breathe. I know they seem really real, but they're just dreams."
Dipper stopped drawing, and looked up at Mabel, hurt in his eyes. "You don't believe me." It wasn't a question. "Even after I told you about all my previous dreams—how it's like I'm living through someone's memories. Even after I told you about the warning Ford left me. You think I'm just crazy."
Mabel bit her lip, and gestured to Dipper's injured left hand and the stitches on his arm. "Not crazy, but look what you've done to yourself, Dip Dop. You're not well."
Dipper's nostrils flared. He looked back down at his sketch and continued drawing.
"Wendy, what about you? Do you think this is all in my head?" Dipper asked, without looking up.
"Dude, look at yourself. You're acting like one of those possessed people from the Close Encounters movie, who couldn't stop drawing that mountain thing," answered Wendy. "Like Mabel said, I don't think you're crazy, but you were already having nightmares before you found Ford's letter, and that just sent you into a tailspin. We don't even really know what Ford wrote, because the letter was in your pocket when you cut yourself, and now its just illegible paper with your blood all over it."
The betrayal felt like a knife shoved between Dipper's ribs. He stopped drawing and looked up at Wendy with tear-filled eyes. "But I told you what the letter said. You think I'm lying?"
"No, dude. I think you're confused and sick," Wendy said gently. "Maybe you should consider checking back in to the hospital." She moved to place her hand over Dipper's, but he jerked away.
Pacifica had been very quiet this whole time. She stood back behind Dipper's chair, and watched the face take shape on his sketchbook paper. He turned to her, an unspoken plea in his eyes.
"Paz?" he said softly. He didn't know if he could handle her thinking he was crazy, too. She'd been with him through everything.
Pacifica reached out and pushed Dipper's hair out of his eyes. "I believe you," she said quietly. "How you described your nightmares even before we found Ford's letter—I agree with you. You weren't simply dreaming. You were living someone else's memories. And this is him?" she asked, tapping the sketch with her index finger.
Dipper's chin quivered as he smiled gratefully up at Pacifica. He turned back toward the drawing, and nodded.
"I don't know how they did it, but I think Stan and Ford's experiment to trap Bill in a vessel somehow created a human body for him instead. This is him. He calls himself Billy."
/
Mabel huffed. "Seriously, Pacifica? My brother needs help, and you're over here encouraging his delusions?"
"Yeah, what the hell, Northwest?" spat Wendy. "Earlier you were saying Dipper hasn't been acting like his normal self, and that he's not mentally healthy. Now you're playing along with him?"
"Mentally ill and delusional aren't synonymous," Pacifica fired back, the heat rising in her cheeks. "I think Dipper is suffering from major depression or something. I don't think he's psychotic, like you both obviously do. And I sure as hell am not playing along, Corduroy."
Pacifica was red-faced and shaking. She'd thought having Mabel and Wendy around would be good for Dipper, but not if they were going to patronize him and call him delusional. She decided to leave the room before she said something she'd regret. She stormed out of the kitchen, and through the front door, slamming it behind her. She sat on the porch steps as twilight painted the sky a deep purple, angry tears slipping down her cheeks.
/
Dipper stared at the face he'd drawn—the face from his dreams. It looked sad. He wondered if the sad expression was simply him projecting his own current mental state on the young man as he drew him, but dismissed the thought. He was certain that this was the expression he'd caught on Billy's face in the side mirror of the truck.
Angry hissing pulled Dipper out of his thoughts. Mabel and Wendy were standing just outside the kitchen door, probably discussing their ire with Pacifica for 'encouraging Dipper's delusions.'
Dipper sighed. He was disappointed and hurt that Mabel and Wendy would so easily disregard the weird explanation for the mundane—this was Gravity Falls, after all. They'd all experienced Weirdmageddon and lived to tell the tale. Why, then, were they so eager to believe that Dipper was losing his mind, rather than believe that Ford had seriously messed up some crazy, magic experiment, and somehow created Bill his own human body?
Dipper stood and ripped the drawing from his sketchbook, and attached it to the fridge with a magnet. He scooted past Mabel and Wendy without looking either of them in the eye. Mabel reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled quickly away, and went to join Pacifica on the porch steps. He didn't have anything to say to people who thought he was crazy.
/
Pacifica heard the front door creak open, and looked behind her to see Dipper silhouetted against the light from the hallway. She lifted her hand in greeting. He nodded to her, pulled the door shut, and sat beside her on the steps as the sky darkened and the stars began to appear.
After several moments of amicable silence, Dipper finally spoke.
"Thank you," he said softly. "For believing me. And for standing up for me."
