"Shall I take that as a yes?"
It was several minutes before he could even uncurl, much less respond. Resting his weight against the door, Dipper stared at Bill owlishly with a frown bringing his lips downwards. He didn't even know what to say to him after that but was rethinking future outings with Bill, unless somebody else was going to drive them. "Y'know," he sighed gently, letting out a breath of air that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and glanced away, "I thought… the night my parents died would be the last near-death experience I'd have for a while." Obviously he couldn't have been more wrong.
Bill shook his head. "That was hardly a near death experience, cutie. You're perfectly safe."
"Maybe," he shrugged. "I just don't feel like it when I'm with you." Eye contact was nonexistent, as his preference was to stare out the window at the many stars glittering above them in a dusty dark blue sky. Stargazing was significantly nicer when they weren't moving too fast for comfort while their car fishtailed uncontrollably down the roads of Los Santos, nearly hitting a semi truck in the process.
"You should." Bill followed his gaze to the sky. "They're nice, aren't they?"
Ignoring his comment about the stars, frustration flared within Dipper. "I should? You've gone out of your way to make me panic and think we're going to die." It wasn't even the first of his offenses: he'd had him over the balcony railing a few times, he'd shot the sofa he laid on, he'd put a pistol to his head.
"Yes, but no harm has come upon you once." While technically true in the physical sense, that didn't make it any better since it messed with his mental state, forcing him into total panics. "You need to relax, cutie, and enjoy the stars." And with that he exited the vehicle, leaving Dipper to his thoughts.
Enjoying the stars seemed impossible when he was with Bill, of all people, because he could barely avoid having an anxiety attack for an hour, relaxing was out of the question. Finishing off the last of his coffee, he fell into silence for a while as his gaze flicked from the stars to the busy roads of Los Santos, wishing he was home instead of here. Well, whatever home was now, but a thought from earlier occurred to him: home was with Mabel. Hands still shaking, he texted her:
(9:29 PM) Are you back yet?
(9:29 PM) Yes! :)
(9:30 PM) You sound happy. I'm guessing everything went okay?
(9:30 PM) It's still happening! ;)
(9:30 PM) I'm glad you went out with Bill tonight!
(9:30 PM) I get some alone time with Pacifica~
(9:31 PM) Not going to think about that too hard and just assume you're snuggling and watching tv
(9:31 PM) Being with Bill has been a wreck, mostly
(9:31 PM) Oh, we're getting cozy on the couch alright! ;) ;)
(9:31 PM) Your date didn't go too well?
(9:32 PM) Still isn't a date, but yeah that's fair to say
(9:32 PM) "Too well" is giving it too much credit actually
(9:32 PM) Sounds like a bad date to me!
(9:32 PM) You should try to make it better!
Dipper looked out the window of the vehicle and trained his eyes on the dim outline of Bill, who was leaning back on his hands, staring at the sky. He had no interest in talking to that man.
(9:33 PM) He's sitting in the ditch like a weirdo
(9:33 PM) You should talk to him!
(9:34 PM) I don't know
(9:34 PM) Are you going to be okay without me? We can talk later or if you want we can call
(9:35 PM) Yeah, I'll be okay
(9:35 PM) Text/call if you need anything, Dipdop! :)
(9:35 PM) I will. We can talk later
(9:35 PM) See you later Dippy!
Several minutes passed since he'd put down his phone, trying to recollect his scattered thoughts but arriving at the conclusion that he was ready to return to the penthouse. Dipper could no longer see Bill in the dark– he'd moved outside the boundary of the headlights. If he squinted, he thought he could see a faint orange glow. Undoubtedly a cigarette.
Though he still didn't want to talk to him, he didn't have much choice if he wanted to get going. Unbuckling his seatbelt, Dipper left the car and soon spotted Bill sitting in the grass, smoking confirmed. As he approached, he noted that it was strange because he seemed to only do it when stressed but… he had no idea what would've shaken him tonight.
Dipper claimed a spot next to him, sitting with his legs folded, quiet for a couple moments as he tried to think of something to say. It felt like the words were lost in translation between them half the time, resulting in an outcome that neither saw coming. Bill seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but all Dipper could do was notice the blue spot in his golden eyes, the same splotch that'd caused most of tonight's mess in the first place. No matter what Bill told him, he still thought it was nice, for lack of a better word.
And besides, he didn't really want to think about liking Bill's eyes — that was dancing on the edge of strange, but then again he was an art student, he could appreciate odd beauty without it being weird.
Bill must have noticed him looking because he grimaced and beckoned to the sky. "Stars are up there, cherry."
Dipper was a little sheepish about being called out but was relieved that Bill didn't seem upset this time. He was tempted to reply that he could see them just fine, staring for a second longer and actually enjoying the way he could pick out tiny sparks of light flickering in the depths of amber and blue, but what he was doing caught up with him and he averted his gaze. He shifted so he was turned away, facing the street, but leaned his weight against Bill. "Your eyes are still nice."
"You're not helping the urge to cut it out right now," Bill quietly muttered. "You need to stop being such a fucking fairy fag. It's not good for your health."
That was harsher than he'd thought it'd be, and he peered at him for a moment. "For someone who wanted a kiss like thirty minutes ago, you've really turned off the charm."
Bill scowled. "You turned off the charm when you decided I was the root of all your trauma and then fucked around with my eye."
"Literally none of that happened."
"Yes, it did. Stop that."
Bristling at the false accusations but overall curious, he wondered aloud, "Stop what?"
"Acting like that."
Brushing a hand through his hair, Dipper truthfully didn't know what he was doing, or how he could stop that. Whatever that was. "You're going to have to be more specific."
"You keep looking at my eye, and you're acting like being with me is the end of the world. If you don't want to hang out with me, fucking don't." Something in Bill's voice cracked. He sounded nearly wrecked.
