Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7988938.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gravity_Falls
  Relationship:
      Bill_Cipher/Dipper_Pines
  Character:
      Bill_Cipher, Dipper_Pines, Mabel_Pines, The_Author_|_Original_Stanford
      Pines, Grunkle_Stan_|_Stanley_"Stanford"_Pines
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Romance, Smut, Masturbation, Mental_Instability, Stalking
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-09-08 Updated: 2016-09-18 Chapters: 3/? Words: 7034
****** Under A Watchful Eye ******
by shootingstarcipher
Summary
     He got the feeling someone was watching him.
     Ever since the boy with a missing eye dragged himself out from behind
     the Ferris wheel, injured and bruised and utterly pathetic, he felt
     as if there was always someone behind him, following him, staring at
     him with a watchful gaze.
     Maybe the boy was a victim too, if he were to be believed.
***** Bad Temper *****
The music was far too loud, the lights much too bright. Everything was giving
him a headache. Mabel seemed happy enough, running ahead towards the garish
mess of bright, vivid colour while he held back and hesitated. When she turned
back and grabbed his hand, however, he let her drag him towards the nearest
ride, too weak to do anything about it. He felt faint and light-headed, beads
of sweat clinging to the palms of his hands as his heart began to race and he
couldn’t focus on anything, let alone find the strength to stop and tell his
sister what was going on.
They reached the tall, yellow ride with red stripes and peeling paint in a
matter of seconds and then had to stand by the side and wait for the children
and teenagers already on the ride to get off. They had a few minutes to wait.
The ride had only just started. Lifting his head up, Dipper gazed up at the
blurry faces of the screaming adolescents and immediately clutched his stomach,
sending his gaze to the floor again. It was too much. He didn’t know what was
happening to him but it was definitely all too much for him. He felt sick,
dizzy, like he was going to faint. His heart was working overtime and his head
was throbbing. The colours. The motion. The screams. He couldn’t cope.
He was crouching on the ground, doubled over and still clutching his stomach,
when the ride stopped and a dozen young teenagers filed out into the open,
practically causing a stampede as they pushed past each other, each one
desperate to get to the next ride faster than anyone else. Dipper had his eyes
closed but he opened them when he felt Mabel tugging on his arm, pulling him
towards the ride. After taking a couple of deep, relaxing breaths to get his
heart rate down, he felt better and was already on his way to climbing into the
seat on the ride next to Mabel, who seemed completely oblivious as to his
condition.
He flashed her a weak, half-hearted attempt at a grin and proceeded to fasten
his safety belt while a vicious, miserable-looking fairground worker marched
along the platform in front of the ride, checking that everyone’s belts were
fastened. Once he was satisfied that everyone was safe, he stepped into the
booth and started the ride.
Dipper instantly felt like throwing up again, even though it moved slowly at
first and gradually sped up. Even at its maximum speed, it wasn’t going
especially fast (having been made for young teenagers and children his age) but
it still made him feel ill. He kept his eyes squeezed shut the entire time
(this would no doubt fuel Mabel’s taunts and mockery of him for the next few
days until she got bored and moved onto something else) and only opened them
when the ride had come to a complete standstill. He wasn’t sure what was making
him feel so ill - whether it was the vertical movements of the ride, the sound
of the other passenger’s screams or something else - but when he staggered off
the ride, even dizzier now than he had been before, he felt as though if he
didn’t get back to the Mystery Shack straight away he’d be sick right there in
the middle of the fairground.
Mabel was still oblivious. Catching up with him, she grabbed him by the
shoulder and attempted to pull him towards another ride - one that moved in
circular motions and seemed to nearly be throwing its current passengers out of
its rusted metal prison - but this time he stopped her and gasped that he
needed to get some air. She responded by pointing out that they were already
outside and so he was already getting fresh air and then continuing to pull him
in the direction of the ride. But he refused to move and managed to stand his
ground, doubling over as he choked out something about going back to the
Mystery Shack to lie down.
