Chapter 2: Sacrifice
Mrs. Slaughter was a large woman. She had broad shoulders and a stocky build. She'd played women's rugby in college, and despite that being nearly a lifetime ago, she still had nearly the same appearance. As she stepped out of her car and walked along the concrete walkway to the Pines home she couldn't help but internally sigh. Another new set of children, hopefully these ones have a happy ending. She hid her inner turmoil about the system she was desperately trying to repair, the lost hours on the phone and in courtrooms all trying-and often failing-to help the children she was duty bound to serve. She adjusted her suit-coat and knocked on the door. A police officer answered.
"Deborah Slaughter, Child Protective Services." She produced her identification. "I was told there were two children here who are now in need of our services."
"Yes, that's right." The officer replied, "Follow me, they're in the living room."
Dipper and Mabel were sitting on the couch, still looking out the window. The sun had dropped below the horizon and the streetlights had come on. It was a beautiful summer evening. The Watsons were having a barbecue-the smoke was evident even at the other end of the block, the Allens were splashing in their pool, and the Pine parents were dead.
"Hello Mason, Mabel…" Mrs. Slaughter smiled as she knelt down to the children's level. "I'm sorry about everything that's happened, and for you to only find out about it now. I'm here to help and try and get some things in order." She paused, two sets of reddened eyes barely meeting hers. "We're going to let you stay the night here, but tomorrow we're taking you to the new place you'll be living."
"Are we going back to our Uncle Stan?" Mabel asked hopefully.
"No, I'm sorry kids. We actually didn't know your uncle was still alive, and given the current CIA involvement with him, I don't think you'll be seeing him for a while." She trailed off, not wanting to elaborate on the new manhunt that had been opened as a result of the twins confirming that he'd been alive and in Oregon until recently.
"So, where then? Aunt Carol?" Mabel asked. Yeah, she hates mom, but that doesn't mean she'd let us go to an orphanage, right?
"Um, no, I'm sorry, but there were no relatives deemed fit that were willing to take custody of you-either in the short or long term.
"So, what's happening? None of our family wants us?" Dipper asked, his chest clenching as he feared the answer.
"No, it's not like that at all!" Mrs. Slaughter commented. "At the moment there were some people in your family who were willing to care for you-your Grandfather Shermie and Aunt Jacqueline both wanted to, but given that she lives in Japan and your grandfather is currently living in a retirement home, they can't at the moment. But if either of them become able to, or someone else becomes willing, you'll be placed in their custody."
Dipper's clenching released slightly, Okay, so we're not entirely unloved, but what about now? "But where are we going now?"
"Right now you're going to be fostered by a family-the Saunders-who live in town. You'll still go to the same school, so you'll be able to be around all your friends and teachers from before. They live a few blocks from here, and are fostering a few other children your age." Mrs. Slaughter let her face settle slightly, a look of pity creeping into her eyes, "I know what you kids are going through is difficult, but I promise, in time, it'll be okay." She sighed, "Why don't you two get some sleep, in the morning we're going to pack up your things. You two ended up being fortunate that the house was still open, Friday they're auctioning off everything to pay back the mortgage."
***GF-SPN***
Needless to say, the two didn't sleep much. Normally being in ones room at home allows a certain sense of comfort. The feel of familiar sheets rubbing against your skin as the same view out the window allows the night to seep in. The gentle chirping of crickets in the yard lulling you to sleep as your belongings surround you in a cozy nest of your own making. But even with the detective books and telescope, the stuffed animals and yarn bin, the science kits and Lego sets, the boy-band posters and craft supplies… It felt wrong. Because even though none of the things had changed, everything else had. In the morning 13 years of life were packed up into a handful of bags, with most of the "non-essential" items left behind. And while the loss of home was one tragedy, the worst was still to come.
It was a short drive, the twins sitting next to each other in the back of Mrs. Slaughter's SUV. Mabel had tearfully said goodbye to Waddles, who had been taken to the local SPCA, where he would be cared for until someone else adopted him, which meant that it was silent throughout the ride. They arrived at their new residence, a two-story white sided house in a neighborhood of two-story white sided houses. Unlike their street, this one was a good bit newer, probably built sometime in the 1980s if Dipper had to guess, and it seems like the builder only knew how to make one home. The house was near the corner, and as he squinted Dipper could just read the street, Maple View Way.
Mrs. Slaughter turned off the engine and summarily deposited the children on the doorstep with their things. She rang the bell, and after a brief conversation with Mr. Saunders the two had been signed over. The conversations for the rest of that day blurred into a single mass of formalities, questions, and pitiable looks. Dipper was shown the room he'd be sharing with a boy named Jared. Mabel was shown the room she'd be sharing with a girl named Nancy. Neither child was particularly kind to their new roommates, with Jared scoffing at all of Dipper's books and Nancy asking why Mabel was wearing such an ugly sweater in 70 degree weather.
