#I meant to get this done quicker but my body betrayed me with illness

[tswwwit]

Here's the second part of Cult Reincarnation Dipper!

The first part is over Here if you missed it.

Hope you enjoy!

“Here we are!” Bill says brightly. He nods approvingly at the room, then glances back at Dipper. “Glad you didn’t take off running during the trip.”

How Dipper could have managed that, he isn’t sure. The instant they appeared in this place, Bill took hold of Dipper’s wrist and hasn’t let go even once. 

The nightmare realm is exactly as advertised. Dipper’s been pulled through mazelike corridors, up and down impossible hallways, over insane physic-defying structures - and past things with too many teeth and eyes. 

He thinks he’s been holding up pretty well, all things considered. 

Being dragged by a nightmare god into his realm of dreams for unknown reasons wasn’t exactly on his bucket list. Without any helpful explanations, or even unhelpful ones, he’s stayed calm and followed along.  Remaining obedient, keeping quiet, and waiting in hopes of Bill either giving up, or giving him any indication of where the hell they are and what the fuck he’s doing.

Now they’ve arrived, and the destination… isn’t exactly encouraging.

Dipper looks over the gleaming instruments hung on the walls. The needles and scalpels and hooks. He drops his gaze towards the white paper on the chair, at the poorly hidden restraints.

A place of insanity and terror, owned by a king of nightmares, dragging along a vulnerable human with a badly injured arm. Of course he’d end up in a house of medical horrors. It’s too thematically appropriate.

So yeah. Dipper’s been holding on fine. Only his legs have decided they’ve had enough for the day, and given up. 

His robes puddle around him as he hits the floor. The tile’s very cold and sterile under his legs, and his arm trembles in Bill’s unwavering grip.  

“Hey! What gives?” Bill tugs on Dipper’s wrist again. Thankfully not hard enough to haul him to his feet. 

Dipper shakes his head. The floor’s fine. He’ll stay right here, thank you very much. Trying to retrieve his wrist doesn’t work, but he makes a good show of it.

“Nice try,” Bill says, dryly. “But there’s no escaping! Now get on up and have a seat already.” 

For the first time, his grip loosens. Dipper yanks his arm towards his chest, attempts to stumble to his feet. His legs fail to cooperate, sliding out in front of him like he’s putting up a tantrum rather than an escape attempt.

With a quick snort, Bill ducks down and tucks his hands under Dipper’s arms. A moment later he lifts Dipper bodily into the air, and appraises him with a smile.

Dipper kicks out in surprise, struggling for purchase - then lets his legs dangle in the air, limp. Flailing around isn’t going to help. Odds are it’d make things worse. 

If there was ever a mistake Dipper shouldn’t make, it would be accidentally whacking a god in the groin. 

Bill bounces him in his grip a couple times, with a pleased smile, and seemingly zero effort. The human form he’s wearing isn’t bulky; he’s just stronger than he appears. Dipper should have guessed as much. He’s in the demon realm, brought here - kidnapped by -  an eldritch, too-powerful being. Any resistance he puts up is as much of a shield as tissue paper. 

With a nod, Bill turns a full ninety degrees, and drops him directly into the chair. The leather of the seat creaks underneath Dipper as he hits it, and he instantly straightens up, back rigid.

“There we are.” Bill smirks with satisfaction. He points directly at Dipper’s face with a sudden frown. As it comes closer, Dipper leans as far back as he can manage.  “Now stay. Put.”

The tone is very firm, and, well. Obedience is the name of the game, when it comes to a ‘god’.  

Dipper simply nods. Bill beams again, then retreats to start pulling drawers open, rustling through them and muttering to himself. 

Whatever he’s up to, Dipper doesn’t care to guess. From what he can tell, the entire room is made for easy cleaning, and the objects don’t lend him any comfort. Tons of gleaming instruments hang on hooks and boards, pale metal against white walls.  The soaked sleeve of his robe is leaving little dots on the seat and armrests. Every spot of red stands out so brightly in this sterile white environment.

Dipper clutches his arm to his chest again. Not budging. Just as he was told. There’s a thin prickle of sweat building on his skin. 

A sound catches his attention, and he glances up at Bill, who’s wearing a big, bright grin. He’s holding something glass in one hand, and a glint of metal in the other.

Dipper keeps trying to maintain pressure on his wound. Bill’s approaching without even a hint of hesitation - without being able to talk, he simply shakes his head again and again. He’s fine, this is great, they can go anywhere else, just don’t - 

“What?” Bill cocks his head to the side, and grins again. “Easy, I don’t bite! Much.”

He has very sharp teeth, Dipper notices. With how human that form is, he hadn’t paid much attention to the details. 

The white of his smile has fangs. 

“Yeesh, tense much?” Bill raises an eyebrow, carelessly dropping a metal box in Dipper’s lap. The other one shows the glass to be a corked bottle - small, round and filled with greenish liquid. Bill starts shaking it rapidly, beckoning with his free hand. ”Gimme that arm, already.”

When Dipper doesn’t move, Bill slowly pries his arm away from his chest. He pushes it down onto the armrest - and before Dipper can react, the makeshift bandage of his robes is ripped off at the elbow, leaving him bare. 

Dipper watches the blood trickling down over the seat with a nauseating flip in his stomach. He can look away - does, quickly - but worse, he’s oddly embarrassed. Everything in here was so pristine before he started leaking on things.

“Eh, could be worse.” Bill chimes in over Dipper’s thoughts. A brief glance shows he’s evaluating the wound; he waggles a hand in a so-so gesture. “Decent blood flow, but damage-wise? You’ll be wielding a knife yourself in no time!”

God, what a weird thing to say. Dipper half-shrugs in response. 

He hopes Bill’s right, though. Not the knife-wielding, but that it’s not too bad. It certainly feels bad, but Dipper doesn’t have enough experience to tell how, or if, he’ll recover. He’s never seen a sacrifice, with a person, that called for that much blood. Especially one that got so… enthusiastic.  

Or perhaps there was, and Dipper just looked away, like he always does. He’s never had the stomach for this sort of thing. Hell, he still doesn’t; as Bill gets settled, Dipper turns and starts counting all the knives on the walls. 

Yep. There’s definitely a lot of them. So many, and none of them are in Bill’s hand at the moment. He tries to focus on that as well. The box in Dipper’s lap is too small to contain anything but the tiniest of the scalpels, too. Another good sign, if he’s feeling optimistic.

There’s the sound of something uncorking. Then, liquid dripping down Dipper’s arm and over his wrist, a bright, sparking sting - he grits his teeth, ready for the pain to build, and feels - 

Nothing?

Dipper blinks. He’s lost count of the knives, but he does get an excellent view of the empty bottle sailing across the room, and shattering on the opposite wall. Quickly followed by the cork, with a spitting sound; Bill probably pulled it out with his teeth. 

There’s a vague prod. Dipper cringes on reflex, shoulders tensing. The next one feels firmer, and not in a great place, but. 

It doesn’t hurt at all. 

Well, no. It does, a little. If Dipper clenches his arm and makes a fist, he can feel a kind of sting  - and hear Bill mutter under his breath. So he probably shouldn’t do that. But other than that faint ache, the pain is gone, leaving a chill semi-numbness in its place. 

Beside him, Bill makes a satisfied sound. He flips open the box in Dipper’s lap, pulls something out - then starts doing something weird to his arm. 