She clearly wasn’t pleased with his decision to leave at first, but then she
caught sight of her friends - Candy and Grenda - and instantly forgot all about
him. Turning away from his sister - and the gaudy colours of the rides and the
shrill screams and ear-splitting laughter of the children enjoying them - with
a small smile on his face as he realised that Mabel would be just fine without
him as long as she had her new friends with her, he stumbled in the opposite
direction, heading away from the fairground.
On his way out, he passed the Ferris wheel. And that’s when he really started
to feel sick.
It wasn’t the ride that made him feel so ill - though the tasteless colours and
badly smeared coat of bright blue and green paint were somewhat unsettling -
but what, or who, crawled out from behind it and clawed at his leg, startling
him. A hand was grabbing at his ankle, catching his attention and making him
freeze on the spot. He looked down to find a mess of golden hair daubed with
blood splatters and the hand clutching his ankle was no different - bloody. He
shook the hand off him on impulse and took a few hasty steps backwards, but
stayed nonetheless, half-afraid but half-concerned that someone actually did
need help. And besides, he was beginning to get distracted by the boy lying
face-down on the ground and was no longer focusing solely on his own pain and
discomfort.
Crouching down, he took a hesitant step closer and helped the boy to his feet,
though the blond still kept his head hung and his gaze fixed on the ground. He
looked as if he’d stepped off the set of a historical English drama. Clad in a
long black coat, a crisp yet bloodstained white shirt, black trousers and ebony
boots, as well as a bow tie which hung crooked around his neck, he would have
looked elegant if not for his posture, which suggested fear and agony. He
groaned as he stood up, as though putting any pressure on his legs was painful,
and reached out with a bruised, cut-up hand to weakly grip Dipper’s t-shirt in
attempt to steady himself.
That wasn’t the worst bit. It wasn’t even when Dipper asked what had happened
to him and instead of answering he coughed up a puddle of blood which pooled at
his ankles. The worst part was when he finally lifted up his head and revealed
his face. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been for one thing: his
eye, or rather, his missing eye. His left eye was the colour of pure gold, the
other… The other was a bloody mess of gore and flesh and the remnants of an eye
that had been gauged out with a knife. His lips were stained with blood as
well, as was most of him.
Trust was a difficult thing to offer to somebody, especially when that person
reminded him of someone he’d much rather have forgotten, and although in usual
circumstances he would have naturally believed that the blond was really in
desperate need of help, Dipper couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t
quite right about him - something other than the fact that he was missing an
eye. Whether he trusted him or not - whether he was somehow connected to the
monster haunting his nightmares and making his life a living Hell - it must
have surely been better to help someone who didn’t need it as opposed to
turning away someone who did, so he made up his mind almost immediately.
“You need to get to a hospital,” he blurted out as if the boy didn’t know it
already. Tentatively taking hold of his black overcoat, he started walking
towards the exit of the fairground again, intending to take him back to the
Mystery Shack and have either one of his uncles - whoever was around and
willing to help - drive him to the nearest hospital (being such a small,
isolated town, Gravity Falls didn’t have its own and so residents had to drive
into other cities if they needed medical attention).
But the boy stopped him suddenly and refused to go with him, shaking his head
adamantly. “No,” he insisted, his voice trembling, “They can’t help me. I just
think I need to rest. Do you know anywhere…?” He trailed off but Dipper knew
exactly what he was trying to say and nodded, leading him in the direction of
the Mystery Shack. He disagreed that he wasn’t in need of immediate medical
attention but what did he know, being only twelve years old? Besides, as well
as being a couple of years older than him, the blond - in spite of his injuries
- certainly seemed confident in his claim that all he needed was rest.
As they walked - or more specifically, staggered - away from the fair, Dipper
found himself wondering why nobody else had stopped to help the boy, seeing as
he was in such a bad way. But he quickly shook the thought out of his mind,
deciding that it was likely that nobody had seen him lying there behind the
Ferris wheel.
But there was another disturbing thought lurking in the darkest depths of his
mind: how had it happened? He must have attacked by the Ferris wheel and then
slumped over behind it, or maybe he’d run behind it to hide from his attacker
after getting away. And then, of course, what on earth had he done to deserve
to suffer such a malicious attack? Probably nothing. It looked like the work of
a deranged madman. No-one in their right mind would gauge out somebody’s eye,
not even if the victim had done something terrible.