Startled, Dipper hadn't the faintest idea where any of that came from but felt his annoyance drain exceedingly fast. "I'm… I'm not looking at you, remember?" Dipper had been facing the other way, eyes trained on the road for the near entirety of their conversation. "And um, I guess I could've gone without almost hitting a semi, but being with you is… is always something."
Bill didn't seem bothered by this new revelation. "You have peripherals," he pressed sadly. "You can see it through those. Watching it, 'admiring' it, but knowing it's an ugly blotch that can only be eradicated by killing the eye entirely."
"It's not," he argued hotly despite hearing Bill sigh, "and I'd never forgive you if you got rid of it. It's..." unique, interesting, "probably the best thing about you." The tiny blue splotch didn't bring him any harm or threaten him.
"Couldn't you preserve it in a glass jar if you liked it so much?"
"It wouldn't be part of you anymore, so I could but then it'd just be some eye in a jar. Also, a little creepy." When he shuddered, he wasn't sure if it was at the thought or if it was due to the light breeze rolling in, a cooler night fully enveloping Los Santos. Even his plaid shirt and jeans weren't enough to keep him completely warm as he sat leaning against Bill in the ditch.
Bill went silent for a moment. "Your obsession with it is a little creepy."
"In a way," he started, "you're the one with the obsession." The one overly concerned with it, constantly thinking about it, the paranoia that surrounded anybody looking at it… the insecurity, which he could genuinely relate to since he had a birthmark he wasn't quite proud of. "But I'll take that as you don't want me to compliment it anymore..?"
"I don't want it," he told him. "I'd rather shoot my brains out than have it be looked at."
Dipper wished he could look but didn't dare turn around, so he settled on the familiar warning, "You don't wanna shoot yourself, that'll hurt like hell." The last time he'd heard it, it was Bill telling him not to jump.
"Then I'll fucking stab my eye out."
"Not better," he muttered. Perhaps worse, the imagery it evoked was disturbing.
"You clearly haven't been eye fucked before."
Dipper craned his neck to look at Bill, raising an eyebrow. "Then what do you call those looks you give me?"
Bill was looking back at him. "Premeditated murder."
"You're sure taking your sweet time," he noted as he turned away again, "after all the chances you've had. And we're on the side of the road at night, why not make a move?"
"Don't. Tempt. Me." The way he shifted against him, he could feel Bill turning his head away. "Why are you so frustrating? You frequently make me want to drive off a cliff."
"I'm frustrating," he repeated, a bitter laugh tumbling from him at the irony. "You think I'm frustrating?" Bill was the epitome of frustrating, but Dipper didn't comment and instead just pulled his knees to his chest to preserve his body heat while he shook his head. "Tell you what, I'll stop talking to you and then you won't have to worry about it ever again, or drive off any cliffs."
That seemed to shut him up for a moment. "No." It was quiet, and Dipper could hardly hear him. "I just want you to stop looking at my eye."
"I'm not even looking at you, man. Chill out." He wasn't sure why Bill was so caught up on this when he had barely seen him for the last ten minutes, attention having been on the road and stars. "Do you need to blindfold me or something?"
There was a pause, and Dipper felt a cold shiver of fear as he sensed where this was going. "Yes. Let me get the trunk open."
In hindsight, probably shouldn't have suggested that but he still let out a breathless, "Okay." Wasn't like he could retract the offer now, but he was kicking himself for being so stupid.
"Wow, you'd actually let me? Or is this one of those things where you'd flail around like a noodle on a plate?"
"Uh," he rubbed the back of his neck, "I guess I wouldn't fight you too hard." He'd been the one to suggest it and now was just digging himself deeper if Bill was serious about this. "I mean… whatever makes you comfortable, right?" His sole condition was that Bill also had to behave, if he was about to be blindfolded.
"I'm not going to blindfold you, kid. Well, not yet at least." Dipper exhaled in relief. Being blindfolded on the side of a road in Los Santos—the city of crime—was pushing it, especially after the stunt with the semi. His trust in Bill had been rattled. "But, we are leaving. This field sucks for stargazing. Come on, cutie." Bill moved to get up, Dipper scrambling to join him. He was glad they would be getting out of here.
"Wait," he said once he'd straightened up and brushed himself off. With Bill paused in his tracks and looking at him questioningly, Dipper took the opportunity to rebutton his vest, the same buttons he'd undone earlier in a search for suspenders. "If you went back to the penthouse like that, Stan would probably think we left to get it on in your car."
Bill faintly chuckled. "Don't act like that's a bad thing, cutie."
Dipper wasn't sure which one was being referred to. "Getting it on in your car or Stan thinking that? He was really specific about not… doing anything with each other."
"Yes." Once the buttons were finished, Bill headed toward his car, tossing the Americano cup into the grass. Dipper watched the motion, instantly annoyed by the lack of consideration for the environment, so caught up that he almost didn't hear what Bill said: "Stan doesn't care, kid. Trust me."
Dipper's fingers twitched as the cup was carelessly discarded, picking it up on his way to the passenger seat with the intention of throwing it away (properly) later, along with the other coffee cup that remained in the cupholder.
"Pine Tree, don't put that trash in my car." Bill had gotten in the driver's seat, turning his vehicle on. "Throw it back in the grass where it belongs."
Ignoring the request, Dipper joined him in the vehicle, getting comfortable in the passenger seat but making no move to resume Bill's practice of littering. "You can't tell me what to do, I'm an art student and also a hipster apparently." Complete with sticking his tongue out at Bill.
"I can kick you out of my car and leave you stranded on the side of the road. Your choice, art student."
With raised eyebrows, Dipper knew he was pushing it as he reclined in the seat, kicking his legs up to put them on the dashboard. The engine was killed after a second, Bill moving from the driver's seat and going to the other side of the vehicle, throwing open the passenger door.
"Hi, cutie," Dipper greeted sarcastically, still painfully aware he was treading a dangerous line but not sure what Bill would do about it. Hopefully, he wouldn't pull a gun on him again. Anything else would be an improvement.