"You're welcome," she replied. "Does this mean you've finally given up on the idea that I'm being nice to you out of pity, or whatever?"
There was a hint of laughter in Dipper's voice when he replied. "Oh, yeah. I gave up on that idea when I opened my eyes in the hospital and saw you standing there with this pitiful look on your face, still wearing clothes covered in my blood. You wouldn't ruin your clothes over someone you didn't actually like, right?"
Pacifica rolled her eyes. "Jeez, was I really so much of a bitch before that you think I'd have let someone I wasn't fond of bleed to death to keep from getting blood on my outfit?"
"Well..." Dipper said with a shrug. Then he chuckled. "Nah, I guess you were never quite that bad."
Without any warning, Dipper suddenly threw his arms around Pacifica and hugged her tightly. She jerked, startled, then smiled and gently rubbed his back.
"Why, I never would have made you out to be so free with your affections, Mr. Pines," Pacifica said, imitating her mother's snobby, upper-crust accent.
Dipper's laugh was muffled against her shoulder. He looked up and smiled. "Actually, Ms. Northwest," he said, trying his best to sound posh, "I am not at all free with my affections. Rather, I am quite exclusive with them." He bent at the waist and performed a mock-bow, with a flourish. "You're welcome." He waggled his eyebrows at her for extra effect.
Pacifica tried to keep a straight face, and failed miserably. She burst into laughter, and leaned into Dipper's shoulder. She actually snorted, which elicited another peal of laughter from her. She stopped laughing abruptly, however, when she heard the front door open behind them.
"What's so funny?" asked Mabel, standing in the doorway. "I feel like I'm missing out."
Upon hearing his sister's voice, Dipper's posture changed immediately. His shoulders sank, and he stared down at his feet. Pacifica could actually see how betrayed he felt by Mabel.
"Nothing," Dipper answered his sister, his voice hollow. He stood and turned back toward the house. "I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed now."
Mabel frowned at him. "You should eat something, first. Wendy and I just ordered pizza. It should be here in like twenty minutes."
Dipper shook his head. "Not hungry. 'Scuse me."
Mabel stepped aside, and Dipper brushed past her, briefly turning to murmur "'Night, Paz," before trudging slowly up the stairs.
Mabel stared after him. "What's his problem?" she muttered, once he was out of earshot. Pacifica felt her jaw literally drop.
"Excuse me? Are you for real, right now?" she asked, incredulous. "What's his problem?" She stood, and propped her hands on her hips. "Oh, I don't know. Probably something along the lines of: he's severely depressed, he's grieving the loss of the Stans, and something freaky is happening involving a former demonic triangle—but his sister and best friend don't believe him, and are saying he's delusional. That might be his problem."
Mabel pressed her lips together in a thin line. "I think you're just pretending to believe him because you finally realized how awesome my brother is, and you want to get with him."
Pacifica opened and closed her mouth, too pissed to form a coherent sentence. Finally she took a deep breath, and said slowly, "I think Dipper will be okay without me tonight, since you and Wendy are here. I'm just going to grab my stuff from inside, then head home."
Mabel gave Pacifica a curt nod, and waved her inside before shutting the door behind her. "That would probably be best."
Pacifica headed to the living room and grabbed her book bag. On her way out, she passed the kitchen, where Wendy and Mabel were talking quietly.
"—ambulance tonight would be best," Wendy was saying. "He wouldn't go with us if we tried to drive him, he'd know—"
They were going to try and have Dipper committed against his will.
Pacifica had to warn him. She sat her book bag down and tried to make it up the stairs without attracting any attention.
"I thought you said you were leaving?"
Pacifica winced. She turned and looked down at Mabel. "I need to use the bathroom. If that's not a problem."
Mabel frowned, but nodded. "Make it quick."
When she got to the top of the stairs, Pacifica turned to make sure Mabel wasn't still watching her, then, slowly opened Dipper's door, trying to keep the hinges from squeaking. She tiptoed into his room, and then quietly pulled the door shut behind her. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the dark.
"Um, who goes there?" Dipper's voice whispered from the darkness.
"Oh, good, you're not asleep yet," Pacifica said softly.
"Paz?"
"Yeah, it's me," she replied. His room was pitch dark. She held her hands in front of her, and slowly walked in the direction his voice came from. Her hands touched something warm, and she jerked them back. Dipper had stood, and she'd apparently just ran her hands over his bare chest.
"Did you come to sleep with me?" asked Dipper. He quickly followed that question up with "I mean, to try and keep my nightmares, or dreams, or whatever away?"
Pacifica shook her head, then realized he might not be able to see her either.