In this case, the victim didn’t even manage to walk the short distance to the
Mystery Shack without collapsing. Just as the rickety building came into view,
he stumbled forwards a few steps and would have fallen to the ground if it
hadn’t been for Dipper instinctively wrapping his arms around his waist and
holding him up. From then on, getting him to the Mystery Shack was a lot more
difficult than it had been before as he had to drag him along and keep a tight
grip on him at all times, otherwise he would never have made it to the door.
“What happened to you?” he asked as he hauled the boy up onto the porch, his
curiosity and desire for answers finally getting the better of him.
Unfortunately, the stranger seemed reluctant to tell him about it and in all
fairness, Dipper understood why; the attack had probably been traumatic enough
without being interrogated about it, especially by someone who couldn’t do a
thing to make sure it never happened to him again. “You don’t have to tell me,”
he added quickly as he let go of the blond with one hand to open the door and
lead him inside.
The door creaked as he closed it behind them and their feet thudded against the
wooden floor beneath them as they trudged into the living room and he had the
stranger sit down in Stan’s chair, at which point he took the opportunity to
soak in the disturbing sight splayed out before him. His eye - his absent one -
definitely needed tending to immediately and he found it odd that the rest of
his face was virtually untouched, a couple of scratches grazing his cheeks but
none too horrific, particularly when compared with the gaping hole in place of
his right eye.
Realising Dipper was staring, the boy covered the hole up with his hand and
hung his head, his whole body shaking slightly. “Sorry,” Dipper muttered in
response, genuinely apologetic for causing him discomfort by gazing so
intensely at what was probably something he didn’t want people looking at.
“You’d, um, better come upstairs with me and I’ll find something to clean your
wounds with,” he went on, suddenly aware that he was doing nothing to help the
boy with his injuries.
Stan didn’t seem to be home and he didn’t want to intrude on Ford at the
moment, given how busy he’d been lately preparing for an attack from the demon
that was wrecking their lives - not to mention the fact that he’d probably just
end up interrogating the blond stranger if he thought he had anything to do
with the demon at all.
They wound up leaving a trail of blood from the front door to the bathroom,
where Dipper instantly began rooting around in the cupboards above the sink and
by the bath, looking for antiseptic wipes to clean his cuts and grazes with. He
had no idea what to do with his missing eye, though, and the very sight of it
set his stomach churning. He made sure to look everywhere except at the hole in
his face but, like a car crash, it was repulsively mesmerising.
Eventually he found the wipes and got the boy to sit in the bath so that he
could kneel down and tend to his injuries. He flinched in pain every time the
soft material of the wipe rubbed gently against one of his cuts and Dipper
couldn’t help feeling like he was being cruel, adding to the boy’s pain
unnecessarily, but he knew that really he had to do to it help him, though the
look of anguish on the boy’s face did nothing to help him convince himself it
was necessary.
“That…” he said when he came back to look at the hole in the stranger’s face.
“I have no idea what to do about that. I really think the hospital would be
able to help.” But the blond was still insistent on avoiding the hospital all
costs, for whatever reason, and it sparked a tiny flame of suspicion inside
Dipper’s mind. Perhaps he was on the run, a well-known person in nearby cities
who had fled to Gravity Falls in search of refuge.
But that wasn’t important at the time. He needed to do something to stop the
bleeding, though it was only bleeding slightly by now. And so he proceeded to
create a makeshift eyepatch out of a folded up wipe which he strapped to the
stranger’s face with string. It wasn’t the best but it would certainly do its
job, at least for the time being. Once he’d treated all the visible wounds, he
began to question whether there were any more elsewhere on the boy’s body and
found himself asking, just to make sure he’d be able to treat everything that
needed treating.
“Actually, um, you could have a bath, if you want… It’s the easiest way to make
sure all your cuts get cleaned properly.” With his one golden eye, the boy
gazed at him curiously for a moment before conceding with his idea and then
turned to stare at the taps across from him, reaching out with a trembling hand
to turn the hot tap on. Once he’d gotten over his shock at the notion that
someone his age didn’t seem to understand that he was meant to step out of the
bath while he ran it or take his clothes off before getting in, Dipper swatted
his hand away and told him not to turn the water on yet.