Dipper feels a pinch, then a tugging sensation. He sucks in a breath.

“Hold still, already.” Bill’s grip tightens, holding him in place. Dipper can tell because when moves his fingers again, he can just about tickle the underside of his arm. “Hey! What’d I just say!”

Dipper stops moving. Obedient, definitely. Totally not questioning what the hell is happening to his flesh, or worried at all. He only flinches a bit at the repeated pinch-tug-pinch, running a line down his arm. 

With the numbness, it’s easy to focus on breathing in, and out, in a steady rhythm. Passing time, until Bill’s done with his gruesome work.

“There we go.” Bill stands up, wiping his hands clean on a bright white cloth. He offers Dipper another easy grin. “Not too shabby, am I right?”

Dipper hesitates, but. He’s going to have to face the damage at some point. Might as well be now, while he’s still numb and lightheaded. 

First, he sees Bill, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Then the arm itself, looking pale and small, with a long, thin line of stitches running up the wound. 

No mutations, no mutilations. Just clean, closed skin.

Wow, that was a big cut. It didn’t really hit him until he saw it sewn up. 

Dipper’s no expert on medical anything, but it must be decent work; Bill looks pleased with himself, for one, and the stitches themselves are neatly placed in even lines. Weirder still - it hasn’t been tinkered with, or experimented on at all.

Bill not-too-gently pats his wrist again, before wrapping Dipper’s entire forearm in bright white gauze. He hums to himself as he works. Just as he snips off the bandage with a pair of scissors, he pauses. 

“Hm, kinda missing something,” Bill mutters, almost to himself. Then his expression brightens, and he snaps his fingers. “Aha!”

Dipper winces at the full-palm slap on his wrist. Ow. Even numbed, that stung. 

“There! All patched up.” Bill says. He sets his fists on his hips, looking triumphant. “What’d’ya think, kid?”

Dipper looks down, and stares. He’s not really sure how he’s supposed to react.

Instead of taping the bandages in place, Bill’s smacked on a sticker. One of Bill himself, triangular-formed, and giving a disproportionately big thumbs-up. 

“Ahem.” Bill clears his throat.

When Dipper checks, that seemingly eternal grin has popped right back into place. Expectant. Almost prompting. 

Come to think of it - it’s the exact same one Dipper saw after the ritual, not that long ago.

The one that he still doesn’t know how to answer. 

Dipper pulls his arm up, holding it close. He touches the bandages carefully, tracing down the line of his wound. All his fingers still work. All his skin seems to have stayed in place. Even the numbness has lingered well past the actual procedure. 

Bill Cipher himself, lord of chaos and nightmares, had a hold of a wounded piece of mortal meat. And as far as Dipper can tell, nothing’s missing, nothing’s mangled, and it doesn’t even hurt. 

Of all the things Dipper imagined about meeting Bill Cipher - and he can imagine a lot more things than the average guy - 

This would never have made the list. 

Bill hasn’t said anything. For a while now. Enough time has passed that the silence has grown awkward, because really Dipper should have done something by now, damn it. There has to be - 

“Oh, right!” Bill breaks the silence with a snap of his fingers. His eye rolls; he even smacks himself on the side of the head in a ‘dang, can’t believe I forgot’ gesture. “Major bloodloss! No human brain works great when it’s improperly irrigated.” 

Which… is true, sure. Dipper does feel pretty woozy, but more likely Bill’s referring to not getting a response. 

That’s one thing he can fix, sort of. Dipper tries another smile. Hesitant, but not forced. 

Bill just raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah, you’re cute. Don’t think flaunting it gets you anywhere.”

Dipper lets his smile drop. 

Okay, what? That was not what he was going for, and - and it doesn’t make sense, anyway. Bill must have meant something else, because he’s not cute. Kind of a condescending thing to call a guy who’s just showing he’s grateful.

Even though he should know better, Dipper flashes an irritated glance at this idiot god’s face.  He folds his arms, letting out a huff.

And Bill lunges in with startling speed. 

Dipper jerks back in the chair only for Bill to follow, face inches away, sharp teeth bared in a wide smile. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and his single eye narrows. 

With rising tension, Dipper notes that said eye is actually glowing. There’s intent there, focused and strange - and even worse, the slow stir of magic building between them.

This is what he gets, isn’t it. For being a huge goddamned idiot, and insolent, and why did he do that of all-

“Boop.” Bill taps Dipper’s nose, and stands back up. As if to add insult to incoherence, he also pinches Dipper’s cheek. “Now! Upsy-daisy, kid! We gotta get you settled in!”

Dipper remains seated, even as Bill claps his hands and gestures for him to rise. At one point he even leans over and taps his thighs, in a deeply condescending beckon. If it wouldn’t be suicidally insane, Dipper would flip him off for that. 

How is Dipper not dead yet. How is he not insane yet. This doesn’t make sense. 

Nothing here makes sense. 

But then, maybe Dipper should have expected that. Nightmare logic aside, he’s dizzy and tired, and it’s hard to keep figure out what’s insane demon-god stuff, what he’s simply lost track of.

Waiting for too long has had its consequences, of course. For the second time in an hour, Dipper gets hauled up by a too-strong monster. This time, he’s set on his feet pretty shortly, instead of being swung around like some kind of carnival prize.

Dipper hits the ground as Bill drops him, and stumbles. The world spins around him, and he nearly drops to the floor again until he braces himself on the closest solid-looking object.

The object moves under his arm. Above him, he hears loud, pleased laughter. “Aw, getting touchy, are we?”

Dipper stares at his arm, braced against a firm chest - then up at Bill’s wide grin. Then down again, where he’s wrinkling Bill’s shirt.

Shit. Wrong choice. Bad choice - but there wasn’t much of a choice! If Dipper didn’t want to fall on his ass, he had to grab something.

“I know, I know. I’m too tempting to resist.” Bill says, sounding eminently amused. Almost… teasing? He takes Dipper by the shoulder, turning him around towards the door. “Let’s get outta here.”

Wherever ‘here’ is. Wherever they’re going is even more worrying.

Still, Bill doesn’t seem mad about the invasion of his personal space. Or anything else, weirdly enough. Maybe Dipper’s misinterpreting the signs; he wouldn’t be the first worshiper to do so. 

Mystery is part and parcel of Bill Cipher, one of his core essences. No part of him is uncomplicated or simple, because he loves making things difficult. There’s supposed to be puzzles, layered over each other in complex ways to obscure the truth. Every time Bill talks to one of the devout, it requires careful interpretation - 

But there are too many possibilities, and Dipper’s too disoriented to keep up with any double-talk.  

Bill opens the door into another black-red brick corridor. It looks like it could go anywhere, and everything about it screams ominous.

In a particularly stupid move - though one born of self-preservation - Dipper shoves himself into Bill’s grasp. He grips the shirt, hip bumping against the god, and Bill makes a quiet sound of surprise.

For a heartstopping moment, Dipper knows he’s fucked up.

Then the arm comes around him, and pulls him in tight. Squeezing his shoulder, then dropping around his waist, hand loosely holding his hip.

“Good choice, sapling! Your fleshy human vestibular sense is for shit, and I didn’t patch you up just to watch you break your skull on the ground.”  Bill chucks Dipper under the chin with a knuckle and winks. “If I wanted a corpse, I could get those anywhere.”

