Streetlight sneaked into my room through the curtains, and ghost-lights crashed against the window when cars drove by. I could have counted them to sleep, but the street we lived in was usually quiet. I can't help but wonder at times -where are those people headed to, in the middle of the night? Reality struggled to smother the outlandish hypothesis my exhausted brain stammered at times like those. Sleep was slowly turning them into blurry dreams. I can't remember what I had done that day; probably school. The summer we'd spent at Gravity falls laughed in the face of each dull day of high school -and every one of them took it out me, or so it seemed. It had been anything short of memorable yet still exhausting. Draining somehow. I just wanted to sleep.
The door had opened with a creak to Mabel's pouting face. She just stood there for a few seconds, her hair a mess and Waddles beside her. I had just raised my head from the warm sheets and frowned.
"Dipper? I can't sleep."
"What?"
She had carefully closed the door behind her, shifting from one foot to another. I was expecting her to crack a joke, a comment, anything -but whatever the words hanging from her lips might have been, she spoke none for a while.
"I had a nightmare. I don't know, it was…"
I'd forced a smile on my face. That was Mabel all over. I could understand how she felt. I too had nightmares sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. Visions that would leave me alone during the day crept behind my eyelids under the cover of night. Here comes the grand Guignol of foots, billiard balls and stone statues, laughing and dancing.
"Can I sleep with you?"
I had rolled to the other side of the bed to make room for my sister. Her stupid pig had followed suit, crushing my legs in the process. Mabel was smiling too now, buried under the covers.
I couldn't see how I could have possibly kept her bad dreams at bay when there was nothing I could do against my own, but she was still smiling as she fell asleep.
"Thanks, Dip."
I had muttered an answer of sorts -something spiritual, or maybe something utterly useless, I can't remember this either. But what I do know is that when we were together, things got better. We weren't scared anymore. She protected me, and I protected her in return.
If it was for Mabel, I never really had a choice. So, although I may grieve the way things turned out, I would have saved her again, over and over.
Dipper's muscles tensed instantly. Neither anger or his unnerving apathy managed to loosen the grip of the ethereal hand that crushed his heart. He'd been paralyzed too when Mabel head hit the ground, as if he'd shared some of his sister's broken bones. The mental shutdown he experienced then was nothing like the rampant fear the walls themselves seemed to exhale. It was pervasive rather than violent, closer to an infected wound than a stab in the stomach.
"Surprised, kid? What's with that face you're making? I was expecting a warmer welcome! Maybe I should have brought a gift."
Dipper recoiled in his seat and instinctively shook his head. His wits had vanished, and the handful of reflexes left behind only yelled at him to save himself. The cheerfulness in the demon's voice did not reach his eye. He floated in mid-air, surrounded by a glow midway between the cold light of the stars and the cirrhotic halo of old streetlamps. Bill did not need fangs nor claws to make your blood coil. His nasal voice and childish shape surfaced from the boy's oldest nightmares: the monster under the bed, the screeching in the drawers, the shapeless creatures crouching in the dark corners of a kid's room. Except you're not a kid anymore, Dipper Pines. Stand up. Wake up. Those demands drowned in the blood pounding at his temples the very second his heart remembered to beat.
"Come on. You're not going to ignore me just because of a three years old argument?"
An argument. That was one way to put things. Dipper opened his mouth, praying that he'd throw a sharp comeback rather than a cry of fright -but he got neither of them, and silence spread over a hundred short eternities. Seconds bled into each other with no regards for time and, amidst the ashen shades of the room, he could only utter a mere "Bill". Flat, stupid, spoken in the tone of the obvious facts we use when we don't know what else to say.
"It speaks!"
The demon's amused blabber sounded out of place at the bedside of a patient -of a dying patient, corrected the cynical little voice that wouldn't let him be, full of hurtful precisions. Bill didn't belong in this room. He didn't belong near Mabel, nor near himself. He didn't belong anywhere at all.
"You invoked me, no need to play the goody-two-shoes. I was hoping you'd call me! Well, sort of. Looks like our Shooting star won't be shooting the breeze so much anymore, uh?"
Dipper's head hurt. Rationalize. Sort it out. None of what had happened this day felt truly real. Truly tangible. The warm blood on his hands, Mabel's hollow eyes, his parents' swollen face, and his Grunkles, and the shimmering triangle floating above the bed -he'd seen them without seeing them. Part of him still clung to the thought that he'd wake up at some point, with only school to worry about. Even though his heart still beat too loud in his chest and despite the cold sweat, he felt aloof. Dipper could see the danger, but only in the distance. It gave him time to think; to see things from a more detached angle.