But he hadn't thought Bill would grab him by his arm and yank him through the door, eliciting a squeal of surprise and pain from Dipper. Bill released him onto the ground, Dipper's body making contact with the cold pavement. "Cosmos, I didn't think your noodle arm would snap because I touched it."
Slightly dazed since he hadn't been expecting the sudden show of force (much less expecting Bill to actually cause him pain), he shook himself out of it and got back to his feet, rubbing at where his arm was sore — merely touching it, in Bill's words, was a bit of an understatement when he'd pulled him from the car. But despite the scuffle, he stubbornly held on to the cup, unwilling to let him make a bigger mess of an already-polluted city.
"You're not putting that trash in my car," Bill told him. "If you're so insistent on keeping it, you can walk. Good luck finding your way back without getting hit."
"Better than being with you," he said sourly, brushing past Bill to begin walking with a hand continuing to clutch his injured arm. Although he still didn't want to litter, it was more about the principle of it, the determination to show he wasn't going to be pushed around by Bill and was capable of navigating the city of his own. He'd lived here his entire life, he could do this.
The next thing he knew, Bill's car was beside him, the smug asshole driving slowly to match his pace. Bill waved at him, rolling the window down.
Giving him a hollow glance, Dipper turned on his heels and started heading the opposite direction, didn't care that it'd be going the wrong way, but the car started reversing, catching up to his side once more. "Cutie, don't get all huffy with me."
Oh, he would be huffy with Bill as long as he damn well pleased for everything that'd happened tonight. But he was at his wit's end and stopped to ask, "What are you doing, anyway? Just go find another field to stargaze in and leave me alone." Dipper had thought that was the point, to make him struggle for a way back to the penthouse, and there was no way he wouldn't rise to the occasion given the circumstances.
Bill's dark eyes were locked onto him, his head leaning slightly to a side. "I was going to drive around the city instead and wanted to see if you'd tag along, instead of pout on a shoulder. It's stunning at night."
Dipper didn't think he'd be able to enjoy the views of the evening, not with Bill. And speaking of shoulders, his ached after being manhandled and colliding with the pavement. "Hah, no. Still not convinced that being ran over wouldn't be a nicer fate."
He watched Bill's expression twist into something similar to anger but couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion. "Come on, stop being such a fucking white knight. It's not my fault you insisted on bringing garbage into my car."
Tersely, he replied, "If you wanted me to accompany you, you shouldn't have pulled me out of your car."
"You shouldn't have disregarded my request to leave the trash in the grass." Now he could clearly identify the building anger, Bill looking like he wanted to get out and attack him again. Some gentleman he was, the reassurances from before almost humorous in retrospect.
"Just trying to lessen your karmic debt." Dipper rolled his eyes and continued walking, this time in the correct direction, uninterested in carrying on the conversation when it didn't seem to be getting them anywhere.
"If I wanted that lessened, I'd kill myself here and now."
Dipper gave a bitter reminder, "You almost did kill us." The incident with the semi wasn't lost on him.
"If we were almost killed, there'd be a hell of a lot more damage to the car. Now, get in before I fucking make you by tying you to the seat. I have rope in the trunk." Any traces of patience in Bill's voice had disappeared.
"You can give the threats a rest, I know you won't make me." Maybe a bold claim to make to an unpredictable mess of a man, but he didn't think Bill could or would physically force him into the car — if he got back in, it would be through his own decision.
Bill didn't budge to get out of his car and 'make him get in' like he threatened. As expected. "Would you like me to call Stan? I'm sure Big Daddy would appreciate knowing how reckless you're being right now."
"What, are you going to tattle on your heterosexual life partner?" The words were venomous.
"If that gets your sorry ass in the car, yes. Don't make me fucking come out there." Bill didn't wait for him to respond or react, already starting to get out of the vehicle. "Or I can walk back with you. You'll probably end up getting a piggyback ride on me with how noodly and weak you are."
"Wow, if I didn't know better I'd say you actually cared a bit." Good thing he did know better.
"Yeah, if I wanted you dead on the shoulder I'd just run you over myself." Dipper thought about how Bill had already injured him, might as well finish the job. "Now get in or I'll get the fucking rope. You have until I count to three. One."
He didn't stop walking along the side of the road, didn't even look at Bill though he knew he was starting his stupid countdown.
"Two."
"Fuck off."
Dipper could hear the trunk pop open, and finally spared him a glance, just in time to see Bill reaching in to pull out a coil of rope. "Fine, be like that. Three."
Gaze flicking between Bill and the rope, he stared in disbelief. With Bill, he knew he shouldn't be surprised, but he had a strange way of keeping him on his toes between making true threats and just talking out of his ass. It was hard to tell which were which, sometimes. "You've gotta be kidding me."
"No. Get in the fucking car, Pine Tree." Bill stepped toward him, extending the rope.
Dipper flinched, trying to back up. "Don't touch me," he snarled. "Haven't you already done enough damage tonight?" His shoulder was still aching, the throb only becoming slightly less noticeable but he recognized that rope wouldn't do it good.
Bill scoffed. "You wouldn't have been hurt if you listened to me for once."
That little urge to punch him returned, but he knew better than to act on it: Bill would catch his fist since there was nothing to divert his attention, and his hands were occupied as it was with one holding a cup and the other holding an injury. "You promised you weren't going to hurt me. Why should I listen to you?" It'd been the only stability in their fucked up relationship, Bill's reassurance that he wouldn't harm him, and even that was gone.
"I didn't want to hurt you." Bill's voice was filled with annoyance. "I just wanted you to listen to me. I didn't think you'd flop to the ground like a fish out of water."
"Then maybe you shouldn't have roughly grabbed me and thrown me out? Giving me bruises isn't going to earn my respect or my obedience." But whether that was what Bill wanted was questionable, not that he cared to give it any thought right now.
Bill glowered at him, a hand running over the fabric of the rope idly. "What do you want from me, kid? It's in the past. Your arm's going to be fine."
