Dipper spent the better part of the next week in a drugged stupor. Pacifica would only let the sedative wear off enough that he could wake up to eat, drink, and use the bathroom. He was groggy and out of it, and by the time he'd woken up enough mentally to begin asking questions about what happened, Pacifica was standing by with his next dose.
Wendy barely left his side. She didn't like that they were keeping Dipper asleep. When he could talk to her, he could reassure her that he was real. With him constantly knocked out, the delicate threads holding Wendy's mind together began to unravel. She could feel it happening, so she talked to Dipper nonstop to try and keep her mind from falling apart completely.
It was almost time for Dipper to wake up for lunch, and Wendy sat next to him, holding his hand, talking softly.
"Bill says I owe him," she murmured. "Says he saved my life. And-and I guess he's right. When I first woke up in the Fearamid after..." she paused and looked down. He'd done a good job, at least. The scars were nearly invisible.
"After he fixed me," she continued, "I didn't know where I was. Everything hurt, down to the insides of my bones. The whatsits...marrow. I hurt all the way down to my bone marrow. The room I was in looked sterile, like a hospital room, all white walls and crisp sheets. I called out for someone, anyone, but there was no hospital chatter, no bustling nurses—no noise at all, except for the noise I was making. For a minute, I thought I had died, and this was some kind of cruel, painful and lonely afterlife." Her voice shook at the memory.
"I thought I'd died because the last thing I remembered was being surrounded by a whole squad of Bill's minions—and making peace with death. It was a fight I knew I wouldn't survive. I—I knew it would probably destroy you." Wendy squeezed Dipper's hand. "That was my only regret. But I made as much peace with my death as I could, and was just going to try and take as many of the creeps out with me as possible before I went down. I don't even know if I took any out," she said with a sigh.
"All I remember from the fight is a blinding pain—not sure where on my body—just agonizing, white-hot pain, and then...nothing. It was like a time jump. Blinding pain, and then waking up in the hospital-ish room, in a different kind of pain." Wendy rubbed her right shoulder absently, like a veteran when an old war wound acts up.
"I know I act—well, used to act—tough," she continued. "But all alone in that white room, I completely broke down. I cried for what felt like hours. Every emotion that I'd kept bottled up since Weirdmageddon began just came pouring out, in tears, snot, wailing, cursing. My eyes were still leaking long after my voice gave out from all the screaming I did."
Wendy took a shuddering breath. "I tried getting out of the bed, so I could open the door and figure out where I was, but as soon as I stood, my legs gave out. I felt like I was coming apart at the seams."
She rubbed her right knee, and wondered what Dipper would think if he knew. If she showed him her body, and the delicate white lines encircling her arms and legs, the thin scars surrounding the base of both breasts, or the small pale rings at the base of each finger—what would he think? Would he pity her? What if he was disgusted that she'd been ripped apart and sewn back together like Frankenstein's monster?
"I am a monster," Wendy said, her voice low, as she let go of Dipper's hand. If this really was Dipper.
What if this was the most elaborate mind game Bill had ever played on her—to let her be 'rescued,' and start to find some comfort in the familiarity of friendly faces, to allow her feelings for Dipper to resurface and intensify with this older, more rugged version of her best friend—and when she finally accepted this 'reality,' BAM everyone dies and she's back on the Fearamid, strapped to her bed waiting for Bill to...console her. She shuddered. She could remember what his touch felt like. In fact, she could feel it even now.
Wendy lurched to her feet, knocking the chair she'd been sitting in back with a metallic crash. She swallowed back the burning acidic bile rising in her throat and turned on her heel, tearing out of Dipper's room as if she was being chased by demons. Whether in this reality or another, she always was.
Wendy ran toward the entrance hatch, her lungs burning. The walls of the space ship were closing in. She needed out. She needed to breathe the open air. To look out at the Fearamid hanging in the sky and convince herself that she wasn't already in there, hallucinating all of this. She was almost to the ladder when her forward momentum was abruptly halted by a hand clamping her left arm in a vise-like grip.
"NO!" she shrieked, trying in vain to pull away from the person whose grip was bruising her. "LET ME GO!"
"Not happening," said Ford. The hand was his. "Pacifica," he hollered over his shoulder. "Can you bring an injection of sedative out here? Wendy needs a nap."
"LET GO!" Wendy screamed, her voice high and shrill. "I need out of here!" She switched tactics from trying to yank her arm away, to kicking Ford in his shins and beating on his chest with her free hand balled into a tight fist.