Turning to look at him, the stranger frowned and a look of confusion glimmered
in his golden eye. “What am I supposed to do then? Teach me.” His tone of voice
was meek yet somehow also demanding, and Dipper obeyed him immediately, helping
him to climb out the bath before leaning down and turning on the hot water.
Then he went back to avoiding eye contact, reluctant to suggest that he started
getting undressed for more reasons than one. What if the rest of his body was
covered in scars even worse than the gaping hole where his eye should have
been? The thought sent chills running down his spine. “You should…” he started,
finding it difficult to force the words out. “You should start undressing while
the water’s running.” The blond didn’t seem to be embarrassed by his suggestion
at all and took off his coat straight away, his damaged fingers then moving to
fumble awkwardly with the buttons of his shirt and then the zip of his
trousers. Dipper turned away at that point, using the excuse that he was
leaning over the bath to start running the cold water.
“You don’t have to but… would you tell me how this happened to you? If I knew,
I might be able to help you. I don’t know though. I just think it’d be a good
idea, you know, to get it off your mind.” He stayed bent over the bath while he
spoke, dipping his hand into the water to test the temperature of it. Making
eye contact with him wasn’t an option for him. He could hear the rustling of
clothing as the boy continued to take off his clothes, and when he finally
managed to force himself to turn around again and look at him, he was
completely naked, his clothes having been scattered across the tiled bathroom
floor - muddy black boots included.
He fixed his gaze on the blond’s chest, refusing to let it drop any lower. His
chest and stomach were bruised and adorned with cuts and gashes, some of which
were still bleeding. “You can get back in the bath now,” Dipper mumbled,
switching off the water. His gaze still hadn’t left the stranger’s damaged
chest and even when climbed back into the bath he didn’t look away.
The blond boy flinched when his foot dipped below the water but then quickly
relaxed, slowly sitting down and then leaning back so that his entire body was
submerged. “He has a bad temper,” he choked out, rolling his head back to look
up at the brunet. “He, uh, doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
“Who has a bad temper?” Dipper demanded in as gentle a voice as he could manage
while anger and eagerness were coursing through his veins and somehow seeping
into his voice.
The boy blinked at him slowly, sleepily, and he leaned back even further,
resulting in his head almost sinking under the warm water that was engulfing
the rest of his body. “The demon.” His voice was barely a whisper and his eye
closed as he spoke, his whole body relaxing as he slipped out of conscious.
Dipper grabbed at his hand instinctively, keeping his head above the water so
that he didn’t drown. A soft sound - almost like a moan - left the boy’s lips
as the world went black, and then all Dipper was left with was a lifeless body
floating peacefully in a bath of warm water.
***** Twilight *****
If Mabel hadn’t come back at the exact moment he needed her to, the blond boy
lying in the bath might not have survived. She helped her brother drag him out
of the water - now a murky red haze as the blood from the boy’s wounds had
diffused, mixing with the previously clear water - and up the stairs to the
attic room where they splayed him out on Dipper’s bed while Wendy (who had come
back from the fairground with Mabel) went off to get Stan. She was clueless
about Ford’s existence at this point and neither of the twins though it was a
good idea to explain that they had another uncle to her yet, considering the
circumstances.
When the stranger opened his eye - his only eye - for the first time since
losing consciousness, he and Dipper were alone. Mabel had gone downstairs
because her friends were there and someone needed to stay with the stranger in
case he woke up, so Dipper had had no choice but to stay - and besides, he
didn’t mind it at all seeing as he’d been the one to find the boy in the first
place. He was crouching on the floor by the bed, watching the blond when he saw
a golden eye blink open and the boy reached out and grabbed for his hand,
pulling him slightly closer.
He wondered when Mabel would be coming back. Or when Wendy would be back with
Stan. He had no idea what to do with the injured stranger and he still thought
that the hospital was where he belonged, where he’d be able to receive proper
medical care for his wounds. He still didn’t know what had actually happened to
him, though from what he could gather it was all Bill Cipher’s fault. But how?