It would, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell right now. Pavement wasn't the kindest landing. "That's everything with you. You do something fucked up and brush it off because it was in the past." But Dipper had his fill of standing on the side of the road, done with this — it wasn't getting them anywhere. "So Buffalo Bill, are you going to tie me up or can I continue walking back?"
"Get in the car, kid, or I'll tie you up and throw you in the trunk." The rope had been pulled into a loop, which he twirled between his fingers.
Uninterested in wasting any more time with this argument and having doubts Bill would go through with it despite everything, Dipper begrudgingly got in the car, stiffly taking his place in the passenger seat but keeping his eyes forward.
"That's what I thought," Bill spoke as he joined him in the car shortly after, tossing the rope in the backseat. "Throw out the cup, kid."
"Or what, you'll throw me out again? Can you at least hurt the other shoulder this time to spread out the injuries a little?"
"Nah, I'll just run you over. I'll tell Stan you committed suicide."
Sounding agitated, Dipper said, "I'm throwing it away in a trash can, not a ditch."
"Why can't you just throw it back out the window and save everyone some fucking time?"
"Because I try to be a decent person, but I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that." Dipper was sick of this, regretting his decision to get back in and wishing he would've walked. "Do you realize you wasted our time? None of your time would have been wasted if you just relaxed for once and didn't pull me out of the car."
"My time was wasted the second you decided you were holier than thou and needed to pick my cup up from the grass."
He wanted to smack his forehead in frustration. "That's what this is about?" He couldn't believe how childish Bill was. "If you want to be a better person, then be one."
"Don't tell me what to do, Pine Boy."
Dipper spared him a scathing look. "Wasn't going to waste my breath. You won't change."
"I don't need to change, unlike you. Everything about you is just a desperate attempt of fitting in because you don't belong anywhere. Especially now that you can't hide behind your mommy and daddy."
When combined with the storm of grief that he was still working through, that comment had cut deep, and it felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Words didn't come to him. He just… didn't know what to do except look away and try to ignore this— try to hang on to himself and avoid falling apart until he could be alone in the penthouse with his thoughts or spill them to Mabel, but he realized he didn't want to bring her mood down after her wonderful date. Dipper's hand ghosted over the door handle as he considered what Bill had said, did he really not fit in anywhere?
It didn't feel like it. Particularly compared to his sister, who was a social chameleon and just so damn likable no matter what she did and then there was him and he was…
Dipper didn't want to think about that. His fingers twitched against the metal.
Bill had gone silent, having thrown the car back into drive but no longer speeding like his life depended on it, for once taking the limit into consideration. Dipper watched as the city lights passed them by, bleeding together into a heap of multi-colored blobs, and he rubbed his eyes to clear the blurriness.
"I didn't mean that," Bill finally spoke after an eternity. "You're not a black sheep, kid. Stan and Ford really like you, and I know Wendy and Dr. Soos think you're cool."
No.
No, no, no.
Bill wasn't going to win his forgiveness like that, by trying a feeble attempt at backpedaling. It didn't matter that it was in the past, the damage was done.
Dipper silently shook his head, because while he… did appreciate that, maybe, he didn't think it meant anything coming from Bill, the guy who would lie whenever it convenienced him. He knew better than to blindly accept that. A long sigh escaped him and he mumbled defeatedly, "You can't just do that, y'know? And expect things to be fine between us." At every turn, when they were starting to be okay again, it felt like something happened to tear them apart.
Giving him a pained look, he saw Bill wore an expression of confusion. "I don't see why they wouldn't be, Pine Tree."
"You really don't know," it wasn't accustory, just sad. "You almost killed us and brushed it off like it wasn't a big deal. You freaked out on me, dragged me out of your car," his shoulder still stung from the impact, "and left me to walk. Then, basically demanded I get back in your car. If that wasn't enough, you… you told me I didn't—" he stopped, feeling a little choked. "It's stressful. You're stressful."
"Life's stressful, cutie."
"Yeah, the trick is to surround yourself with people who make it better, not ten times worse." He couldn't deal with this on top of everything else that was making his life a wreck.
Bill's fingers tapped the wheel. "So. You're stating everything tonight is my fault. You said 'you did this' about six times."
That was the part he'd heard, out of everything he said? Dipper wondered if he was listening to the important issues at hand or if he was just tallying their mistakes and comparing them, as if trying to find who was the worse of the two. Dipper knew he could've been more eloquent about the way he'd phrased it, but those things had been Bill's doing. Even so, he conceded, "Fine. What was my fault tonight?"
"You fucked with my bowtie, my eye, and brought garbage into my car. Then blatantly disobeyed my request to remove it from the vehicle, instead opting to put your feet on my dashboard."
And he was half-tempted to do that again, maybe would have if he didn't feel so drained, so tired of this, knowing it would only cause further problems. "I didn't fuck with your eye, I told you it was nice." His reminder was cold. "But as for the rest—"
"My eye would be nicer if it was one color: gold."
And his life would be nicer if he had two parents, alive, and he wasn't sitting in a car with Bill Cipher. But they both were out of luck. "It still doesn't justify what you did."
"I barely touched your arm. It's not my fault you're so delicate."
He hadn't been specifically referring to that, though he didn't have the energy to bother correcting him and say he was talking about the rest as well. "You're trying to turn the blame on me," he pointed out but didn't know why he'd expected any better.
"No, I'm blaming that squishy skin of yours."
Dipper fell silent, knowing whatever he said would go unheard if Bill was convinced he didn't have to answer to his actions. It wasn't worth the fight when all it'd do is end in insurmountable frustration, so he allowed silence to compete with the tension between them. Dipper averted his gaze to watch the scenery again, counting the lampposts and feeling envious of the pedestrians since they walked with a happy obliviousness, wishing he could switch places with them. Palm trees, bright lights, dirty sidewalks, all was the same in Los Santos, and that felt weird after his life had changed so drastically.