"What the", he stuttered in a vain attempt to organize his mind. "How did you…"
"Do you really think now is the right time to talk about this? Don't you have some more… Pressing matters to deal with?"
Bill heavily glanced toward Mabel's sleeping silhouette. The monitors were still humming their soft song, but for how long? Dipper bit the inside of his cheeks and looked toward the door. No matter how intensely he stared, it remained resolutely shut. He wished he could ask Ford for help. The author of the journals would have known what to do for sure. But he'd told him to go away, and now-
"Good old Sixer won't be back for a while. But why would we need him anyway? He told you there's nothing he can do for your sister."
Bill snapped his fingers; 'we have to wait'. Rewind, replay, rewind. The sentence tore up his heart every single time with a morbid precision. Ford couldn't do anything for Mabel, and neither did their parents, nor the doctors, nor Stan.
Nor himself.
"How did you…"
"You're asking the wrong questions, Pine Tree", Cipher interrupted in a disarmingly well faked irritation. "It's not about 'how', but 'why'. Maybe you want a hint?"
Rewind, replay. Earlier in the day: clear blue sky, light walls, the hurricane of good mood, and Mabel spinning around, paying attention to nothing, and all of a sudden, just like that, the car came out of nowhere-
Dipper closed his eyes and turned his head, a metallic taste on his tongue. He'd probably bitten it; or maybe it was the ghost of the blood drops that had splattered his face. Nausea mauled his innards without warning. Why not puke his guts out, since they were dancing such happy little jigs. If only he could have kept his eyelids shut forever -smiles and nice memories were carved in faded colors there, as cruel as they were comforting.
"What do you want?"
Bravery and animosity came out fainter than he had intended. If Bill was having fun with the unsure quaver that plagued his voice, he showed no sign of it.
"What do you want? The clock is ticking. Tic, toc, tic-"
"Stop that!"
The demon's eye widened for a second, before his parody of a smile narrowed it again. Think, Dipper. Think. Cipher avoided his questions and systematically answered with other ones. The same way you'd flick annoying flies without a care. But are they really worth caring about? Mabel is going to die if you don't do something. He's not wrong, is he? Tic, toc.
"You called me for help, and here I am! Want me to help your sister? No problem. I could even give her back some of the teeth she lost, uh?"
Bill kept breaking his train of thoughts -and when the floating triangle grew tired of his spiels, Dipper's own demons took over; and while their speech lacked creativity it was inexhaustible. If fate demanded that Mabel died here, then it could go fuck itself. But-
Mabel.
"Could you really help her?"
Dipper hold his breath. It was just a question -no commitment, no deal, no pact. Just a question. Yet he could feel a slight change in the atmosphere, a little nothing that weighed heavy on his shoulders, enough to make them. Bill had won. The kid clenched his teeth: what else was he supposed to do anyway? Not listen a word he said and pray to wake up quick? That the Lord Almighty would have decided to spare his sister's life during his sleep? Wait, arms crossed, and watch his family grieve while the whole world kept spinning?
Bill stopped near his shoulder, affecting a pretense of reflection for the sake of his sham negotiation. He answered, quite laid-back:
"That wouldn't exactly be a pleasing experience, but hey, what wouldn't I do for a friend? Her dreams are a bit too glittery to my liking, but I could still wake her up. As long as the monitors aren't cut off, of course. How long will that take, I wonder?"
Dipper wanted to ask how, but the word never got past his lips. They weren't friends. A short walk down memory lane was more than enough to make it sound preposterous. Almost threatening in its irony. Bill Cipher had no friends. Had Ford been here, he would have laughed his heart out -oh, sure, he would have been scared. He would have tried to understand, and sent the demon to kingdom come, but before he did all that, he would have laughed pretty hard. They had defeated Bill three times already. And besides, a being who'd lived through billions of millennia couldn't hold all the old grudges. Dipper clung to these considerations as fiercely as a man to a piece of rotten wood lost at sea.
It was the cleanest presentation he could make up out of the scrapes of logic scattered on this day. His conscience mocked his every effort. Not a bone in his body didn't spurn to hear what the demon had to say -yet his heart begged to save Mabel way louder. True, Bill Cipher didn't have any friends. But he made deals.