"Now, if you please, Ms. Northwest!" he called over his shoulder again. "This is becoming quite tedious."
Pacifica came trotting up to them, Melody following a bit more slowly behind her.
"Finally," Ford said with an exaggerated sigh. "Let me just get a better grip on her and—"
"No," Pacifica said firmly.
Ford was apparently so surprised by her refusal that he let go of Wendy's arm, and turned to face Pacifica and Melody. "Excuse me?"
Wendy sniffed and wiped her eyes. She hadn't even realized she was crying. Hoping to use this distraction to continue on her mission of getting the fuck out of this claustrophobia-inducing tin can, she slowly began to back away from the three arguing Remnants. She had only gotten maybe two steps before she bumped into something soft. She turned to see what it was. Soos's belly.
"Sorry, girl-dude," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "Ford doesn't think it's safe for you to go out in your...current state. It's only cause we're worried about you."
Wendy scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. At least he wasn't manhandling her the way Ford had.
"Right," she said finally, then turned back to face the argument, which was steadily growing in volume.
"Ford, you can't solve everyone's problems by sedating them," Pacifica was saying, glaring at him, spots of bright pink blossoming on her cheeks. "Or freezing them," she added.
"That's not what I'm—" Ford sputtered, his face an uncomfortable, mottled shade of red.
"She's right, Ford," Melody cut him off. "Now, I understand sedating Dipper, due to his visceral reaction to finding out about Gideon—" Her throat caught on the name. "Because he's healing from a major injury, and the removal of a vital organ. But Wendy isn't. You can't demand she be sedated every time she gets upset."
"I haven't been," Ford said, trying to force calm through gritted teeth. "And do I need to remind you that it was you who decided to sedate her after Dipper woke up last week?"
"She wanted that," Pacifica said. "I wouldn't have done it otherwise. You just want to knock her out because she's inconveniencing you. But sleeping more won't make her problems go away, Ford. She has serious trauma. I've been reading through your medical texts, specifically on psychological disorders, and everything I've been reading says that the person must be allowed to process their trauma in their own time, and that forcing treatment on them may actually give them additional trauma."
"I'm not trying to make her goddamn problems go away by sedating her!" Ford shouted, causing everyone else to flinch. "She was having a panic attack and was going to run off who-knows-where! I wanted to keep her safe. That's all I've been doing this whole time, trying to keep everyone safe! And what a goddamn fucking thankless task it's been." He threw his arms up and stormed past Pacifica and Melody, who stared after him, eyes wide.
"Yikes," muttered Soos. "I've never heard this Mr. Pines cuss before, and he just cussed three times in almost the same breath."
"Yeah," Wendy said softly. "Yikes." She was trembling due to coming down off the adrenaline of her panic attack, but no longer had the urge to run away. The argument about sedating her had distracted Wendy from her freak-out by giving her something else to focus on.
"So does this mean I don't have to worry about a surprise needle-stab?" Wendy asked, approaching the two women, Soos on her heels.
Pacifica whirled around from staring after Ford, and looked momentarily surprised to see Wendy standing there. She blinked twice, which seemed to reset her brain, and shook her head.
"No. No surprise needle-stabs. Not unless you're an immediate danger to yourself or someone else."
"Fair enough," Wendy said. "What was all that about psychological disorders? Do you all think I'm crazy?"
"Oh, no, sweetie," Melody said, reaching out to touch Wendy's shoulder gently. "Of course not."
Wendy chuckled darkly. "Well I think I'm crazy."
"You've had a traumatic experience," Melody said. "That doesn't make you crazy."
"You probably have PTSD, or something like it," added Pacifica.
"What is that supposed to spell?" Soos muttered quietly to himself next to Wendy. "Puhtsduh?"
Wendy crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you forgetting that I'm not even sure if this," she lifted and hand and waved vaguely around the room, "is really real, or just some mind game Bill's playing? Do you not remember me being torn between wanting Dipper to die and get Bill's stupid game over with, and wanting Dipper to live so this fantasy-reality doesn't end? Does PTSD cause shit like that?"
"I…I'll have to do some more reading on it," Pacifica said slowly.
"Regardless of whether or not you have PTSD, I really think it would help you to talk to one of us, kind of process everything you've been through," Melody said. "The only person you've really said anything to since you've been here is Dipper, and he's been unconscious for most of it."