If Bill didn’t have a physical form - and therefore did not exist outside of
the mindscape - then how could he possibly have caused his injuries? He needed
answers and at the time, the blond was in no condition to give them to him.
Blood had seeped through the wipe covering the hole where the stranger’s right
eye used to be, and so - warning him of what he was about to do - Dipper
tentatively replaced the wipe strapped to his face with a new, clean one,
avoiding looking directly underneath the makeshift eyepatch as he did so for
fear of making himself ill again. Whatever had made him feel so sick before
(when he and Mabel had been at the fairground together) had clearly left his
system, though he was still oblivious as to what it was. It seemed so
insignificant now, now that a boy suffering with injuries so much worse than a
stomach ache or nausea was lying helpless in his bed.
As he gently strapped the eyepatch back onto the blond’s face the boy sat up
slightly and coughed, covering his mouth with his hand which was promptly
splattered with blood. Dipper eyed him worriedly and passed him another wipe
from the packet on the nightstand so he could clean his hand. “I’m fine,” the
boy asserted, sitting up and crossing his legs. Then he glanced out of the
window behind him, noticed it was nightfall - twilight, to be precise - and
asked how long he’d been there.
“A few hours. You lost consciousness while you were in the bath.” He paused for
a moment while the stranger gazed around at the room, his eyes wide as he
examined his surroundings. The attic was dusty and ridden with cobwebs and
clutter, the only tidy part of it being the bed he was lying on. His clothes
were folded neatly at the bottom of the bed, just behind Dipper, and the soft
blanket covering him had been smoothed down. “You didn’t hit your head, did
you? When you were… um, attacked?” Dipper asked hesitantly, attracting the
blond’s attention again.
“No,” he murmured in response, shaking his head. “I don’t think so… I don’t
know.” His voice was quiet and shaky, as if he were afraid, which made sense if
he’d been attacked by the demon Dipper believed he had been. He’d said it
himself; the demon had a bad temper and having experienced Bill Cipher’s fury
first-hand, Dipper couldn’t help but agree. “I should go,” the boy said
suddenly, pushing back the blanket - making Dipper blush and turn away - as he
reached out and grabbed for his clothes.
“But you can’t!” Dipper protested, still facing away from him as he
instinctively blocked the exit of the attic, preventing the boy from leaving.
“Look, you could have a concussion and if you won’t go to the hospital, at
least stay here for a couple of days. My uncle will know what to do.”
Hopefully, he added silently. One of them would, anyway. “Someone’s gone to get
him but for now, just stay here… please.”
When he turned around he saw that the boy’s clothes were still lying on the
bed, now in an untidy heap as opposed to the neat pile they had been in before,
and that the blond had curled up with the blanket draped over him again. His
eye was closed and he looked oddly peaceful, making Dipper question whether he
was asleep or still awake. He cleared his throat and took a few careful steps
towards him, trying to be as silent as possible but a floorboard creaked under
his weight and the stranger’s golden eye flew open, staring at him. Then he
yawned sleepily and closed his eye again, mumbling something about going to
sleep.
As he stepped backwards, his gaze remaining fixed on the blond’s face, Dipper’s
stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten for hours - since before he
and Mabel had gone to the fairground - and so he turned and left the attic,
intending to bring a snack and a drink back up to the attic with (and something
for the stranger, too, just in case he needed anything). He felt slightly
guilty about leaving the boy unattended but promised himself he’d only be gone
for a few minutes and anyway, it wasn’t like he trusted the boy completely yet.
There was no doubt he had something to do with Bill Cipher and until he found
out exactly what that was, he couldn’t put all of his trust in him.
He only left for a few minutes. He wasn’t even gone for as long as he’d thought
he’d be. And yet by the time he returned to the attic with a tray of food and
drink in his hands, the boy missing and so were his clothes.
The blanket had been thrown across the floor but apart from that - and the
missing boy - there was nothing different about the room. Hastily setting the
tray down on his bed, Dipper rushed back down the stairs and began searching
the house, wanting to call out for him but having no name to shout. Luckily, he
didn’t have to shout for him. Running through the living room, he caught sight
of the blond boy standing outside through the window and darted out to catch up
to him.