Which… makes a terrifying kind of sense.

Bill’s right, of course. He’s an immensely powerful god-creature, who can reach in between worlds, given the opportunity. He commands dreams, and people, and an all-consuming amount of magic. 

If he wanted a corpse, he could have one in moments. And if he wanted it to be Dipper’s, all he really had to do was… nothing.

As Bill pulls him into the hallway, Dipper checks his wrist again. He flexes his fingers, and sticks close to his ‘god’. 

His arm’s a little achy, as the numbness begins to fade. The gauze is tight enough to feel comforting rather than constraining, clean and wrapped with obvious care. Even with the slight pain, it feels like he’s going to heal up just fine.

And though it’s incredibly stupid, the super cheesy sticker does kind of make him feel better. 

Obviously Bill likes Dipper’s blood. He said as much during the summon; that it’s ‘very nice’. Likely it’s the reason Dipper was kidnapped in the first place. 

But instead of juicing him like an orange, Bill took pains to keep all of it inside.

“As long as we’re stopping you from kicking the bucket,” Bill snaps his fingers. A small, squarish carton appears, and he holds it in front of Dipper. “You might wanna drink this.”

Dipper grimaces at… whatever this is. He can’t read the language, but it’s decorated with a smiling thing that could be either a heart, or a severely mutated fruit.

He glances up at Bill again, but no explanation is forthcoming. He merely waggles the carton around again, nearly shoving it into Dipper’s chest.

Welp. A ‘god’ has ordered him to consume something. Obedience, right, still a virtue. Hell, even if Bill wanted Dipper to swallow liquid mercury, he wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Poison isn’t very likely, though. Bill doesn’t want a dead body around, and he’s put in way too much effort to reverse course now. 

Bill raises an eyebrow, tapping the drink invitingly against his chest. At this point Dipper suspects the lack of explaining is intentional.

Fine, whatever. If he’s going to insist… 

Dipper still gives it a skeptical look, but he takes it from Bill’s hand. Not accepting a god’s gift is probably rude. Offending him isn’t any more helpful than dehydration.

And though all the advice about dealing with supernatural beings says, ‘don’t consume what they give you’, Bill does have a point. Humans are full of liquid. Dipper lost a decent portion of his own. Filling it back up isn’t the worst idea in the universe.

The top twists open, though Dipper doesn’t dare glance at the contents. He’ll just shut his eyes and chug. 

He takes several long, deep drinks, tilting his head back. At first to help himself swallow - then more, and eagerly, because holy shit, he’s so thirsty. He didn’t realize until he started, but he really, really needed this. 

With the portion of his tongue he has left, he tastes a faint sweetness, like strawberries.

“Top up your tank, kid.” Bill gives Dipper another nudge, almost playful. “Humans are basically half-fluid. To go at it like that, you musta been practically mummified!”

Weird phrasing seems to be a thing for Bill. Better get used to it. 

Since he’s not looking at him, Dipper rolls his eyes and makes a face. Just a quick, two-second expression. 

Beside him, Bill’s grin inches up a tiny bit. He starts whistling a cheerful tune as he leads them onward.

It’s an indeterminate amount of time before they stop - Bill, fresh and cheerful, Dipper, wondering how much longer he has to be on his feet - but eventually Bill whips around a corner, facing a brown wooden door in the middle of one of the black slate walls.

Great. Another mystery room, and by the look on Bill’s face - one he’s been eager to get to. 

By this point Dipper’s pretty sure Bill’s not about to execute or exsanguinate him At least 90% sure; it’s hard to tell when dealing with a being of pure chaos. 

But he still slows his steps as Bill sets his hand on the knob, leaning back into that guiding arm on his waist. Unpredictability has always unnerved him. 

Bill turns towards Dipper with a brilliant smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” He says, almost conspiratorially. He nudges Dipper forward as he opens the door. “Welcome home, sapling!”

With a gust of warm air and a light that leaves Dipper blinking, the door opens.

And with a proud smile, Bill Cipher leads him into the single most luxurious looking room he’s ever seen in his life. 

Dipper stares. Maybe gawks a little, but he shuts his mouth quickly.

No matter where he looks, everything oozes rich, sumptuous leisure. 

There’s paintings, and tapestries, a soft thick black carpet. A huge, soft-looking couch near a fireplace, odds and ends of scattered jewels and technical looking objects on the walls. There’s even a portrait of Bill himself, in his regular form, with a foot upon the world. Large double doors lead to another room, and though the partly open crack Dipper thinks he spots a bed.

On the second glance around, Dipper catches on. That subtle gleam, that catches his eye, seemingly everywhere - is freakin’ gold. Not just the occasional pierce of decoration, either; it’s subtly woven into parts of all the decor, thin lines on furniture and doors and even some in the carpet. 

Bill’s room so far beyond the dark, stoic asceticism of the compound. Miles away. Lightyears.

Why the hell did they have a shitty stone cavern to worship in, if their god lives like this?

No, that’s easily answered -the priest always was a dick.

Dipper’s not thrilled about what Bill did to the guy back at the ritual, but he’s far from upset.

Beside him, Bill’s silent. For once he’s not shuffling Dipper along anywhere. No prompting, no pushing, no force of any kind - 

But definitely expectant. 

Without Bill saying anything, Dipper can feel his arm tense up with anticipation, awaiting a reaction. Probably something flattering to Bill’s ego, or worshipful of his presence.

Truth be told, Dipper might have even given one. Despite all his reservations about the chaos god beside him, it is impressive.

But he can’t say anything. There’s nothing to write down a worshipful chant on. He’s tired and hurt and he’s been walking what feels like all day. Finding focus is hard.

Dipper scrunches his face up, rubbing at his eyes. Things went all blurry for a second, and he has kind of a headache. 

What does he do, another smile? But Bill said that was ‘flaunting’. and maybe that’s not great. Another expression, maybe. Some kind of gesture. Body language has a lot of options and… he’s run out of ideas for that. Maybe his brain really is working with too-little fluid.

“Hmm…” Bill rubs his chin, glancing at Dipper - then staring out into the room again. His eye narrows. 

Shit, right, this was meant to impress. Dipper, fumbling the devout test for like, the millionth time in his life. Only right now, when it truly matters, he’s too messed up to manage even if he tried. 

Before Bill can get too mad, Dipper hunches over. Looking contrite might stave off the worst of it. He can make himself look small.

There’s a long beat of silence. Then Bill claps him on the shoulder. “No worries, kid. This ain’t my first time with a human wandering in with mortal wounds and a poor sense of grandeur! You can tell me how great I am later.” 

The rush of relief Dipper feels is immediately ruined by Bill dragging him forward again. So much for a true reprieve; infinite being of pure energy means never stopping for a second of rest, apparently.

“I got just the thing for a squishy little nervous wreck like you,” Bill says, striding forward confidently towards one of the walls, and a door Dipper’s 90% sure wasn’t there even three seconds ago. “We’ll stash you here until you’re more settled down!”

The door opens, and Dipper’s led into a small, dark place. He can make out vague, squarish shapes in the dim light. Thankfully none of them look too imposing. 

Another snap, and the room lights up. 

For the second time in about as many minutes, Dipper’s totally thrown.

“Kitchen’s through there, bathroom’s thataway,” Bill says, gesturing in the respective directions. He gives Dipper’s shoulder a squeeze, jerking his thumb behind himself. “I’ll be back out this way if you get bored!”