Out of the corner of his eye Dipper could see Bill glancing at him. "What do you want me to do, Pine Tree? Leave you alone? It's..." For a moment, Bill seemed to be struggling for words. Amazing, but he didn't care. "Incredibly difficult for me to not do anything you deem 'stressful', it seems."
"I know." Dipper swallowed a sigh, fed up with going in circles. "Maybe… maybe we should just stay away from each other."
"You think that'd work, cutie?" his laugh was quiet, almost sad.
Dipper curled in on himself, resting against the passenger door with a wince from the trickle of pain in his shoulder. "I don't think we're…" good for each other, but he shook the thought away, trying to offer something less bleak. "Dangerous situations are… stressful. Being threatened, getting hurt, all that is anxiety-inducing," it'd gotten harder to control after his parents' deaths, "and.. I get that it's difficult, so it's probably best if we…" he made a vague motion with his hands, "take Stan's advice."
"Take Stan's advice." When Bill repeated his words back, it sounded hollow, almost emotionless in nature. "Okay, Pine Tree. Whatever you want."
The implication didn't go unnoticed and he inquired, "What do you want?"
Bill's fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "That doesn't matter, cutie. How… are you doing now?"
Dipper blinked because that… was different. Bill caring about how he was doing? They must've drove into another dimension somewhere along the line. A bit cautiously, he answered, "Well, I feel kind of cheated because every time I tell you I don't want to know about something, you just flat out say it anyway and now when I actually want your opinion, you won't give it to me."
"I'm going to stay away from you like you want, what more do you want from me?" There was no hiding the frustration in each word.
Frowning other's agitation, Dipper said, "I want you to tell me what you're thinking about."
His voice had grown quiet. "I don't like the thought of staying away. I find you… intriguing."
"Entertaining," Dipper corrected bitterly, recalling what Bill told him. "Like I'm some object to you."
"There's no one that challenges me like you do, it's refreshing… a change of pace that I don't look forward to losing. You may be entertaining to some degree, but you're more than an object." Bill lightly shrugged. "I get it. You can't handle me. No one can."
"Well, there's nothing special about me," Dipper murmured in response to Bill's claim that nobody else could handle him either, sounding sort of resigned since he recalled the countless situations they'd found themselves in, and he'd been forced to face through-the-roof anxiety as a result. The common denominator in every single one of those instances was him and Bill.
Bill kept his eyes on the road, humming softly. "Maybe not to you. But I guess it doesn't matter, you made it pretty clear you want nothing to do with me, Pine Tree."
Dipper thought for a moment, chewing his bottom lip. "Can you tell me something true?" There was a fragile waver in the request; Dipper just wanted something genuine from him, not manipulated or made fun of or that smirk for once.
That seemed to strike a nerve in him. "I did. You're so set on me being a liar that you didn't listen to me." His voice grew quieter, dropping to a vulnerable murmur. "When I told you I found you fascinating, that wasn't a lie. You're one of the most interesting people I've met. There is... no one else in this world that is as real as you are. Stan and Ford are lifeless shadows when it comes to me because they hardly react, they put up with my shit and that's that. You don't."
It was probably one of the more earnest things Bill had ever said to him — not through the words, but how he'd said them, and Dipper was at a loss, unsure if he should be putting up his guard because Bill did have an extensive record of manipulating. Or if he should believe it. A risk he'd have to take, he supposed. "Okay," he said slowly, still trying to process most of that because it was… more than he'd thought he'd be getting out of Bill, not just tonight but ever. Figuring out what to say to that was an uphill battle when he'd never been good at this sort of thing. "Okay, uh… that— that was a lot." His hand nervously carded through his hair as he tried to sort his thoughts. "So you don't want to. Stay away, I mean."
"I don't. But it doesn't matter. You need to do what you're comfortable with, and that clearly isn't me."
"I wasn't really planning on doing you— sorry, bad time, huh? Um." Dipper coughed, nervous. Equally unafraid, but this was an unfamiliar situation that he had no idea how to navigate. "Look, most of tonight was alright… it was just, some things." Although hesitant, the tiniest of smiles touched his lips. "If we could cut down on the risky behavior by like, fifty percent, and the Russian accent by about one hundred, I think it'd be okay."
Bill spared him a glance. "From what you've said, it sounds like most of tonight has been a shitshow for ya, kid." Everything with Bill was a shitshow so it seemed relative. "Besides, I can't… half my impulsive behavior." He spared him a sideways look. "And vou can't stop moy asent." "
There was that shitty Russian accent again. "Oh god, it's like it's evolving to get worse." Leaning back, Dipper sighed and told him, "I just don't want to constantly be on the verge of a panic attack when we're together, or always worried that you'll freak out over something like…" he glanced down at the hand that still held the coffee cup, "an empty cup."
"I hate trash in the car, kid. Just the thought is driving me fucking crazy."
"What about my cup?" Dipper asked, eyes focusing on the other empty coffee cup, the one his sugary abomination had come in.
At that, Bill shrugged. "That wasn't in the grass where it belonged, so technically it's not yet trash."
Something clicked, and he blurted out, "You're the reason the penthouse is ultra sterile." This revelation veered away from their discussion, but he hadn't been able to hold his tongue.
"Those heathens don't clean. Have you seen Stan's room? It's like a hurricane came through there."
"Uh… no. I haven't gone into anyone's bedroom, I don't even have my own bedroom anymore." But that wasn't particularly important right now, nor did he mind since Mabel and Pacifica were probably—
Nope.
He frowned and tried to stay on track. "You didn't have to have trash in here. I would've walked back." Giving it some thought, there was an almost-touching element to this, how Bill seemed to be willing to deal with the trash in favor of having him in the vehicle. "I don't mind getting rid of it, but can we not litter in the process?"
He seemed baffled by this. "Why not? Better out there, away from me, than in my car filthying it up."
Addressing the actual issue, he replied, "It's irresponsible, bad for the environment."