"What do you have to gain from this?"
Bill seemed amused by his sudden flight of bravery. The knot in Dipper's stomach crept its way in esophagus, barely choking him. There were limits to what he had the right to do. People died every day. Murders, accidents, hurricanes, wars. So the boy gazed from the Rightful Fence: Mabel's stupid pullovers, her sudden artistic fancies, the weird animals, the pet-rock, the awkward hugs, the bad puns. Who would care for Waddles? Dipper crossed the barrier without a care. It was a line drawn with chalk and fear -and to hell if he was letting fear kill his sister.
"I could be heartless and ask for something big but, guess what? After spending so much time in such a… Dimly lit place, I feel like being generous. After all I'd still be stuck there if you hadn't invoked me. Consider this as me returning a favor, Pines."
Dipper stiffened. Bill's venom was always served sugarcoated with honey.
"All you have to do is take back your uncles to Gravity Falls."
"And that's it?"
His brows furrowed. Bill's motives wouldn't magically appear in bright letters above his head just because he stared too intently, nor would his sickly-sweet mask be ripped off through a simple look. Of all the things he could have asked for, he picked something this trivial. Anecdotic, even. Stan and Ford often stopped by Gravity Falls for short stays between travels. Yet of all he could have asked for, he picked this.
"Nothing too complicated, as I said."
"Why?"
"Technical reasons, very boring", Bill eluded. "That's beside the point anyway. Can you really say no? I didn't think you'd consider sacrificing your own sister over a small burst of curiosity. Not so charitable, are we?"
Dipper remained quiet. Mabel was still sound asleep, at least in this dimension. He had to wake up. Perhaps someone needed him back there.
His shameful delusion didn't make him smile. Convincing himself of that would have taken much more time. And it was time he so cruelly lacked.
"Same old process than your precious Grunkle memories, capiche? He got them back by being exposed to it", Bill explained. "He got me back at the same time. Well, partially. I'm still stuck in his mindscape."
A sorry sigh escaped the demon. He was bad at empathy, but self-pity was apparently more of his thing.
"You invoked me. It severed the links", Cipher took up, miming scissors before suddenly suspending his gesture. "Once again, partially. Even now, I can't get too far away. But there's a lot of weirdness in Gravity Falls, enough for me to get some of my powers back. Hopefully enough to get out of that Neanderthal brain, you see?"
The brunette wringed his hands. Say no, Stan barked in a corner of his head. The deal is vague at best, Ford confirmed. The third voice had proclaimed itself Common Sense and drummed into him to never trust a demon. And then there was the little boy Dipper had once been, threatening to tear apart every tomorrow for every summer morning he'd spent with his sister. Scrap by scrap, from missed occasions to lonely adventures -just to show him how much it would hurt.
"I can't trust you".
He stood his ground on unsteady feet, but he stood it nevertheless.
"Then just see this as shared interest. The old fossil can't stay in one place for over three days, but I'm sure he'd let himself be convinced if his sweet nephews asked. You all get some family bonding time, and I get to get away. You won't ever hear of me again after that!"
"You tried to destroy the world!"
His scream had burst straight out of his heart, last resort against an inexorable outcome. Bill had succeeded the second he offered to save Mabel. Dipper's questions had been but a surrender; his protests, a meager resistance barely good enough for a puppet fight. He wanted Bill to be right.
"I was making your world a favor", Bill retorted with a quietly ironic laugh. "But I've seen enough of this place to say that it's really not worth the trouble. Staying here isn't part of my plans. I know it breaks your heart, but no hard feelings. There are plenty of other dimensions just as boring as yours out there, pal!"
Dipper closed his eyes, hidden behind a curtain of flesh as a child under a thick blanket.
"The others don't even have to know about it. So, what's your answer?"
If he really wasn't doing anything wrong, then he had no reason to hide, yet this suggestion warmed his heart. It spoke volumes -in too soft a voice to be heard.
"Sooo?"
"I…"
"Too bad that your sister is passed out. She wouldn't risk losing her family just to ease a little paranoia. Trust no one this, be careful that, and you end up erasing your beloved uncle's memory with a laser gun! Just say so if you don't want my help, so I can go and rest a little", he added, insistent. "Do you know how much energy it takes to stay here? Not that I mind our little chat, but I don't have all day."