He was standing there, facing away from the Mystery Shack (fully-clothed,
having dressed himself after Dipper had left him alone in the attic), and
looking lost. There was something eerie about him, about the way he kept so
quiet, about the way he was gazing at everything around him with a glimmer of
something Dipper couldn’t put his finger on in his golden eye. He flinched when
Dipper put his hand on his shoulder but willingly followed the brunet back
inside, although he didn’t continue following him when he walked back up to the
attic.
He wandered the house instead until he came across a hidden door that led to
the basement, and in that basement he found an old man who glared at him upon
recognising his presence. He grinned as he staggered in and leaned nonchalantly
against the doorframe, his wild grin widening. “Kid took me in,” he explained,
not that it was much of an explanation for his presence.
The man had been dismantling an enormous device but had stopped when he
realised he wasn’t alone, and was now approaching the boy with a stern, furious
look on his face. “You know you’re not welcome here, demon,” he growled, only
succeeding in eliciting a shrill, almost manic laugh from the blond.
“Can’t you see I’m injured?” he asked innocently, tilting his head onto one
side. “Look.” He pointed towards the makeshift eyepatch the brunet had strapped
across his face. “I’m not who you think I am,” he said after a moment, his
voice much quieter this time. The grin had disappeared from his face, leaving
in its wake a dejected, forlorn expression.
“Then who the hell are you?” the man demanded through gritted teeth, balling
his hands into fists. He clearly wasn’t taken in by the boy’s look of misery
and his anger remained. “Don’t play games with me, demon. I can see right
through you and you know it.”
The boy blinked and hung his head, suddenly finding the floor much more
interesting than anything else in the room. “I’m…” Then he stopped, cut off by
the sound of footsteps and turned just in time to see Dipper walking towards
him, a look of relief washing over his face. “He just wanted to make me like
him,” he muttered, lowering his gaze again.
After making sure the stranger hadn’t suffered any more injuries - he didn’t
necessarily believe Ford may have caused the boy harm, but rather that he
seemed so unstable that he could have injured himself either accidentally or
intentionally - Dipper explained that he’d found the boy at the fairground and
that he’d been badly hurt, so he’d taken him back there with him. Ford
protested but he interrupted for the blond’s sake as well as their own, his
idea being that when dealing with someone who knew Bill Cipher well, it was
better to keep their beliefs about them to themselves until they were sure of
their identity and how they knew the demon. And so Dipper led the boy back
upstairs to the attic and they sat side by side on the bed, eating the food
he’d brought up earlier as they gazed out the window at the twilight sky.
By the time Wendy returned with Stan, Mabel had gone to bed and she and the
blond stranger were both asleep, the boy in Dipper’s bed and she in her own.
But Dipper couldn’t sleep. He was sat up on his bed with his back against the
wall and his legs under the blanket, scrunched up so as not to disturb the
stranger. The words the boy had been repeating over and over since they
returned to the attic echoed in his mind, preventing him from getting any sleep
even though his eyelids were heavy and his muscles were aching.
“He just wanted to make me like him.”
***** Accusations *****
He must have fallen asleep at some point because he was slumped over on his
side with his back to the wall when his eyes blinked open and he awoke, the
familiar feeling of warmth he’d experienced while he was asleep now missing.
Next to him, the blond hair he’d expected to find himself staring at was
nowhere to be seen and nor was the boy who owned it. No golden eye. No sorry
excuse for an eyepatch. No bloodstained skin or crumpled clothes. The only
evidence that he had ever been there were the patches of the dried blood on the
pillowcase and the bedsheets. They were the only traces of his existence left
and Dipper felt a strange longing to hold onto them, as if it would make him
come back.
He couldn’t have gotten far. Not unless he’d run, and Dipper doubted the boy
would have had the strength. He’d barely eaten, barely drunk anything and his
injuries were too serious to not cause him great pain. And not to mention the
fact that it was clearly a struggle for him to even walk - he tended to stagger
about in a daze, like he wasn’t aware of what was going on and like he had
limited control over his body - let alone run fast enough to get him far away
from the Mystery Shack without Dipper catching up to him - unless, of course,
he’d left hours ago. Even if he had left in the middle of the night, he
probably would have collapsed somewhere by now, cold and injured and
unconscious.