The words run though Dipper’s brain, but he’s not truly focusing on them. The room he’s in has most of his attention. No matter how he looks at it, though, he can’t see any traps. It just looks…

Comfy?

The light reveals a smaller room than the living one, and one that’s far less dramatic. None of the tchotkes lying around. Basically zero ostentation. There’s a wardrobe and a bed, a dark blue carpet rather than the black. A desk, some papers, and an absurdly large and obsessively organized looking bookshelf. The two doors Bill mentioned lie closed, on two different walls.

Dipper’s not sure what he was expecting, but. The simpler decoration, the small but cozy setup - none of which fits Bill’s taste, that’s clear even on a glance. This isn’t meant for the god himself. 

Now there’s a question he’s never considered before: Does Bill Cipher ever have guests in his realm? 

The answer must be ‘yes’, strange as it seems. Nothing in here is Bill’s vibe, but it might fit a human that he needed to stash somewhere.

Beside him, he hears a low hum. Bill’s hand runs down Dipper’s shoulder, onto his back. It strokes down, then up again - then pushes him forward. “Enjoy!”

Dipper stumbles a couple steps before catching the footboard of the bed. He leans against it, blinking rapidly.

“Now, I got a quick errand to run, so take your time getting comfy. Cram some calories in, wash your crevices, take a nap. Whatever human stuff needs doing.” Bill looks up from checking his watch, then gives him a wink, backing out of the room with double finger guns pointed. “See ya soon!”

The door closes behind him without even a touch on the knob. The room goes quiet. 

Dipper cocks his head to one side. Bill’s absence is just as palpable as his presence. That powerful thrum of magic trails into the distance as he heads off, fading in Dipper’s senses, like a too-loud stereo speaker in an obnoxious, demonic car.

After a moment, he shucks off his robe - with the sleeve torn off, it’s weird and uncomfortable. That leaves him in just soft pants and his undershirt, but thankfully with considerable privacy.

As long as he’s here, Dipper does a quick inspection of the room. The bed’s bigger than any one he’s ever seen, minus the one that’s presumably Bill’s. The wardrobe contains a baffling array of flannel shirts, in that they’re almost all identical and oddly… worn? He shuts the doors with a shrug. Hardly the most intimidating find. 

A thorough overview reveals no traps, no knives. The sharpest thing in the room is the pens. The worst thing that could happen to Dipper here is a papercut. Or maybe stubbing his toe on the heavy furniture. 

It’s been a few minutes. Dipper glances at the door Bill retreated through. Still closed.

He hears no sound from the other room, either. He strains to feel some magic returning, a bloom in his limited senses, but it’s calm and quiet. 

Whatever Bill’s up to, he’s long gone.

Leaving Dipper totally unsupervised.

Dipper instantly darts for the opposite door, opening it fast enough that it nearly unbalances him. It swings opens easily, totally unlocked, and he braces himself as he stares - 

Into a kitchen. 

A big one, at that. Lots of cabinets, a fridge, a stove, knives hanging on the wall in what looks like a rather ominous manner, until Dipper remembers that’s where knives are supposed to be. Though maybe not so many of them.

Also, totally not an exit. 

Fine, whatever. They couldn’t all be exits, and there’s another to try.

Dipper rushes over to the second door, yanking it open to reveal… exactly what Bill said, again. 

He lingers this time, leaning on the knob. Rubbing at his eyes briefly, in case that ruins the illusion Bill’s cast. It doesn’t have any effect.

It’s - this is way too straightforward. It has to be some type of trick.

Pretty weird for it to be so clean, then.

Any bathroom Bill has should be blood-splattered, or filled with bubbling acid - but this one only smells faintly of bleach. It’s lined with black and white tiling, with a shower that looks overly complicated and a bathtub that could fit several people inside. At least there’s no knives in this room - though Dipper does see a safety razor, resting on the sink. Right next to the cup holding the blue toothbrush.

He slams the second door closed, and takes a deep breath.

Maybe he’s disoriented. Maybe Bill turned everything around when he left, like every other corridor in this chaotic place, and maybe if Dipper yanks opens the third door -the one he came through - it’ll cleave between the realms, back into the ritual room, where -  

Dipper leans on the doorframe, slowing down his breathing. He shuts his eyes, lips drawing into a thin line.

Or it could just be. Literally the exact same one he came in through. 

Standing in the doorway of Bill Cipher’s personal quarters, Dipper frowns at the fireplace. And at the painting over it. Especially at the even more grandiose door that presumably leads to the god’s master bedroom. It’s beautiful, alright, Dipper can’t argue with that - but also ostentatious, and reeking of smug power.

It’s very quiet inside, too. No motion, no magic.

After a bit of hesitation, he leans his head in, checking both ways. 

No Bill around, at all. 

He must have actually taken off, instead of lying in wait, ready to surprise… The person he  told exactly where he could be found. Which isn't much of an ambush, come to think of it.

Dipper lets his arms drop to his sides, then winces and rubs the bandage on his recently stitched one. 

When he came into this place, he had a lot of expectations. All of them were backed up by years of knowledge about Bill Cipher. His likes and dislikes, unpredictability, and his bizarre proclivities.

So far, Dipper’s seen… not a safe place, by a long shot. But way less dangerous than what he thought he’d face.

In fact, aside from the trip to get here and parts of the medical experience, this has been way too normal. 

Bill Cipher is a being veiled in mystery, or, depending on your viewpoint, mischief. Never totally meaning what he says, rarely acting like you’d think. Even in the most stodgy of ceremonies, the priest had to leave room for the fact that Bill’s not very… conventional. The research Dipper did on his own had similar things to say. Between sermon and study, that alone has been a constant.

Dipper taps his foot on the floor. The carpet remains soft and nonthreatening. The fireplace crackles warmly, and does not consume the room in a terrifying blaze.

What is he supposed to make of all this?

The priest claimed that only he could interpret the subtle signs of Bill’s true meaning, and what actions to take. He was dead wrong about that. Courtesy of the god he claimed to understand, for that matter. 

The rest of the congregation can’t offer any insight, either; they’re back in the compound - but frankly? Dipper wouldn’t trust them to interpret a microwave timer, much less their god.

According to scripture, it takes ages of experience, along with deep personal knowledge, to even begin to understand Bill’s motives. One young human like Dipper would never stand a chance.

But if he’s here anyway…

Dipper traces his fingers along the wall, making his way quietly, cautiously, into the room. 

Why not get started? It’s not like he has anything else to do. 

Having something to study will help pass the time, as long as he’s here. And with this wealth of information in front of him, who could resist?

As he walks into the place, he doesn’t burst into flame, or turn inside out, or get tossed into an eternal void of constant screaming. So, it’s probably okay. 

He takes a deep breath, and lets it out. It only shakes a little. 

Besides, navigating around an immortal being of eternal knowledge can’t be that different from sneaking around the compound. All evidence so far is that Bill’s actually friendlier about it.

One thing’s pretty certain - he’s not likely to obliterate a guy he’s just spent several hours getting ‘settled’. If anything, he’s sorta intimated that Dipper’s a ‘guest’. Bill’s likely not magically bound to the rules of hospitality, but violating them is pretty universally gauche.