First impressions are sometimes wrong; maybe this won't be so bad. Right?
***GF-SPN***
While many times first impressions are incorrect-Dipper had thought Grunkle Stan was a total jerk when he'd first met him to later learn that the man was only sometimes a jerk-in this case, their initial impressions were confirmed.
Jared and Matt, the other two boys, both were in the twins' grade, and Dipper had recognized after a few days that he'd met them before. When he was 10 they'd stuck a stick through his bike when he was riding down the street, causing him to fly off and break his wrist. Unfortunately, their antagonistic nature had only grown since then, along with their egos. Both boys were on the football team, and constantly lauded their abilities over the rest of their peers, when at home they often "practiced" football by tackling Dipper or forcing him to help them play, for fear of retribution. The two constantly insulted his hobbies of the supernatural and reading, and more than once he'd found his side of the room trashed if he'd refused to help one of the other boys do something. Mabel didn't have it much better, Nancy and Sarah were both older, and neither liked having to deal with a new girl in the house. They thought she was a baby, and frequently maligned her creativity and optimism. More than once they'd "accidentally" spilled nail polish on one of Mabel's crafts, just to see her cry.
After two months of living with their terrible housemates and uninvolved guardians it feels like it had been years. Every day was a cycle of the same bullying and taunting, being ignored by the adults at home and school, Because anytime we say something it's somehow our fault or we deserved it or its just kids being kids!
But despite all this, the two still tried to be happy. Dipper had discovered that the house had an extra room that no one else knew about over the garage. It had been dummied out to be an additional bedroom, but the walls were unfinished and the floor was just plywood. Apparently the builders had made a mistake and sealed it up from the rest of the house, having no door connecting to the hallway where the other bedrooms were. Even the adults didn't know about it, as the only way to get there was to crawl through the window outside. Dipper had realized that the window didn't connect to a room, and after walking along the patio roof he jimmied it open to discover a safe haven.
The twins sat there now, a flashlight bringing light to the late evening seeping through the window.
"Y'know, Grenda says we could live in her attic, her mom never goes in there." Mabel said, as she rubbed nail polish remover on the cover of her scrapbook, trying to get rid of the large blue blob covering up a picture of her, Candy, and Grenda.
"What, like run away?"
Mabel shrugged.
"Look, I know that it's awful where we are, but it's better to try and focus on getting adopted. Then we can have a new place to stay." Dipper countered, tenderly holding a bruised arm. "I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to, we just need to make a good impression and work hard, then we'll be adopted."
"We haven't had a single person come to look at adopting us. We're too old. Sarah and Nancy told me so."
"How do they know?" Dipper spat.
"Because once you're a teenager no one wants you. Little kids are cute, teens aren't. At least, that's what they say."
Dipper sighed, while he hated to admit it, it seemed like Sarah and Nancy might be right.
***GF-SPN***
"God I hate fucking California traffic!" Dean honked baby's horn, which was met with a woman flipping him the bird as she drank a $20 cup of coffee.
"You didn't live here; you have no right to complain." Sam replied, smirking at Dean's growing annoyance. "Besides, I told you not to take this highway."
"You're never right about driving, how was I to know this was the one time you'd be correct?"
"I went to college 3 miles from here?"
"Wait, we're that close to Stanford?" Dean glanced at his brother, wearing patented bitchface 5, Yes, Dean, really. "Shut up, bitch."
"Never said anything, jerk." Sam replied trying to stifle a laugh at Dean's irritation, pulling out some notes, "While we're stuck for the next 45 minutes we might as well go over everything again."
Dean sighed, "Yeah, might as well."
"Alright, Denise Barton, age 27, comes home from work and makes her husband dinner-it was their three year anniversary and she decided to treat him to a good home-cooked meal. He gets home around 5:30 and by 6:00 she's beating him to death with a frying pan." Sam read.
"So, what this chick goes crazy and beats her husband to death with a frying pan. That's not too unusual."
"Yeah, but she's the eighth woman to do so at that same address."
"Wait, eight women all kill their husbands at the same house?"
"And all on their wedding anniversaries."
"Jesus, how didn't the cops see that pattern?" Dean knew sloppy police work was common, but not seeing a something as obvious as that, I mean, come on.
"Well, they're all different people with no connection aside from the address, and the murders have been spread out over the last 35 years, so it's been a decent window of time."
Dean hummed noncommittal agreement as he glanced at the clock. "So, where's this address anyway, I want to see if Google knows a shortcut out of this shitstorm of traffic."
Sam flipped the page, "Looks like 3476 Maple View Way, Piedmont."