Mabel was snoring softly, still trapped in a deep and seemingly peaceful
slumber. Lucky, Dipper mentally commented as slipped out of bed and sidled
passed her, his bare feet padding against the creaky wooden floorboards. He
started by checking the living room and, having no luck there, he went into the
kitchen. Perhaps the boy had gotten hungry or thirsty in the middle of the
night (which wouldn’t have been surprising) and gone downstairs to find
something to eat or drink; it was logical and not far-fetched in the slightest.
But still, he wasn’t there either.
That’s when Dipper was struck with a sudden thought. Ford. The basement.
Something had been going on between his uncle Ford and the injured blond boy
and so it wasn’t unlikely that he wandered into the basement to further discuss
whatever they’d been talking about earlier on, though it had felt like Ford had
been almost verbally attacking him that afternoon, so why would he have wanted
to go right back to him again.
The door to the basement was closed. Dipper put his hand on the handle, opened
it and peered into the darkness, searching for a glimmer of light, any sign
that the boy he was looking for was down there. He found none, but did not give
up searching. The metal staircase rattled as he stepped on it and his breathing
grew louder and more unstable with each faltering step. Eventually, he came to
the bottom of the staircase and his uncle switched the light on, revealing that
he was bent over his desk, working even though it was the early hours of the
morning.
He tried to speak but his voice came out as a mere croak, barely comprehensible
and almost inaudible. Ford’s attention was attracted nevertheless and he turned
his head to glance at his nephew over his shoulder, his eyebrows knitting
together in a frown as he silently questioned what he was doing up so early.
Dipper cleared his throat and tried to speak again and this time he succeeded.
“Have you seen, um… that boy that was with me earlier?” he asked hesitantly.
The look on his uncle’s face suggested he would have preferred not to speak
about the boy in question, but he needed to know where he was. He hated the
idea of him being out somewhere in the cold on his own. He needed help - and
maybe not just medical help. He needed to find out what had happened to him and
had no intention of resting until he knew.
“He’s not here if that’s what you’re asking,” his uncle grunted, turning back
to his work. Thanking him for his time even though he hadn’t been any help,
Dipper spun round and was about to retreat back upstairs to continue searching
for the blond stranger when Ford suddenly pushed back his chair and strode over
to him. “That boy is dangerous, Dipper,” he warned, his eyes cold and hard. “I
want you to stay away from him. It’s good that he’s gone. Just keep away from
him, for your own safety.”
Not wanting to go against his uncle, Dipper nodded automatically but secretly
had no intention of keeping away from the boy. Then he turned and returned to
the living room, where he sat down in Stan’s armchair (hoping his uncle
wouldn’t come downstairs and see him in it) and sighed heavily, feeling anxious
and alone. There was nobody to help him look for the boy or even reassure him
that he was okay, even when he probably wasn’t. Mabel and Stan were both asleep
and Ford clearly had no desire to assure him the boy would be back soon. He
didn’t understand Ford’s dislike towards the boy and frankly, he didn’t have
the energy to consider it.
Breakfast. He needed to eat something. Then he could go out and look for the
blond again. Before he went into the kitchen, he went upstairs to the attic
room to get dressed and checked to see whether the boy had come back without
him knowing. He hadn’t. Mabel was still asleep, the soft noises of gentle
snoring emanating from her body. He glanced at her as he walked passed, tempted
to wake her up so that he’d at least have some company - company that wasn’t
telling him to keep away from someone he’d decided he cared about. He decided
against it and carried on pushing forward, heading downstairs and in the
direction of the kitchen.
The tiles on the kitchen floor were cool against his skin and made his toes
curl. He grabbed a bowl from one of the cupboards and poured the remaining
contents of a packet of cereal into it. Sitting at the table, he swung his legs
back and forth as he ate, the movement of his legs being his only distraction
from the crippling fear that something terrible may have happened to the blond
stranger.
After finishing his cereal and drinking a glass of milk, he scribbled down a
note stating he was going to look for the injured boy that had stayed over the
night before and left it on the table.