The thought makes Dipper’s shoulders drop. He pats the wall a couple times, then checks his wrist. The bright yellow triangle stays still, overly-large hand still giving a thumbs-up.

Dipper rolls his eyes. Okay. There’s one fact learned - Bill Cipher’s capable of being kind of a dork.

This could actually be pretty intriguing. Useful, perhaps. In the heart of Bill’s home, with all of his stuff lying around - like that pile of books near the couch, or that pile of dishes he saw in the sink, or the fact that he even has a guest room, what the hell is with that - 

Dipper can get firsthand information. No more dilapidated scrolls, or censored books, or scrounging around outside to find objective sources. 

Bill Cipher, as far as Dipper can tell, actually lives here. In these exact rooms. 

He can try and hide the truth as much as he likes, or lie to Dipper’s face, but he can’t hide his living room. Hanging out in your own place is the most authentic anyone can be, god or not. 

With that in mind, Dipper gets to the investigation.

Without context, it’s hard to discern what most of the objects around mean. Whether they’re regularly used, or just for display. Until Dipper sees Bill actually interacting with the stuff he has, he’ll just file that information away for later.

About three circuits of the living room, Dipper catches sight of the portrait above the fireplace again. The one with Bill himself, crowned and stepping on the world. Scepter in hand, his single eye beholding - 

Ah, right. The eye thing. 

Dipper backs up, very slowly. As a parting gesture, he throws a little wave at the portrait, and another ‘cute’ smile.

Then he darts right the hell back into his room, and pulls the door along with him. He lets his head drop back against the wood, and closes his eyes.

Shit. Shit. Of course he wasn’t roaming around freely. There was oversight. 

Hopefully Bill’s busy enough to not have cared about a couple minutes of ‘wandering’. As far as he knows, that was, uh… Dipper got lost, right. That sounds believable. Maybe he was even looking for Bill himself. 

But snooping? No, definitely not. Why would anyone do that.

Welp. That’s about that, then. Three doors, three results, and zero exits. 

Sure, it’s possible that Bill’s room does have a way out, but between the odds of being caught, and the odds of getting lost in the twisting, recursive corridors if he did manage to find it -

Yeah, Dipper’s going to pass. 

He saw the other ‘guests’ around this realm, and they didn’t look like the types to leave blood on the inside. 

On the upside he’s survived the night. Morning. Whatever time of day it is. 

Bill wants Dipper alive, which is strange and confusing and more than a little concerning- but it’s also a huge weight off his shoulders.

Dipper turns to pull the door fully closed behind him, then hesitates. 

After debating for a bit, he settles on leaving the door slightly ajar. Hearing when Bill comes back seems like a good idea, while keeping him out doesn’t. 

But if Bill were to, say, see a door semi-open and shut it himself, then hey. Kinda his fault for not paying attention. No blame on any humans here.

Ugh, Dipper’s losing focus again; he shakes his head to clear it. His legs feel sluggish too, after the long journey and the.. ‘Getting lost’. They stumble as he takes another step. 

After such a long day. After getting hurt, and dragged around, and everything else that’s happened, he’s just so tired. 

Just like during the sacrifice, he has to focus on the real priority - and right now? It’s not the immortal, insane demon god. 

With a weary sigh, Dipper looks for a place to sit down. 

Even pulling the chair out from the desk seems like an ordeal. And while the bed’s far too large for just one person, it's here and empty. Presumably Dipper’s meant to use it, anyway.

And when he takes a seat, it doesn’t leap up to bite him. It doesn’t release any poisoned spikes when he tests the mattress with a quick press of the palm, or snap closed around him when rolls on top of the sheets. The blankets are smooth, without a hint of scratchiness.

Dipper breathes in, and lets it out slowly. He rubs a hand on the top blanket, patting it once or twice, before letting his eyes shut.

It’s just. So, so soft. 

Weirdly springy too, compared to his old cot. A mixture of sink and bounce, so that Dipper almost feels like he’ll get absorbed into it like jello, or get thrown out of it if he moves the wrong way. 

Shifting his weight, Dipper frowns as he tucks the pillow under his head. How could anyone sleep on something like this? It’s totally impossible.

----------------

Dipper wakes up with a damp pillow under his cheek, a slight headache in his temples, and a sore and aching wrist. 

He rolls onto his side with a groan, moving to a drier section of pillow. 

Great, he drooled in his sleep again. Super gross. Another reason that not having a tongue sucks.

It’s warm in the room, though, and quiet. His head hurts, so he needs some water. And his wrist hurts, too. Which isn’t surprising after being sliced open. 

What’s more surprising is that he actually managed to get some rest afterwards. The whole compound is full of people celebrating or arguing after a ritual goes down. Usually there’s some of both, but right now it’s so quiet that he could swear nobody’s -

With a snort, Dipper jerks his head up off the pillow. He props himself up on his elbow, rubbing at his eyes.

Shit, of course. He’s not in the compound anymore. 

Nobody is around, because he’s been taken away by their literal goddamned god, and stowed in this too-big, too-normal room in this alien place. Without other worshipers, who would… probably make things worse, if he’s being honest.

Dipper stuck here, fending for himself. He’s been subjected to… minor medical attention. And a nice bed, and a drink. Not to mention having his first uninterrupted nap in ages. 

Thinking about it, it’s kinda hard to see a downside. 

One will make itself known eventually. Dipper’s not so naive as to think this is altruism, not from Bill Cipher.

As he sits up, the blankets fall off him and pool into his lap, heavy and soft. For a moment, he’s tempted to pull them back up and curl into the nice, warm bed, under the gentle covers.

But that’s probably not the best idea, considering. 

God, he can’t believe he just fell asleep like that. In the house of a nightmare demon, Dipper just went and dropped off like a total, vulnerable moron.

And shit, it’s dark in here. 

He doesn’t remember turning off the lights. Or where the lightswitch is, for that matter. He can sort-of make out the furniture around him, some kind of ambient illumination, perhaps. A bit of light also shines out from the closed door leading to Bill’s room. 

Somewhere in there, he hears footsteps, and then silence. The feel of that powerful magic, leaking in like the light under the doorframe.

Dipper fiddles with the edge of the blanket. Some kind of quilt, he guesses, one that’s faintly frayed at the edges. It’s very soft. 

At minimum, he’s been in Bill’s house for several hours. His best guess puts it between half to all of a day, depending on how long he slept. 

Despite all Dipper’s learned about the god’s unavoidable wrath, and his infinite, changeable whims -

It hasn’t been too bad. So far.

Dipper rubs his fingers together, leg jogging under the sheets. Eventually he realizes he’s pulling threads out of the quilt, and hisses through his teeth. 

At some point, the other shoe will drop. Bill Cipher is capricious, his favor doubly so.

And nothing ever works out in Dipper’s favor, not even once. 

But maybe, if he works at it now - he might be able to make some headway. Hiding away in the bedroom won’t help with that.

Getting up out of the bed is an effort, but his legs feel steady on the floor and his vision is clear. Dipper takes a deep, calming breath. He turns the knob, and peeks out into the room 

“Hey hey! Look who’s back in the waking world. In a way.” Bill waves at him with a bright grin. Great, Dipper got spotted basically instantly. “Get over here! I need ya to check this out.”

There it is. His first order. 

Dipper shuts his eyes, and walks into the room. He swallows, and drops into the fist form of ritual bow, knees thumping on the carpet. 