"What about Dipper?" The voice, husky with sleep, had come from behind them. Everyone turned to see Dipper leaning against his doorway, his eyes half-closed. "What was all that shouting earlier?"
"Oh, just a little disagreement," Melody said quickly. "Nothing you need to worry about. I'll go get your lunch. You get back in bed." She bustled off in the direction of the kitchen, Soos following closely behind her.
Dipper shook his head. "Hafta pee." It seemed to take him a moment to register Melody had already left. "Oh." He blinked at Pacifica and Wendy, then nodded. "Gonna go pee."
His legs were shaky from disuse, so he supported himself on the wall as he slowly made his way to the bathroom.
"Wait, Dipper, let one of us walk you there," Pacifica said, hurrying after him.
Dipper paused and turned. "It's okay, really. I think." Then he made a face. "Oh. Oh no. I just smelled myself. I'm...ripe. How long has it been since I—" he paused and blinked slowly, his brain still half asleep. "Since I did the..." He mimed turning on a tap, and massaging shampoo into his hair.
Pacifica and Wendy glanced at each other, not sure how much to tell him.
Pacifica avoided having to answer the question of how long it had been entirely, when she told him, "We've been giving you sponge baths."
Dipper's eyes widened, and his pale skin took on a pink flush. "Wh-what, you and Wendy?"
Wendy chuckled. "You wish, dork. By we, Pacifica meant Melody and Soos. They've been washing you and changing your bandages every other day."
"Oh, right," Dipper murmured, his pink flush turning red. He looked at Pacifica. "So Dr. Paz, am I cleared for an actual soap and water scrub? I really need one." He tilted his head toward his left armpit and sniffed. "Like, really really."
Pacifica thought for a moment. "Well, most of your superficial sutures are ready to come out anyway. The only ones I'd want you to keep covered are your, uh, kidney impalement-slash-removal wounds on your front and back. I have some waterproof bandage covers you can use. The only thing is—" she stopped, her cheeks flushed.
"Is what?" prompted Dipper.
"Someone needs to help you shower," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "Just to make sure you don't fall, and to wash anything you can't reach due to your injuries. You can shower in your boxers if that'll make it less...weird."
Wendy's stomach twisted into a knot. She wanted Dipper to be real. Needed him to be real. Seeing him nearly naked would probably help her believe, as she'd never seen any of her previous Dippers in their skivvies. Well, it might help. She also still had feelings for Dipper, and getting him alone, awake, and to herself would be ideal. She wanted to volunteer to help him shower, but didn't want Dipper and Pacifica thinking she was just being pervy.
Luckily, Pacifica had changed a lot in the years since Weirdmageddon, and was much more empathetic. She glanced over at Wendy, then back to Dipper. "Well, everyone else is busy, and I have to go get your meds ready. Is it okay if Wendy helps you?"
Dipper swallowed, his eyes darting to meet Wendy's, then away. "Y-yeah, that's fine," he said to the air next to Pacifica's head.
"Okay, good," said Pacifica, with a small smile aimed at Wendy as she turned to leave.
"So, um, how can I—well, here," Wendy said, awkwardly linking her arm through Dipper's.
"Thanks," he murmured, as they slowly made their way toward the men's bathroom.
When they got to the door, Dipper unhooked his arm from Wendy's. "I think I can manage to do the peeing part myself," he said, with a soft chuckle. "If you wait out here, I'll call for you when I'm ready to get in the shower."
Wendy nodded. "Standing by," she said, with a mock salute, as he entered the bathroom, the door sliding shut behind him. She had no idea why she did that. The salute thing. It was dumb. Had she always acted this dumb around Dipper? Or was she acting this dumb because he wasn't really Dipper, and subconsciously she knew it? Was her subconscious trying to tip her off to something? Or was she just being an awkward teenage girl, about to help her long-time crush take a shower?
Wendy didn't have time to work herself into a proper panic attack, because she soon heard a flush, followed by a hesitant call of "You can come in now."
Wendy inhaled deeply, blew the breath out slowly, and lifted her hand to slide the door open.
"Here you go," Pacifica chirped brightly from behind her, making her jump. Wendy turned, and Paz handed her two large, flat, rectangular paper packages. "Try your best not to get the two big wounds wet. Everything else is fair game. If any of the other sutures come out, it's okay, because I'm gonna be taking them out later today anyway."