Cipher was staring at him. Trust no one, uh? Was it because of Bill's magic or the guilt eating into his bones that Mabel's words chose this very moment to come back at him? 'I trust you, Grunkle Stan'.
I trust you.
"We have a deal."
"But I'm telling you I'm fine! Look, I can even do a Mabel-dance!"
An enthusiastic attempt to prove her words only led Mabel to a shriek of pain. Playing around and fiddle on her bed was apparently still far out of reach, but the smile that light up her face was more than sufficient. The contagion spread it on Dipper's lips, on his father's, on his Grunkles'. Their mother couldn't decide between laughs and tears. She held her daughter's hands in her own trembling ones, gentle as the softest breeze of a way less cruel world.
"You should calm down, your arm is still broken", her father warned.
"Which also means we get to sign your cast."
Mabel's disappointment disappeared like snow in the sun. Stan's suggestions had just the right level of foolishness required to cheer her up.
"It's going to be so cool! Dipper, Dipper, what color do you want? Sky blue? Or purple! And I'll get Waddles to sign it too!"
"I'll just go for blue, then."
"Mom, could I get some pens too? They're all at home!"
"I'll buy you new ones, then. The glittery ones you wanted, how does it sound?"
"It sounds like you should ask for a flat, a car and a giant cake, kid. Now or never."
Mabel's eyes shifted from one relative to the other, unable to record the meaning of their gaze. She seemed fine. The memory of the accident was surely sleeping somewhere in her mind, but for the moment, it left her be. They all tip-toed around, careful not to disrupt its slumber. Do not mention it. Smile. Be grateful. Unspoken rules thickened the air, unbeknownst to the girl; or maybe the flashes in Dipper's mind marred his take on reality. They were quiet but wide awake, ready to shred happy moments like this one to pieces. Mabel was lucky not to remember much. He only hoped it would last.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I must ask you to please leave. It's becoming quite crowded here, and there are still tests to be conducted. She needs to rest, too."
Six pairs of eyes now rested on the man in a white coat standing at the door. His tone, while still considerate, was definitive. Their mother shrugged but, other than that, remained motionless as a statue. Her trust in the medical profession had been seriously shaken by her daughter's yet unexplained recovery. Although he hadn't been given any detail, Dipper knew the brain had been damaged and that the doctors hadn't been wrong, when they said Mabel wouldn't survive this without a miracle. And doctors weren't trained for miracles. They were taught to deal with cranial traumas, broken bones, surgeries. They were taught to fix people and save what could be saved.
The man sighed and shook his head before he surrendered:
"Your parents can stay. But…"
"Why would they go out? I'm feeling super good!"
"You may feel better, it still doesn't mean that everything is fine, or that you don't need rest."
"But I'm alright and ready to go!"
Mabel wasn't a good liar. Her pout and stubbornness did not wipe away the bags under her eyes, nor the hematomas on her cheek. Dipper gave her a smile of complicity and stood up from his chair.
"Don't worry. We'll be back before you know it. And if you miss me too much, ask them to give you a mirror."
"Come on, bro-bro, I'm way cuter than you!"
"And manlier too", Stan commented with an intent look for his nephew. "Not that it's much of an accomplishment, mind you."
"I'm not even done growing up yet!"
"You'd need to have started growing up to be 'done with it', you know."
"Stan!"
Their bickering was cut off when the doctor cleared his throat, painfully aware that he was being an irritating fourth wheel. Anywhere else than in a hospital room, this conversation would have been normal, and despite his vexed expression, Dipper had never been so happy to be called a wimp. Soon, they'd be home and all of this would be in the past -a prayer more than a fact, but the boy poured all his heart into it.
"Lisa, Nick, you should stay here. I'll get Dipper home."
"What? As if I'd…"
No care was given for Dipper's protests. Ford pushed him to the hallway, as gruff and gentle as he and his brother always were.
"Stan, are you coming with us? Or do you plan to keep on scaring little kids in the hallway?"
Stan pondered for a second before he sat back on the seat he'd claimed in the waiting room.
"I'll wait here for a bit, if you don't mind."
"Are you sure? You could use a shower. You smell."
And that, Dipper noted, is the Pines way of getting along and showing concern for you.
"Certain. You never know if those scam doctors won't start to cry wolf again. I told them that a small accident wouldn't kill my niece. They might need another reminder, just in case."