This absolutely sucks. The one minor upside is that there is a carpet; Dipper’s not going to ruin his knees if he has to do this ten times a day.

Hanging around a god, he’ll be lucky if he spends any time not bowing and scraping and generally genuflecting. Though the idea makes him burn inside, he grits his teeth. 

He can cope. He’s been through worse. If nothing else, Bill’s more interesting than the daily grind back at the compound. Albeit in a semi-terrifying way.

“Huh.” Bill says. Dipper mentally checks his posture, but no, it’s perfect. Wait - he forgot to press his hands together, right. 

“Huh.” Bill says, this time sounding… 

Not very thrilled. 

Freezing in place, Dipper runs through his options. In a better world, he’d be able to start doing some chant or whatever, but that’s off the table. A quick peek at Bill shows that he’s not impressed, so. Read that right. 

Also not very good. What else is there, though, what can he - 

A long, heavy sigh interrupts his thoughts. Bill’s started rubbing at the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. A totally devout kinda guy.” Bill’s voice is very dry. He taps one impatient finger on the table. “Really feeling all the religious passion, here.”

The clear sarcasm makes Dipper wince. God, of course Bill isn’t fooled. Seeing into the hearts and minds of men as he does, one small human is transparent as hell. He knows exactly what Dipper thinks of him, doesn’t he.

Shit, he’s likely seen everything. 

“But sure, if you’re so devoted, you should get up already.” Bill’s tone lightens, and he gives a quick beckoning gesture. That eternal smile bounces back into place. “C’mon, kid. You can’t scrape your nose on the carpet and check out what I asked you to.”

Dipper scrambles to his feet, brushing nonexistent dirt off his pants. It’s a decent excuse not to meet the god’s eye.

He shuffles slowly forward until he stands next to the god. Logically that should make him nervous. He should be sweating and terrified - 

But damn it, Dipper really hates genuflecting, and Bill’s total lack of interest is actually, maybe, kind of cool of him.

For a bright moment Dipper thinks there might not be any of that sort of thing,  until a robe flops to the ground in front of him. 

Ah. A not-very-subtle hint, there. Dipper takes a breath to steady himself - 

Then a second robe right on top of the one on the ground. And a third. A fourth follows that nearly hits a cabinet on the wall, and Dipper decides he probably missed the mark. 

Bill’s not making a point. He’s just messy.

“Jeez, with this many robes, you’d think they could make a few of ‘em fashionable.” Bill lets out a low whistle. When Dipper glances over, he’s rifling through those cardboard boxes with a frown. “Accessorize! Embroider! Stain ‘em with ichor! This crap is just boring.”

All their robes were pretty identical, but that was the point. To lose one’s individuality, and become a perfect servant for the god. Bill doesn’t sound as appreciative as he should be. 

And where the hell did he get all of these, anyway? 

The boxes on the table are dilapidated, reused cardboard. None of it matches the style or the reality of this… apartment? House? Something? 

Bill chucks yet another robe over his shoulder with a snort. “And don’t get me started on the shape. Or the color!” He sticks his tongue out, letting a final robe dangle from his fingers like he’s holding a dead rat. “I woulda picked something way cooler.”

Whatever his definition of ‘cooler’ is, Dipper doesn’t want to know. Bill catches his skeptical look and Dipper quickly tamps it down.

That single golden eye blinks, then he beckons Dipper closer with a grin. “Get over here, sapling. I gotta know if we’re dealing with the full inventory or not.”

There goes Bill, again. Talking about something without giving Dipper any context for it whatsoever. Likely that’s a sign of things to come. 

All the books about Bill Cipher say he’s ‘cryptic’. Now Dipper’s wondering if that was supposed to be a euphemism for ‘annoying’. 

Dipper squeezes his hands tight at his sides. Not the kind of thing he should be thinking. Instead, he nods, and checks the boxes as requested. 

His god continues messing with the contents, plucking out this and that. Another robe, discarded easily. He sets aside a small ritual set of candles, a setting for ritual offerings. All very distinct. They could have come from Dipper’s own congregation, they’re so familiar. 

Wait - but they are. 

He remembers Bill asking them to pack up stuff, distantly. He didn’t think about what it was for, other than, like, another weird god request. 

But these aren’t just anyone’s things. 

No, he recognizes that robe, with the chewed-on sleeve, and that set of trinkets. Hell, all of said robes have similar wear and tear, the same, slightly oversized look. 

Dipper glances at the boxes, then back to Bill. Though he can’t speak to ask the question, it must be obvious in his face.

“Yep! This is your stuff, Pine Tree.” Bill points a finger gun, giving Dipper a wink. “I asked those imbeciles back in your cult to grab it for ya. Since you’re staying here with me, and all.”

Dipper’s mouth works, but no sound comes out; he shuts it quickly. Bill, uncaring, flicks a finger at a candle and watches it light with a smirk. 

He just- Said it.

Bill Cipher himself called his religion a ‘cult’. 

He actually admitted it. Under any other circumstances that would be absolute blasphemy, but the ‘god’ himself just casually tossed out that the entire stupid religion is kinda full of it and he isn’t even bothered by it. 

Dipper wants to sit down, but there's no chair nearby. He braces himself on the table instead.

“Don’t get it wrong, I’m still the biggest, baddest being you’ll ever meet! But your group of losers pretended to speak for me.” Bill continues. Something about Dipper’s shock seems to have caught his attention. He throws his arms in the air in disgust. A carelessly held candelabra goes flying. “When I wanna give orders, I handle that crap myself.”

Dipper nods again, kind of numbly.

Yeah, that - that actually tracks. The gap between the Bill he was told about, and the Bill that is, is too vast to be ignored. 

Obviously Bill’s weird, it’s part of his basic makeup - but if anything, he matches up more with the Bill that Dipper read about in forbidden texts, instead of the one heard at every sermon. And that…

Honestly, it feels pretty good. Being right. Or right-adjacent; Dipper’s not naive enough to think he has the whole picture yet. Still, being more correct than anyone else? Makes Dipper almost smile. 

It’ll get clearer. There’s time, he’s not dead yet. 

And who the hell knows what else Dipper’s going to learn, while he’s staying in Bill’s home. The only thing he can predict is that half the things will come totally out of left field.

A nudge on his side catches his attention again. “So! Does this cover everything, or do I gotta nightmare some guys into coughing up the rest?” Bill twirls a thin candle between his fingers idly, and raises an eyebrow. “Anything you wanna keep, or stuff you wanna obliterate?”

The startled look on Dipper’s face must surprise him, because Bill blinks a few times. “What? It’s your crap, sapling.” He offers a half-bow, and a wink. “Your gracious host here, at your service.”

Wow, uh, that - Dipper has to turn away for a moment. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling oddly -

Damn it, getting distracted is bad. He has to shape up. Bill might decide he’ll be less gracious if Dipper doesn’t freakin’ focus, now’s not the time to look incompetent. 

He offers Bill a shrug, and a noncommittal wave, then tilts the closest box towards himself.

If he’s going to figure out what to do with his things, he might as well check what’s shown up. A part of Dipper’s surprised that there’s this much of it. 

Actually... there's that miniature altar that ‘disappeared’, and a pair of shoes that walked off by themselves. A scattering of little baubles, mostly bare-bones ritual stuff that everyone got handed out. Even though Dipper’s seemed to roll down a grate or get flushed somehow. 