"No one gives two shits about the environment anymore, cutie."
"I do." It was a habit that'd been instilled in him from a young age. Environmental consciousness was—had been, he mentally corrected—important in his family, and he wasn't going to give that up just because his parents weren't around anymore.
"You should stop."
With a shake of his head, he replied, "Can't stop, won't stop." It was a good cause, and he didn't see why he should break a positive habit over keeping supposed trash out of Bill's car.
"Nothing you do will make a dipperance, cutie."
"So you do know my name," he stated since he'd been starting to wonder with the terms of endearment, even if 'Dipper' was more of a nickname. In regards to the cringe-worthy pun, "That's lame, and you suck. Don't litter."
"A Pineboy once said can't stop, won't stop."
"Sucking or littering?"
Bill shot him a glare. "You're an avocado sucker and you should stop being a tree humper."
"I'm an avocado sucker?" Dipper questioned, not even sure what that meant. He'd understood the tree humper part, though had been under the impression the phrase was 'tree hugger.' But considering who he was talking to, he guessed it made sense.
"Yeah, you're a fucking avocado sucker. Get over it."
Dipper didn't quite get the intent. "Still don't know what that means."
Bill smirked. "San Andreas hipster can't figure it out. Surprising."
Oh. He was making fun of his home state. Slightly irate, Dipper remarked, "Your home state may as well list 'meth heads' as the official animal, and rename itself to Heaven's Waiting Room with how many old people there are."
"The slowness of the old people make life hell down there."
"That's rich," he commented bitingly, recalling the various suicidal thoughts expressed earlier. "Acting like your life wouldn't be hell regardless of where you are."
Bill shrugged. "My life is hell."
"You're always giving me shit for being miserable," for grieving over his parents, "look at you."
"I'd love to look at me," Bill dryly said. "I look good. Better than you, at least."
"Why? Can't stand seeing someone with just one eye color?" The snappish remark was out before he could bite it back.
"Fuck you, shit eye."
Dipper smiled a little, "Yeah, I kind of had that coming. I guess that means you don't think my eyes are striking and beautiful?" He exaggeratedly batted his lashes at Bill, who was scowling, an expression of irritation etched onto his face.
"I should take scissors to those lashes. Snip, snip."
"Mm," he hummed, "but then I wouldn't look so pretty and feminine, and you wouldn't want to fuck me into the sofa. On second thought, go ahead."
"I'd love to. We'll break that sofa in." He winked at him, and Dipper instantly looked away, preferring to watch the road illuminated only by half-working street lamps roll by them, the gutters filthy with trash and leaves. They weren't on a main road anymore as they neared a more residential area, and Dipper wondered where Bill was taking them since they weren't anywhere close to the penthouse.
"I meant taking a scissors to my lashes," Dipper clarified rigidly, flushing. "And don't try to bullshit me, I'm sure you've had plenty of escapades on that sofa." From what Bill said about his previous sexual experiences, the implication was clear: there'd been a lot.
"Not that sofa. The sofa before, yes. Stan had to replace it after a threesome on it."
A threesome, he thought with mild amusement, one Bill was undoubtedly a participant in. "So, how did it feel disappointing two people at once?" Dipper snarkily asked.
"How does it feel to disappoint everyone you meet?" Bill retorted in a similar tone. "How did your parents not murder you in your sleep? They had power, they could've easily gotten away with it."
Dipper shrugged. "I guess they were just better at handling me than you are." And more importantly, he'd never been like this with them. He'd been respectful, always aiming to be a good son to them since they'd been good parents. The attitude was reserved for Bill.
He could see Bill's jaw clench, like he wanted to say something but was restraining himself. Impressive. "Sure they were." The car had turned into the parking lot of a convenience store.
"You're struggling," Dipper observed.
"Cutie, if I spoke my mind right now you'd be sobbing in your hands. Don't push me." He grabbed the rope in the backseat before he killed the engine, getting out of the car. Dipper, puzzled and worried by this, moved to exit the vehicle after him but was pulled back into his seat by a fastened seat belt, reawakening a previously dulled pain in his shoulder. Oops. Quickly releasing it, he left the car to trail after Bill with a yelp to wait for him.
Struggling to catch up, his eyes swept over Bill. "What's the rope for...?" A concerned question.
"Oh, cutie. You'll find out in a moment." Frown deepening at the non-explanation, that didn't clarify anything and all he could hope for was that they weren't about to rob the place. Bill paused by the door of the store, glancing back at Dipper, who was briefly stopping by a trash can since there was an opportunity to throw away the coffee cups — and not litter while doing so. "Hurry up, cutie. I know it's hard with those short legs of yours."
"Yeah, my short legs are really inconvenient. Remember what you were saying earlier, about how noodly and weak I am?" Arriving at his side, Dipper met his gaze, a subtle smirk on his lips. "I think I'm ready to cash in on that piggyback ride." Would be a bit hard to rob a convenience store with a Dipper on his back.
"Will you let me tie your wrists together?" Bill tugged the rope in his hands. "Only your wrists."
Caught off guard by the request, Dipper blinked.
Shifting from foot to foot, he cleared his throat to ask, "If I let you tie my wrists, I'll get the piggyback ride?"
He nodded. "I was going to use this on the cashier, but then you gave me the perfect opportunity to use it on you, sugar."
Of course. He'd known Bill was going to do something demented with the rope, but at least this would be better than using it on the poor cashier. Giving a nod of agreement, he said, "Just don't hurt my shoulder."
"Doll, your shoulder will be fine. Think you can hop on me, or are you too short?" His tone was almost teasing. Dipper huffed and all but tackled Bill for that, ignoring the twinge of discomfort as he got situated on his back, leaning forward to hold his wrists together obediently while he waited for them to be tied. While not entirely happy about it, it was still better than the cashier.
Bill chuckled softly, looping the rope around Dipper's hands and securely tying him. He gave it a tug for good measure, making sure the binding stayed in place and Dipper gave it a test, attempting to dislodge himself from the rope to no avail. "You look good restrained, cutie."