Dipper's stomach crawled up his throat. His faith in those metal boxes and steel ropes was wavering at best, and his whole body was hellbent on making this point clear. Ford hadn't said a word the whole way -he knows, Dipper thought.
"Is something bothering you, Grunkle Ford?"
"No. No, I'm fine, just tired."
The floors piled up above their heads. Nine, eight, seven. With a tad of luck, they'd reach the ground-floor before he had time to ask anything. As for the perspective of being stuck one-on-one for the drive home, Dipper consciously ignored it. He'd just pretend to be asleep. Maybe with his eyes closed, lulled by the sound of the engine, sleep would in fact fall upon him. It wouldn't hurt to hope.
Six, five.
"Still, I can't believe what happened. A miracle indeed."
Four.
"Miracles are hard to believe in, after all I've seen in my life. But I guess I don't really have a choice here, uh? We'll hear what the doctors have to say. Maybe I'll manage to have a look on those analysis, and check if I can find something there."
Three.
"Don't you find it strange, too?"
Focused on the bright numbers scrolling in front of him, Dipper absent-mindedly shrugged it off, as if to say yes -or no, or whatever Ford might have wanted him to answer. A gesture that could save your life countless times, when you had never really learnt how to lie.
Two, one.
"You don't have anything to do with it, right?"
Too late. The door opened with an outdated ring that played like a requiem.
"No", he heard himself reply.
Develop. Explain. Say something.
"What could I have done, anyway", he added, headed for the entrance hall.
His heart hit hard on his ribcage, hard enough to break his bones. He shouldn't have been scared to tell Ford about what happened. Fuck, he should have downright told him; they hadn't agreed on any confidentiality clause for that deal. And if Bill peered at the world from Stan's head, Ford's mind was impregnable. Honesty would have been the right thing. Yet his tongue refused to move, struck by a weird disease that had spread from the knot in his stomach -right where bad feelings were bursting in hysterical laughter.
"I wonder what happened too, but for now I'm just… Really happy. I don't want to question it, or…"
"So you really have nothing to do with it?"
Had the kid stopped and thought for a second, he would have pulled the brakes and made a complete turn-around. Told everything, even if it meant engaging in the shouting match of the century with Stan. Then again some moments weren't for musing; all those 'I love you', 'it wasn't me' and 'fuck you' frail as the wings of a butterfly. Hesitate and see them crash to the ground.
"Of course not."
His voice sounded wrong to his own ears, but Ford looked satisfied with it, almost sorry to have even needed it. A preconceived reply in a dreadful play at best; but his Grunkle had to reason to doubt someone who had no reason to lie. Dipper knew he should calm down, for there was nothing less dangerous than a hollow question: they existed to fill the silence, not to cut your throat.
"Give me five minutes."
"What are you doing", Dipper asked, following him regardless of what the old man had just said.
Ford didn't answer, and went directly to the woman at the front desk, her nose buried in Excel spreadsheets that, from the look on her face, had to be the greatest allegory for boredom.
"I'll take care of the bill", he reluctantly answered.
Dipper gaped and bit the inside of his cheeks. Money hadn't crossed his mind. His head had been filled with pieces of hopes, memories and carefully maintained void scattered all over the place by the impact. Those grown-up considerations had gone right over his head. No wonder people kept talking to him as a child. They comforted him, fed him, brought him back home.
"Mom and dad are going to kill you the second they know."
"But you won't try to dissuade me. Excuse me, miss?"
"Where would you even have gotten so much money? Grunkle Ford, you…"
"How may I help you, sir?"
Dipper turned away from his uncle. That man must have jealously guarded futile secrets for the sole pleasure of having something to hide. The boy let his eyes drift to the glass doors standing between him and the parking lot. A meagre measly protection against the outside world -and again pause, rewind, replay, Mabel was playing and goofing around, and the car-
"What a nasty little lie."
He jumped, dissected the hall, face by face -nurses rushing around, preoccupied doctors, patients, visitors queuing, all stacked in that cube of concrete, linoleum and morn anxiety. A pretty woman at the gift shop addressed him an encouraging smile; an old man with wrinkled skin seemed to notice him for a second through a veil of cataract; a businessman ignored him, his ear glued to his phone; a kid was whining, bored to ends unimaginable to adults; a teenager waited in the line, morose and angry-looking; Ford was carefully reading the first sheet of a heavy paper bundle. Hospitals pastel colors made up for an anemic rainbow on the walls and ceiling, lime greens and off-whites on the ground. No grey shades. No smug demon. Only conversations that had nothing to do with him and the self-righteous voice of his conscience. Nobody else. An inopportune paranoia screeched its claws on his frayed nerves. Mabel was fine, that was all that mattered. His sister would walk around with a multicolored cast for quite a while, and it would take her hair a long time to grow back, but she'd be fine.