Guess Bill’s order really got people motivated to find his things. There’s stuff here that hasn’t made an appearance in ages.

Nearby, Bill’s put on his expectant look again. Dipper’s getting used to it. 

Whatever Bill’s looking for, he hasn’t bothered to explain it in the slightest. Much like every other interaction with the guy. It must be pretty good though, because there’s a tinge of eagerness to his expression.

Dipper turns away to poke at the items on the table.

He almost feels bad that he doesn’t know what Bill’s looking for. Even though there’s no logical reason he should. Mind-reading is Bill’s thing, not his followers’. 

Well, whatever. Bill can put that face on all he likes. Unless he has a few helpful hints on hand, he’s just gonna have to wait.

As for the possessions - A quick evaluation of the first box of stuff reveals… mostly things he doesn’t care about either way. On the other hand, he’s never had this many things before, and it would feel weird to just. Dispose of them this easily. 

But then again… 

He never has liked the robes.

Tentatively, Dipper points at the cloth on the floor, then cuts a finger over his throat. 

Bill made his opinion on them clear, so. If he agrees. Maybe Dipper actually won’t need them during his stay in this -  

A sudden burst of blue flame startles him; Dipper jumps in place, going tense.

Noted - be careful about inviting Bill to destruction, because he does not hesitate.

“Great!” Bill claps his hands together, rubbing them vigorously. “Half done - now let’s wrap this up and move onto something more fun.”

Patience must not be Bill’s strong suit, because he turns the boxes upside down, dumping everything out on the table. A few broad swipes spread it over the wood, a careless tumble of what’s, honestly, mostly junk.

Some of it was clearly just tossed in to make the box more full; the top layer is all stuff from the ritual room. As for the stuff that is his, well. How much of it could he actually need? There’s candles, a bunch of knickknacks that he didn’t even like when he was still in the, well. Cult. There’s a thick worn notebook, and his journal with its slightly tattered cover and the bookmark still in place -

Shit. Shit, shit shit. 

Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat. He glances at Bill, then back to the table. 

How did they find that, it was under the loose rock in the corner. Did they know all this time that he had this. Did they not care, or was it truly hidden and only discovered later. How the hell did it survive all the way here? 

However it got here - that’s. All his notes, all his research. All his thoughts, lying there for Bill to -

Wait. Bill.  Hasn’t noticed, yet. 

He’s picked up a tiny brass necklace. His eye narrows as it dangles from his fingers. Not surprising; it is a pretty awful portrayal. The angles are anything but even. 

And while he’s distracted, Dipper makes a grab for the books. 

He times it right; as Bill tosses the necklace away and into the fireplace, he slides both books across the table, tucking them into his pants and under his shirt. 

Not the first time he’s hidden contraband - and probably not the last. A quick check on Bill shows a totally nonchalant demon, slightly bored with the junk in front of him. Either he truly didn’t notice - or doesn’t care about what Dipper pulled. Either one’s a win. 

Dipper feels tension seep out of his shoulders, and he shuts his eyes.

Compared to the god of fury and torture Dipper was taught about, the true god is relatively even-tempered. So far. 

But he already knows how bad it gets, when something terrible is spoken about his god. There’s no way Bill would like reading what Dipper wrote about him. 

“Aha!” Bill exclaims, and yanks his latest prize out of the pile, holding it in the air. “Knew there had to be something good in here.”

Dipper takes one look at whatever’s got Bill so enamored -  and makes a face.

Oh no. He forgot about…. that. 

“Maybe being ‘devout’ isn’t your style, but there might be a better term.” Bill’s sharp teeth are white in his smile. He flicks one of the ragged felt arms, squeezing the yellow ‘torso’. “How’s ‘obsessed’ fit ya?”

The stupid awful Bill Cipher plushie dangles limply in his grip. As Bill gives it another squeeze, some more of the stuffing puffs out. Worn as it already is, with one of the legs missing and the pupil in the eye worn away, it makes the entire thing look twice as pathetic.

Dipper staunchly resists the urge to hide under the table. It’s too late anyway. He’s not escaping this now.

Who the hell decided to pack that? It’s ugly and stupid and juvenile. If Dipper had been able to choose what he brought along, he would have deliberately left it behind. Maybe burned it, so nobody else would know he still had one.

As it stands, he’s torn between being glad it’s here - and totally goddamned humiliated.

He makes a quick grab for it, but Bill dodges him with a grin. 

“Ah ah ah! Nice try.” He waggles it again, beaming bright. “I knew it! You’re super interested in me, aren’t you? Was this little guy your favorite? Didja cuddle up with him in bed every night?”

Asshole probably saw all of that happen, and now he’s taunting. Dipper grits his teeth, hands clenching by his sides. 

Damn it, it’s not Dipper’s fault there weren’t a lot of soft things in the cult. Who cares if he had something that made his life suck a little less? Especially one that flatters Bill himself. If anything Bill should be pleased, knowing he got some devotion from this less-than-pious human-  but instead he’s being an ass about it.

“I’m right, of course.” Bill says, with smug certainty. “Ol’ mini-me here got oodles of affection, didn’t he?” He rubs his chin thoughtfully, backing up as Dipper turns around the table corner in pursuit. “Now let’s see…”

Dipper sucks in a breath, watching Bill bring it to his face. His teeth bared in a sharp smile, mouth slightly open. 

Bill shuts his eye, and puffs a breath over the plush. For a second Dipper thinks it’s about to be consumed in fire, he stumbles forward in protest. 

But though it’s blue all over, it doesn’t burn. As he watches, the hole in the side closes over, stuffing concealed. Some of the minor stains come out, the stitching of the bricks turns black and pristine. The second leg dangles beside the other, the eye is full and renewed and only maybe blinks.

Dipper stops his chase, pausing with his hand on the table. 

That plush hasn’t looked anywhere near that good since he was little. Bill acted like it was nothing to him. Bill thought it was funny. He could have turned it into nothing, just for kicks - and it’s. 

Every time he thinks he knows what Bill Cipher is up to, his expectations get turned upside down and shaken for loose change. Dipper doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

Bill looks over his work with pride, picking up one of the arms to shake it. “Nice to meet ya, Bill! I’m the real, better Bill.” He pauses, then nods solemnly, as if it responded. “Yeah, I am the greatest. Glad you noticed!”

And in a stunningly unsurprising turn of events, Bill’s also going to be obnoxious about this. 

Bill brings the plushie right up to Dipper’s face, pitching his voice higher. “Oooh, Pine Tree, I’m so glad to see ya! You’re my favorite human.” He lifts the felt arms in a floppy invitation for a hug. “I love you sooooo much!”

Dipper feels his lips draw into a thin line, while Bill’s mouth arches up in a grin. 

“What’s that?” Bill cups his ear as if to hear better. “You want a kiss?” Dipper shakes his head, but not before Bill starts mashing the stupid plush against his cheeks. He tries fending it off, but Bill’s quick enough to find every gap in his defenses. Also, he’s making exaggerated kissy sounds. “Mwah mwah mwah!”

Dipper snatches the stupid plush from Bill’s stupid hand, then turns right on his heel and storms back to the guest room. 

Behind him, he hears Bill cackling with laughter.

He knew he was in for some kind of trial. A type of torment. What he’s faced so far hasn’t been terrible. Or much at all, compared to when he was back with the congregation. 