Wendy nodded, and Pacifica flounced away—but not before giggling and saying "Have fun!"
"Wha—" Wendy began, but the bathroom door sliding open made her snap her mouth closed. Dipper stood in the doorway, shirtless, in only his boxers. His cheeks were red.
"I guess you didn't hear me," he said. "But you can come in now."
"Oh, n-no, sorry," Wendy uncharacteristically stammered, her eyes sliding over his scarred body. "Pacifica just brought me the waterproof bandage thingies for your biggest...uh, boo-boos." She held up the paper packages, hoping they blocked the brilliant red glow she was sure radiated from her cheeks.
Wendy stepped over the threshold, and the door slid shut behind her. She bit the inside of her lip, trying hard to focus on why she was actually there. Dipper needed help. He didn't need to be ogled. Even if, despite (or because of?) all his new scars, he was very ogle-worthy. He was lean, but not skinny, his muscles toned. He carried himself with more confidence than he used to. Maybe this Dipper was real. Bill had never put this level of detail into the fake Dippers. They were basically all copies of Dipper as he'd appeared at the time Wendy had been captured. But this one was grown. Very grown. Wendy swallowed hard, and tried to focus on opening the waterproof bandage cover packaging, her hands shaking.
/
In the dim overhead light of the bathroom, Dipper noticed Wendy trembling. He wished he could get inside her head, so he could see why. He didn't think she was scared of him. At least, she hadn't seemed to be, that first time he'd woken up last week. If anything, she was scared of losing him. Her need to be around him would have been exciting—except that it didn't seem to be for any reason other than fear that this whole reality could disappear at any moment, which was disappointing. He would have really liked if— Dipper cut that thought off, and internally chided himself. Wendy was in a delicate state. She needed him to be there for her as a friend, not as a someone who wanted to be with her, in every sense of the word.
Dipper blew out a breath and tried to steer his train of thought in a different direction. Under normal circumstances, that might not be the most difficult task, but this was different. The only girl he'd ever loved was about to help him get a shower. But no. No, it wouldn't be appropriate. She was traumatized and he didn't want to take advantage of her. Dipper closed his eyes and tried to focus on what might be for lunch, or who might have been doing the hunting and foraging while he'd been laid up.
Just as he started to get himself under control, Dipper felt the soft touch of fingers brushing the skin of his abdomen. He inhaled sharply and his eyes flew open, as all his stomach muscles briefly tensed up in reaction to Wendy's touch. His heart was beating double-time.
Wendy yanked her hand away. The hand that was holding a waterproof bandage cover. Dipper took a deep breath. He needed to get it together. She was just trying to cover up his sutures.
"I'm so sorry, Dipper, did I hurt you?" she asked, taking a step back from him. "I was trying to be gentle. Would you prefer to at least put the front one on yourself?"
Dipper's cheeks were warm. "No, no, you're fine. You didn't hurt me, Wendy. Sorry about that. I...I'm just a little ticklish is all."
"If you're sure," Wendy said hesitantly.
He nodded. "Go ahead."
Wendy stepped forward and peeled the backing off the bandage cover, lining up the waterproof part with his wound, taking care to make sure the sticky edges wouldn't be covering any of the stitches. When she was satisfied with the placement, she gently pressed the covering down around the edges, finishing up by running a finger against the outline of it to make sure there were no air bubbles where water could get in.
Dipper nearly shuddered as Wendy's finger traced the outline of the bandage cover. The way she was so careful and gentle, her light touches...it all felt very sensual. He bit his lower lip and swallowed, willing himself to not get a boner.
"Okay, that one's good," Wendy said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Now turn around and I'll do the one on your back."
Dipper did as requested without hesitation. After a minute or so of the same exquisitely sensual, soft touches on his back that had him biting his lower lip, she gently squeezed his shoulder.
"All done. I'll get the shower started. How hot do you want it?" Wendy asked innocently. "Do you like it really hot?" There was a slight twitch at the corners of her lips that made Dipper think she knew exactly what she was doing. But...what if she didn't? Maybe he was seeing things that weren't there, because he wanted to see them. Dipper sighed deeply.
"Uh, medium hot, I guess?" he said with a shrug.
Wendy pulled the curtain back on the small shower cubicle, and held her hand up to the shower head as she adjusted the temperature of the water.
"Do you need any help getting in?" she asked, turning back to face him. "It's really slippery over here in all this wet."