He took a step to his Grunkle, trying to sneak a peek at the papers that took up all of attention. Forced smile from the receptionist. By the look on her face, Dipper assumed she took the old man's meticulous reading as a personal offense. Stanford Pines and his legendary passion for small prints, footnotes and nota bene. No need to read minds to know he broke down every word searching for hitch or a small mistake. The great scientist he was had developed a strong allergy to imprecision. Ford proceeded with method. The young lady at the desk did not envy him anything in that matter: she did not lack thoroughness nor due care as she dismembered him with the eyes, with a very personal touch of creativity. Dipper almost wanted to tug on his sleeve and tell him to hurry, but he didn't want to sound like a nagging child. He wished he'd stayed with Mabel for a little longer instead of waiting here.
"Does he plan on spending the night? This girl's going to kill him if he doesn't just take the papers."
"She does have murders in her eyes, but…"
"True that it would take an awful lot of imagination to kill him fast enough in a hospital. Maybe a pen in the eye? Or perhaps she'd manage to slit his throat with a sheet of paper. It would be fun to watch!"
Dipper turned around suddenly, unable to phrase two thoughts any more articulate than "what" and "I'm sorry?". It was hard to tell what failed him more: his numb brain or his legs? Lead in his feet, concrete in his knees, and the drum of a headache to come. The guy threw him a radiant smile, leant against a wall, a hint of pride in his voice/
"Are you going to make that face everyt-"
A fit of hacking cough stole the remaining of his sentence away. Dipper wouldn't have been so surprised had a pair of ashen lungs landed at his feet and turned into old dust.
"That, is absolutely awful, he answered, a few tears gleaming in his eyes as he straightened up. To think that I found you quite weak."
Pines glanced at Ford, now negotiating with the young lady -the name was Stephanie-can-I-help-you, her badge said. Dipper stepped forward. The fear of his uncle hearing them prevailed over the more diffuse one of being disemboweled in an instant.
"What are you…"
"You really have no imagination, uh? Always asking questions. We could play a guessing game instead."
Hadn't it been for the smirk plastered on the boy's face, he would have been of an appalling banality. His blue eyes didn't even try to rival a winter sky. Dark circles under them only made it blander, and his hospital gown hung loose on his shoulders. He swayed slightly, found a fragile balance to lose it right away in a paragon of harmlessness.
But he wore that smug smile and had those inflexions in his speech -he screamed danger from the tone of his voice to his choice of words.
"My god."
"You can call me that if you want."
"Is Mabel…" Dipper started, livid.
"What's with Mabel? She's fin-"
"Dipper!"
He turned around too late not to spot the other boy's frown, and the counterfeit smile that soon replaced it. Ford had admitted defeat and put the file in his bag for an in-depth study, and barely glanced at the kid.
"Time to go. Sorry to have kept you waiting, you must be tired. Don't worry, we'll be back as soon as we can, and your parents will give us a call later anyway. I'm pretty sure Stan will too."
"Yes. I…"
"See you around, Dipper. Mister Pines."
Stanford raised an eyebrow and looked at the boy as he walked away toward the lifts on unsteady feet.
"A friend of yours?"
"Sort of", Dipper eluded. "Are we going yet? Or maybe I should stay with Stan. Mabel probably wants to see me already."
"She'd like to see you in a better shape, kid. Come on."
The old man hesitated for a second before he added:
"And you have to get changed."
Dipper bit the inside of his cheeks. Neither time nor bleach could ever wash the dry blood off his shirt. He had to get changed. He had to sleep. He had to-
"We'll be back soon."
He nodded and let Ford gently push him towards the doors. The noise astonished him when he set foot on the parking lot. The cars, the ambulances, the sirens that weren't screaming this time. It cost him a lot to make a step; the sole of his shoes felt glued to the asphalt. If not for his uncle's hand resting on his shoulder he would have stood there for his whole life, unable to move.
"Everything will be okay, Dipper."
Everything would be okay.
Notes : It's just hilarious how bills are called bills in English. All the unintentional puns in this chapter made me laugh bits too much.