"No," she said. "Not that I don't want to, but… Dipper I was getting ready to leave, and I overheard Wendy saying something about an ambulance tonight, and not driving you because you'd figure it out—I think they're planning to have you involuntarily committed tonight."
"Shit," muttered Dipper. "The thing that sucks is that I can't be too angry with them, because I know they're just worried about me, and they mean well—but still. Ugh. What should I do?"
"Well," Pacifica began hesitantly, "I can pull my car out toward the road so they think I've gone, and wait for you to sneak out. My apartment is small, but you're more than welcome to stay with me. If you want."
"Yeah, okay. I'll try to be quick about it. I'll text you if I'm having trouble sneaking past them, or whatever."
"Right," said Pacifica. "Okay. I'll be waiting out by the road, then. Good luck."
"Thanks."
Pacifica quietly slipped back out of his room, then crossed the hall and flushed the toilet and ran the tap for a few seconds, so Mabel and Wendy would hopefully not suspect that she did anything other than use the bathroom upstairs.
She trudged back down the staircase, and grabbed her book bag from the floor. She stuck her head into the living room, where Mabel and Wendy were watching TV.
"Bye, guys. If—if anything happens with Dipper, you have my number," Pacifica said. She hoped the dim lighting from the TV would keep them from noticing her red face.
"Okay. Later Paz," said Wendy. Mabel simply flapped a hand at her.
Pacifica let herself out and got in her car. She slowly pulled from the Mystery Shack parking lot, and stopped when she was nearly to the road. Her heart was pounding—partially because she was helping Dipper sneak out and avoid getting stuck in a mental hospital, but also because Dipper was going to be spending the night at her apartment. She'd never brought anyone to her apartment before.
A sudden rapping on the passenger side front window startled Pacifica, and she turned to see Dipper staring at her wide-eyed, motioning for her to unlock the door. She did, and he threw the door open, jumped in, slammed the door, and cried "Go, go, go!"
His panic was contagious. Pacifica slammed her foot on the gas, and her tires spun and kicked up gravel before they finally got enough grip to send the car flying down the road.
Dipper was breathing heavily, as he buckled his seatbelt. Pacifica kept her eyes on the road, but just before she had hit the gas, she had glanced quickly at Dipper. She had a question for him now.
"Dipper?"
"Yeah, Paz?" he wheezed, still trying to regulate his breathing.
"Um. Why are you wearing nothing but boxers?"
Dipper sighed. "You noticed that, huh?"
"Uh-huh."
/
Dipper had been frantically trying to pack a bag when Mabel had entered his room without knocking. She had asked him what he was doing, and, unable to come up with a good answer, Dipper panicked and ran, barefoot, clad only in the boxers he'd worn to bed. He'd thought to grab his phone, but that was it.
Pacifica burst into a fit of giggles when he explained the situation to her. "Way to be stealthy, genius," she chuckled, wiping away tears of mirth.
Dipper grinned and wiggled his toes. He loved hearing Pacifica laugh, even if it was at his expense.
"I mean, it's not like you haven't already seen me naked," he said with a shrug. "Although, um, I would like to point out, in case it ever is of interest to you, that when you saw me naked, I had just stepped out of a cold shower. Very cold. Icy."
Pacifica raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Duly noted. For future reference. Maybe."
"Right," said Dipper firmly.
Unsure of what else to say, they rode in silence for several minutes, before Pacifica pulled up in front of a stately old Victorian home.
"You live here?" Dipper asked, confused. "I thought I heard you say apartment."
"Yes and yes," said Pacifica, as put the car in park. "It's split into apartments. I'm on the top floor."
She pulled the keys from the ignition, and turned to grab her book bag from the back seat before getting out. When she turned toward him, Dipper threw his arms dramatically over his chest.
"My modesty!" he cried.
Pacifica rolled her eyes. "Oh, speaking of modesty, I should probably warn you—I sleep in the buff," she said casually, as she climbed out of the car.
"Wh—oh—really?" stammered Dipper, as he shut his door.
"No, not really," Pacifica said. She stuck her tongue out at him, then waved for him to follow her. As she unlocked the front door to the building, she turned to him and grinned.
"I do, however, only have one bed, and it's a twin. You better not hog the covers."
/
That's all she wrote. For tonight, at least. ;p By the way, please don't hate me for how Mabel and Wendy ended up acting in this chapter. I honestly didn't plan it that way, but that's how it came out. I normally ship Wendip, and Mabel is a vital part of my other main fic, so it's not that I don't like the characters. This story is just very different than my other.
Hearts and glitter bombs,
Geeky