Dipper hummed, resting his head atop Bill's comfortably. "Flattering, but I always look good."
"If you think so." Bill stepped into the store, a small ding resounding just barely above his head. It was strange to be this tall. They paused for a moment before Bill continued, and he tried to figure out what they were doing here.
"Would you like to tell me differently?" Dipper asked idly, then realized where they were headed: the coffee display, complete with a coffee machine, cups, sugars and other drink accessories, and a mirror for those early mornings. A groan escaped him. "Are you getting more coffee?"
Beneath him, he could feel the rumble of Bill's chuckle. "No. You want to guess again, sugar?" He had stopped by the coffee mugs.
Dipper's attention turned to the small mirror situated next to the coffee machine, he could see their reflections in it and his tied wrists crossed in front of Bill's chest. "You came over here to stare at yourself?"
"What?" Bill paused. "I have a mirror in the car for that when I'm driving, but that's not the point. You seem determined to be a plant fucker, so we're going green. Pick a mug, cutie."
Surprise flooded him, and his eyebrows shot up because he wasn't sure how to comprehend what he was hearing. Dipper was suspended in a moment of disbelief until it caught up. "Wait, seriously?" his tone was laced with shock. Glancing over the coffee mugs and then at Bill through the mirror, the corners of Dipper's lips twitched up and he was—
Well, he was unbelievably grateful, and relieved. Not just because he didn't care to litter but because there was the smallest glimmer of hope that maybe— maybe Bill actually was taking some responsibility. And all Dipper could do was exist with the dopiest, most earnest expression of appreciation as he peered at him in their reflections.
Bill shifted in his place, selecting a yellow and black mug as he stared at the Dipper in the mirror. "Don't make this gay," he muttered. "You going to pick one, cutie? It's on me."
"What?" He blinked, turning his attention to the mugs as his eyes scanned the array of colors, searching for just the right one. "Why.. would it be gay?"
"You're looking at me like religious nuts look at Jesus. And don't question me: I know what that looks like, I have first hand experience."
He hadn't realized he'd been doing that but chuckled a little at the metaphor. "Are you, Bill Cipher, actually telling me you don't get off on that? I thought it'd be a nice stroke to your ego." Eyes landing on a blue mug, he shifted a bit to use his bound wrists in an attempt to maneuver Bill's arm toward it.
Bill didn't miss his attempt at controlling his arm. "Cutie, just ask next time." He grabbed the mug in his free hand. "As nice as it is, it makes it incredibly gay when you're giving me the 'fuck me in the ass right now' eyes. Please, doll, we're going green, not going slick from precum."
Dipper raised an eyebrow. "I think it's only gay if you're enticed by my bedroom eyes." It hadn't been the look he was going for, had been completely oblivious to it, but it remained amusing.
Bill made his way to the cashier, Dipper shifting his weight to get more comfortable atop him. "It's pretty fucking faggy on your end, cutie." As Bill set the mugs down, the cashier that'd been distracted by reading a magazine looked up and stared in confusion at the sight in front of him.
"Will… this be all, sir?" he asked hesitantly, ringing up the items. Although the question was probably for Bill, the cashier's eyes were on Dipper, seemingly trying to make sense of the bound wrists and piggyback ride.
"Yeah. What're you looking at?" Dipper could just imagine Bill's smirk, "Do I have something on my back?"
Dipper couldn't muffle his snicker and glanced over in time to watch the cashier's face go ashen, so he said, "That was a joke, man. He's just being a jackass with a warped sense of humor."
The cashier seemed too nervous to care. "W-would you like a receipt?"
"Nope, I'm good. Keep the change for yourself, kid. I'm pretty sure you're a vampire with how pale your face is right now."
His tied wrists thumped against Bill's stomach, not too roughly but enough to get his attention. Dipper wasn't impressed, there was no reason to pick on the cashier that already looked like he was going to have an early heart attack from this interaction.
Bill softly grunted from the weak impact. "Oh, fuck you. I'll throw these mugs in the ocean and let your precious fish die because of it."
"I know you're buying mugs, and I'm thankful for that, but you're really not increasing your chances that I'll agree to using them in the future." A second not-quite coffee date, that was.
"What, you don't want to go green with me, cutie? When combined, our cup colors are." He nodded to the blue and yellow coffee mugs.
"Oh my god." If he could've pinched the bridge of his nose in mock exasperation, he would've. "You… you are really something else, dude."
Bill laughed. "I'm the best, Pine Tree. You, on the other hand… are still pretty fucking gay."
"I get a pass, remember? You're my cruuusshh." It sounded so exaggerated, so drawn out and whiny that it was painfully clear he was being sarcastic. "I've apparently been pining after you for five years, so I'll be as gay as I want."
The corner of Bill's mouth twitched as he collected the paid mugs and exited the building. "Were you this gay around your parents?" As he spoke, he set the mugs on the hood of his car to work on freeing his hands. In a couple skilled motions, he unraveled the knot that kept Dipper's wrists together, releasing him from the bonds. "There ya go, sugar."
"Thanks, that was fun." Sliding down, Dipper went to the passenger side of the vehicle once he'd snatched the mugs from the hood of the vehicle, thinking back to his previous question. "Ha, no. But they probably wanted me to be, they were… super into the whole being open and hip thing," after one especially embarrassing incident, "and it was stifling." He wasn't complaining, though it had been hard to explore himself with them constantly hovering over his shoulder.
Bill chuckled softly. "Of course it was fun, Pine Tree. Stick around me and I'll show you an even better time." He moved to get into the driver's side of the vehicle, throwing the rope into the backseat again. "Mine would've dragged me into the woods and shot me if I was as flamboyant as you are."
That might explain a few things, he internally noted, but hoped to avoid making assumptions and jumping to conclusions about a home life he knew nothing about. "Well, be as flamboyant as you want," he said as he got comfortable in the seat and glanced to Bill, "because I don't think they can hurt you anymore."