Dipper felt the heat rise in his face. That wording. Dammit. He stepped forward, and his legs shook under him. "Help would be good," he said, unable to meet Wendy's eyes.
Wordlessly, she held a hand out to him. He took it, and, legs trembling, gingerly stepped into the shower. Wendy pulled the sort-of-opaque-but-slightly-see-through curtain closed behind him.
"I'll be right here if you feel like you might fall, or need help...washing something," she said. He could almost hear her blushing.
"Okay, thanks," Dipper said, not sure he'd been loud enough to hear over the spray of the water. The heat felt good, even though the water pressure stung some of his less-healed cuts. He picked up a bar of soap and clean washcloth, and began to scrub himself, taking care not to accidentally pull at any stitches. His shampoo was still in his bath kit in his bedroom, as he hadn't originally planned to get a shower when he'd left it to pee, so he just used the bar of soap on his hair as well.
Feeling like he was doing okay, and wasn't going to need Wendy's help washing, Dipper slid his boxers off and kicked them aside so he could wash three weeks of funk from his manly bits. Satisfied that he was fairly clean in that area, Dipper leaned over so he could wash his legs and feet. Or he tried to. As he bent at the waist, he felt a searing pain in his back where he'd been impaled, like being stabbed with a hot knife. Dipper gasped sharply and had to lean with his forearms pressed against the shower wall to hold himself up. He sobbed involuntarily, and clamped his mouth and eyes closed, trying to shut down the tears before they began. He balled his hands into fists, and tried to breathe slowly and evenly.
"Dipper, you okay?" Wendy called from the other side of the shower curtain. "I thought I heard you gasp or something."
Dipper shook his head, and managed to choke out, "No, I'm fine."
He wasn't fine, though. Not at all. The pain had begun to subside, but his shoulders were still shaking from his nearly silent sobs. The shower was his usual crying place, so maybe this was a Pavlovian response on his part. Shower equals crying Dipper.
He knew it was more than just that, though. Pacifica and Melody thought that by keeping him sedated, they were keeping him from remembering what Ford had told him shortly after he woke up. But he remembered. In fact, he remembered watching Gideon being thrown from the Fearamid. The memories knocked loose by his concussion had come flooding back the very first time he'd woken up from sedation. He'd been too groggy to feel much of anything about them, but they were there. He had been perfectly happy to let Pacifica drug him back into oblivion, so he didn't have to face what had happened—what he was responsible for.
This was the longest Dipper had been awake since he'd first come out of his coma and talked to Wendy, which meant, unfortunately, it was also the first time since being sedated that the drugs seemed to have fully worn off. Focusing on the fact that Wendy would be helping him shower had kept him from having a breakdown as the fog began to clear in his mind, but now, in the shower, alone and in pain, the fog had finally lifted, and the reality of what had happened came crashing down around him.
Ford was right. What he'd done—the 'recon' mission to find Mabel—had been reckless and idiotic. He shouldn't have said anything to Gideon or Pacifica, and just gone alone. The only good thing to have come out of the situation was that they found Wendy, or at least the shell of who Wendy used to be. The Wendy he used to know had shone through a few times, but most of the time she was wild-eyed, and looked like any moment she could break down and fall to pieces.
Worst of all, though, they hadn't located Mabel on their trip to the Fearamid. His sister was somewhere in Bill's lair, probably being tortured on account of him having pissed Bill off royally by stealing Wendy away and shooting him in the eye. If Bill had thawed her out, that also meant that a very ill Mabel was actively dying, while Dipper lounged around, heavily sedated, being helped to shower by the girl of his dreams.
"Fucking useless," he hissed, banging his head gently against the shower stall, the tears he'd tried so hard to keep at bay now falling in earnest.
/
"Dipper, are you okay in there?" Wendy called out hesitantly. She'd heard what sounded like a gasp, some strangled breathing, and a dull knocking noise. "Dip?" When there was no answer, she pulled the curtain aside slightly so she could peek in. Dipper was hunched over, leaning on his forearms against the wall, now completely naked. His scarred shoulders were shaking.
"Dipper?" Wendy pulled the shower curtain further open, and reached in to touch his shoulder, getting half her body soaked in the process.
At her touch, Dipper flinched. "I'm fine," he said, his voice strained. "Almost ready to get out."
Wendy stepped further into the shower so she could crook a finger under Dipper's chin and turn his head to look at her. His brown eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.