The cool summer air bit at him as he stepped through the door. Maybe it wasn’t
worth it. He might never find him. He might not have wanted to be found. Dipper
shook his head, as if in answer to his uncertainties. Pushing his doubting
thoughts aside, he carried on walking, making his way towards the nearby woods
in case the blond had wandered off in that direction. But over an hour later,
he returned to the Mystery Shack without having found him.
Mabel was awake by then and he waited with her while she ate her breakfast,
after which he wrote another note saying the same thing as the first, but this
time explaining that both of them were going out looking for the boy. This time
they went out together, heading towards the town. They looked everywhere -
everywhere they could think of - the diner, the shops, even the fairground the
boy had been found in - but still they returned without him.
And then, after lunch, while Grunkle Stan was preparing to lead the first of
several Mystery Shack tours of the afternoon, he walked through the door, his
face and clothes now clean of blood. A more traditional eyepatch had replaced
the one Dipper had made and was strapped across the part of his face where his
right eye used to be, his long blond hair had been brushed and hung over the
his face, somewhat obscuring the view of his eyepatch, and his clothes were now
crisp and clean. Instead of his usual sullen expression, his face wore a grin
that could only have been described as wicked.
Dipper’s mouth fell open when he saw him and he started towards him but froze
almost immediately, panicking. His mind was racing. Should he go over and talk
to him? Should he ask him where he’d been and how he’d been able to clean up so
well and so quickly? Why had he left in the first place? He stood there,
staring at the blond as he debated whether or not to talk to him, until
eventually the boy moved over to him instead, probably having gotten tired of
waiting for him.
“Just here to thank you,” he announced, straightening the bow tie around his
neck. “Can’t stay though.” Dipper frowned at him, wondering why he’d come back
at all if he was just going to run off again - and where exactly he’d be
running off to - when he realised the boy still hadn’t explained where he’d
gone and why he’d disappeared. As if reading his mind, he answered his silent,
internalised questions without hesitation. “By the way, kid,” - Dipper flinched
when he said that, finding it strange for someone not much older than him to
refer to him as a kid - “I only left because I had to. It would have been nice
to stay but, that’s not really my thing. I wander. No home - just… drifting.
But I have places to go, places with clean clothes and… eyepatches. I’ll be
back again soon though.”
With that, he turned, pushed through the crowd and walked out. Dipper chased
after him but he was gone by the time he reached the door. He looked through
the gaggle of customers at Mabel, who stated back at him and mouthed the words
“Where did he go?” at him. All he could do was shrug.
An hour later, the tour had just finished and Dipper - the summer heat having
gotten to him, his search for the blond leaving him uncomfortably hot and
sweaty - had decided to use his few moments of spare time to take a shower and
temporarily rid himself of the discomfort. The bathroom door now locked, he
shed his clothes as he sauntered over to the bath and climbed in, grabbing the
showerhead from off the wall and switching the water on. He didn’t see it until
his eyes were blurry, the water attacking his vision and causing him to be
slightly more distrustful when it came to what he thought he saw. He glanced at
the mirror, saw a patch of red, and blinked.
But when he got out of the bath and dried himself with a towel - eyes included
- and looked up at the mirror again, he knew it had to have been real. Writing,
in red, scrawled across the mirror in a rushed, unkempt yet threatening manner.
It made no sense. The letters didn’t seem to form words, even though they were
grouped together in what one could only assume were meant to be coherent words
which would string together to form a sentence. He blinked again. It didn’t
disappear.
He continued drying himself - more hastily this time - and threw on his
clothes, unlocking the door once he was dressed again and running up the stairs
to the attic. He returned to the bathroom in a matter of seconds, pen and
notebook in hand as he prepared to note down the series of letters scrawled
across the mirror. “PXSB VLROPBHC,” he wrote and said each one out loud as he
did so, carefully running each letter through his mind like he thought he’d be
able to decipher it so quickly and with so little help. In hindsight, it was
foolish to think that he’d be able to figure it out on his own, but nobody else
agreed to help him until he went to sleep that night and so he spent all day
trying to decode it anyway.
And then Bill Cipher came back into his life.
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