Bill looked like he was bristling slightly, starting the vehicle. "Sorry, not gay. Don't need to be flamboyant like you are, kid."
"Being flamboyant isn't inherently gay. They're unrelated." But Dipper wasn't going to press the issue and moved on. "My parents actively encouraged me to be flamboyant, it was… ironic since they were always trying to show they were supportive." Dipper's throat was tightening, an early warning that he perhaps shouldn't go down this path if he didn't want to get emotional, if he wanted to steer clear of the inevitable and crushing grief, and he fought to keep his mind off of it. "Are we going back to the penthouse now?"
"Yeah. Unless there's something else you wanted to do?"
Nothing came to mind. "No, not really." Besides, his eyelids were growing heavy after the events of the evening— it'd been one hell of a night, a rollercoaster of emotion. With a yawn, he mused aloud, "Mabel's probably done with her date by now." Upon returning, he imagined he'd be getting the play-by-play of what happened with Pacifica.
The car reversed, pulling out of the parking spot, and Bill changed the gear into drive. "Oh, most definitely. I imagine she had one hell of a time with her new girlfriend."
"Mm-hmm, it's nice," he exhaled lazily, then clarified, "that she's okay enough for that kind of stuff, you know?" Mabel's resilience was outstanding, he deeply admired her for it. Gaze shifting to Bill, he asked, "Jealous? I mean, she was on an actual date tonight and you were stuck getting coffee with me." As far as he knew, Bill didn't have a significant other but wasn't entirely sure, either. It would be odd to make sexual advances at him while in a relationship but…
Then again, this was Bill. And he never knew with that guy.
"I liked the coffee," Bill said. "It's better than being stuck on some traditional date with a girl. I bet they went to the movies, and had popcorn and soda, and Mini Northwest walked home with her and gave her a smooch on our doorstep." He made a face as he pulled the car out of the lot.
Dipper wasn't sure how Bill knew Pacifica's last name. Had Mabel mentioned it when she'd talked to them? Assuming that was what happened, he held his tongue and thought about the comparison of their evenings.
A more mundane outing than what they'd experienced, that was almost certain. Personally, he'd take the movie date over what they'd been through in a span of a few hours. "You know why Pacifica probably kissed her?" Dipper started. "Because Mabel wouldn't have ruined the evening with a really bad Russian accent."
Bill looked thoughtful, but it soon faded. "I made your evening better. It's not my fault you're ungrateful." Despite his words, his tone was light.
Although he'd been in a near-dreamy state of just watching the streets of Los Santos pass them, that 'ungrateful' comment had him fully alert again— the tone wasn't the usual cruelty he'd expect from Bill, but it still pinched a nerve. "Oh?" his voice had raised a little, the change subtle but signaling a mix of hurt and curiosity.
Bill glanced at him, eyes surprisingly bright in the darkness of the vehicle. "I'm not wrong, kid. I try to give you a good night and all I get is harassed, beaten down for my exemplary Russian impression."
Dipper tensed and didn't know if he was being serious or not, at a loss as to how to respond. It was one of the rare occasions where he realized he couldn't read Bill, hadn't a clue what he might be thinking. "Um, I'm… I'm sorry?" it was a hesitant statement, Dipper deciding he'd rather play it safe than bet on Bill's ability to take a joke. "My offer to stay away from each other still stands."
The gleam in his eyes faded, replaced by confusion. "What? Why?" More pressingly, "I thought I made it clear earlier I don't want to stay away." He also made it clear that his mind and moods shifted exceedingly fast, so saying that was next to worthless for Dipper. "What's with this… this sudden change of mind? I thought we were having a relatively good time."
"Yeah, I am," a tired smile touched his lips. "Just didn't know if you were serious. I've been called ungrateful before, and…" he trailed off, "well, it doesn't matter. I'm having a good time."
"Are you?"
It wasn't the first time he'd noticed an underlying hint of insecurity, so he earnestly replied, "Yes. Why wouldn't I?" Maybe not the best door to open, he could think of a handful of reasons why tonight had been a mess, but.. Bill was trying, that much was clear, and he appreciated his efforts because it was progress, a step in the right direction.
Bill tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. "You apologized for… something, I don't understand why, then offered to do the Stan Method. I dislike that. I don't want to stay away from you. Do you?" By this point, Dipper couldn't tell if Bill was talking to him or not, mind working overtime to keep up with this conversation. "Of course you don't," he had continued, "why else would you tell me to not fuck off despite your 'hatred' of me? You're clearly obsessed with me because of that neverending crush."
"Are you trying to make me change my mind?" Dipper asked, less than seriously, then looked away. "If you are, it's not working. You're stuck with the ungrateful, virgin avocado sucker."
"Who has a raging crush on me.."
Dipper laughed softly but gave a, "No." There was a severe lack of a raging crush, so that wasn't quite possible. "You're not my type."
Bill hummed, "Do you even have a type, cutie?"
"Musical stars," he joked.
That shut Bill up, which was fine because he was already been exhausted. This gave him an opportunity to rest his head against the window and watch through increasingly-heavy eyelids as the world passed them by. Somewhere along the line, he began to doze off, eyes closing for longer and longer periods of time, but still maintaining some semblance of consciousness.
Although unsure of how long had passed, a low chuckle shook him from his half-sleep, and he blinked open his eyes to the sight of Bill laughing softly. "What a fucking stupid joke."
"Hm?" Dipper hummed, mental fog still hovering over him.
"The dumb one about the two guys and the river."
"Oh." Dipper cracked a lopsided grin after a moment as he realized. "You finally got that?"
Bill laughed, "Yeah, it's incredibly stupid. I can't believe you."
With a small pinch of satisfaction and the smile still on his lips, Dipper let his eyes close again. "Guess I'm just unbelievable."
Bill's chuckle rumbled, "You really are."