"Dipper, I'm an expert at 'not okay,' and you are certifiably so," she said quietly. She was standing almost squarely in the spray of the shower, her borrowed t-shirt and basketball shorts from Dipper's dresser now completely sodden, and sticking to her skin.
Dipper's chin quivered. "It's my fault, Wendy. Gid's dead because of me. Mabel's going to die because of me. Ford's reached his breaking point because I made a stupid decision and got one of the few of us remaining killed."
Wendy stared at Dipper's face, studying it. The new, pale pink scar bisecting his eyebrow, his shaggy brown curls dripping water into his eyes. The subtle curve of his trembling lower lip. The stubble from a few days of growth, since Soos had only been shaving for him once a week. During her time in the UFO since being rescued, she'd seen his body change, cuts turning into scars, facial hair growing. This wasn't some static, pretend version of Dipper that Bill created to torture her. It couldn't be.
"It's you," she whispered, reaching out hesitantly to stroke his cheek, his stubble rough underneath the pads of her fingertips. She wanted nothing more than to pull him to her and kiss him—but he was clearly in the middle of a breakdown of sorts. She knew what that was like.
Dipper's eyes narrowed in apparent confusion at her touch. He opened his mouth to speak, but Wendy beat him to it.
"None of that is your fault, Dipper, okay?" she said more loudly, and emphatically. "From what I've come to see of Ford since getting here, he's lost any compassion he once had—just because he blames you doesn't make it true, okay?"
"But—" Dipper began. Wendy cut him off with a finger pressed against his lips. She stepped closer to him, completely unfazed by the direct spray from the shower cascading over her, and leaned toward him so that their faces were only inches apart.
/
Dipper's heart was suddenly pounding furiously. He still felt half a sob stuck in his throat, but Wendy stepping into the shower, caressing his cheek, and standing directly under the shower head, getting soaked, had served as a decent distraction from his overwhelming guilt. A second ago she had whispered something he couldn't make out, but there was a light in her eyes now that he hadn't seen since before she'd disappeared all those years ago. And now, those eyes were staring intensely into his own, her face so close he could count the freckles dusting the bridge of her nose. Dipper shivered, and felt the corners of his lips twitch upward slightly as Wendy, without moving her face out of his or even looking, nonchalantly reached over turn up the water temperature.
"Don't you dare feel bad for your trip to the Fearamid, Dipper Pines," Wendy said low. "Because if you hadn't shown up, I'd still be trapped there. Wishing you hadn't gone is like wishing you hadn't found me."
Her gaze was intense, her chest heaving under her soaked, and now somewhat see through t-shirt. Dipper swallowed hard. He felt a strange mix of emotions he couldn't really describe. The anguish of all the bad things that had recently happened was being pushed aside by a warmth blooming in his chest at the sight of Wendy—his Wendy—finally seeming herself again. She was no longer looking through him, she was looking at him. No, more than that. Her level, green gaze spoke to him in a way he hadn't seen since before she disappeared.
Dipper shivered again, but it had nothing to do with being cold. He reached up and took her hand, removing her finger from his lips before speaking.
"Wendy," he said, his voice still strained from holding back sobs. "I would never wish that. The only reason I never looked for you there to begin with is because everyone was convinced you were dead. If I had known," he said, his voice catching on the words. "I'm so, so sorry for everything you've been through. I should have looked harder. I should have—mmmph!"
Dipper's words were cut off by Wendy's lips pressed firmly against his.
"Shut up, dork," she whispered, pulling him against her, back under the hot shower spray.
Dipper wrapped his arms around Wendy and held her tightly, partially because his knees had nearly buckled when their lips touched, but also because this was something he'd wanted for nearly as long as he'd known Wendy. Of course, when he'd thought Wendy dead, so too was his dream. It had only been revived a few weeks ago, when he found and rescued her. What really surprised him is that he hadn't had to make the first move. Wendy kissed him.
She had one hand behind his head, fingers twining through his wet hair, while the other hand gripped his shoulder, almost too tightly. She seemed to have forgotten about his scratches and bruises. Then a twitch from between Dipper's legs reminded him that he was completely naked. And he was getting a boner. While pressed against Wendy. In the shower.
"Ffffuck," he breathed, pulling away from Wendy's lips. In addition to feeling incredibly horny, he was also extremely lightheaded. Too lightheaded. The edges of his vision were darkening. "Wendy, I think I'm gonna," he said, and then everything went black.