This god isn’t quite the creature of eternal nightmares and torment that he was always told about. Instead he has other motives, ones too strange and subtle to interpret. Dipper should be thankful.

A glance backward shows said god slumped on the couch, cackling to himself with one hand on his forehead. 

But Bill sure thinks he’s fucking hilarious.

Dipper slams the door shut, as loud as he can. It doesn’t quite block out the continuing laughter. He slumps against the door, letting out a long, tired sigh.

Great. He doesn’t know what else he expected.

Bill Cipher’s a total asshole.

[hollenka99]

A Deal Gone Wrong

Summary: Jackie’s betrayed the others for the sake of bringing Henrik home safely. The aftermath doesn’t go as he expected.

Warnings: Abuse, Anti generally being an asshole

Jackie looking into ways to get Anti's attention quickly delivers results. He is always watching, after all. It shouldn't have surprised him how easy it was to find himself in the demon's presence. It's been exactly 9 months since Henrik was taken. Jackie promised himself he wouldn't allow the doctor to stay captive for as long as he did. It was getting uncomfortably close now. Times were getting desperate. And well, he wholly agreed with what they said about occasions such as these. His reckless plan works. Jackie's too pleased about winning this victory, too relieved to be granted a few days of freedom before delivering on his side of the bargain. He turns a blind eye to how easy it is. At least he's smart enough to write the specifics on paper. Not like he expected Anti to whip out a pen and sign a 'contract'. If you could call it that. He assumes Anti's amusement was due to the ridiculousness of it. Still, anything to feel he has any sway on the glitch. If Anti says there'll be a swap, Jackie can only hope he keeps his word. Henrik comes home, as promised. The first hour or two following his return are the most eventful. Chase and Marvin can't hug their friend soon enough. Jackie bursts into tears against the doctor's chest. The ten days Anti had granted him disappear quicker than he'd like. There is less stress in the air. It doesn't feel like they are scrabbling for peace or normality quite as much. Marvin's plants are beginning to display an vast improvement in vitality. There is also the relief they have another (more competent) doctor assisting in Jack's care. Jackie is happy knowing he's played a part in bringing this about. It's not all great. Chase won't stop joking that they only need to wake Jack up so things can go back to how they were. He knows life will never revert back to summer 2016 standards. Chase didn't even exist until a year ago. Henrik keeps trying to inspect Jackie's injuries. What is he expecting to find? His legs are barely functional, the scars of the living autopsy are still there and Jackie doubts he's regained much weight, if at all. Sneaking in a visit to Jack's bedside only resurfaces the same feelings of guilt he's experienced this week. He's betraying their trust. For a good reason, he reminds himself. For a good reason. Now here they were, standing feet from each other once more. He's mulled over whether to leave a goodbye note. He decided against it. It would only cause them more heartache to know he went willingly. And Henrik, oh he'd have to live with the knowledge this was for him. Jackie doesn't want that. It's made worse by the prediction he won't be himself the next time they see him. He's made his choice. There's no backing out now. "Well, here I am. You upheld your end so... I guess I'll have to do the same." The demon greets him with a malicious smirk. "That's nice to hear. But you don't have what I want." "What are you talking about? You said you'd let Henrik come home if I gave myself up. We agreed on a swap, myself for Schneep." As if to prove his point, Jackie fishes out the note. He forcefully shows it to Anti. The demon inspects it before promptly ripping it until nothing remains but mere shreds. "You weren't listening. I never said I'd take you. You just assumed. Desperate to come back to me, puppet?" "I am not a puppet." "Aren't you? What are the five largest cities in Ireland?" "Dublin, Cork, Limerick, Galway, Waterford." Caught off guard, he deadpans the list without resistance. "Returning to me reminds you of..?" "The Temporary Discharge for Ill Health Act of 1913, better known as the Cat and Mouse Act." No, don't smile like that. Don't be proud of his ability to answer questions. It's only a few stray facts he can recite. He is Jackie. Remember that. He's not a puppet. Not yet. Maybe it will be easier to give in once he's back to that lightless room. He can fight for a week or two save face then- he's getting ahead of himself. But his corruption hasn't transpired quite yet. "Alright, I can spout random trivia. So what?" "What are the physiological symptoms of fear?" "Hyperventilation, increased heart rate, increased muscle tension, sweating, hyperglycemia and disruption to the digestive system, among others." Jackie lists the symptoms on his fingers. He knew this from his own experience. It had absolutely nothing to do with Biology lessons or the independent research he felt was necessary to complete. "Good. What should your resting heart rate be?" "I'm physically over the age of ten so... somewhere between 60 and 100 beats per minute." "Oh really? That's very interesting to know. I just counted 87." It's only now that Jackie gains awareness of Anti's fingers pressing slightly too harshly against the top of his neck. He flinches as he swats it away. "I told you to stop. And that's still in the range, you dick." "It's very unhealthy to have it so high. Tell me why you're not normal." "I'm a character?" "That doesn't matter." "I'm younger than everyone else?" "No. Try again." Anti growls, impatience growing. "Oh. I exercise frequently which means I-" His glare is aimed at Anti. Well done, you've making him realise his mistake. The glitch must be so proud of himself. Why is Jackie even answering of his own free will? "Which means I should be closer to 60 beats per minute." "Exactly." "Look, it doesn't matter. I made the mistake of dealing with you. Increased heart rate is also a symptom of stress." "That's no way to speak to the one who took the liberty of educating you." That tone. Oh God, it was that exact tone. Please don't let him have a needle and thread handy. He's sorry. He won't misbehave again, he swears. "Sorry, sir." Anti still glowers for a moment. "I see you finally remembered your manners." "Listen, I can't walk. So no more escape attempts. You won't have to worry about that." "That didn't excuse you from lessons, now did it?" "No, exactly, so we can still do that." "Yet you still managed to leave me." How is Jackie meant to respond to that? "I- Well, you were distracted, sir. I was... I was being resourceful. That's a useful trait, right?" Anti's laughter is broken. It morphs into an amalgamation of giggles, cackles and snickers. He scrutinises Jackie once more before turning away. His gaze is directed to the powerlines surrounding the field. Hang on, he can't just leave! God, this culminating panic was so stupid. No matter how much he tries to squash it, the anxiety grows. Within seconds, he can't stop himself from blurting it out. "Wait, don't go!" This attracts the glitch's attention. He abruptly ceases the increase in fragmentation. The air doesn't feel quite as energised. Anti's head whips around. He's beaming as he steps towards Jackie, closing the distance. "You're as pathetic as ever. Perhaps I should take you with me." Anti muses. "That way you can look my new puppet in the eyes and tell him how you betrayed his trust." "I didn't do anything." Don't say that. Please. Just because it's true doesn't mean he wants to be reminded. "What is one of the first lessons I taught you?" "Don't- Don't talk back?" It's a frown now. "You don't sound convinced." "Don't talk back." He answers firmly. "That's better." Anti gives him a gentle smile. It is swiftly followed by a shove that is nowhere near as gentle. "I could leave you in Tasmania and make you swim all the way home. No cheating this time either. I will personally throw you overboard into the Indian Ocean if I see you trying to stowaway again. I'm sure you don't want that." The glitch crouches down. His hand reaches out towards Jackie's head. The teenager flinches. Anti glides his hand through his hair. Don't relax into it. You have better sources of human contact. This subtle resistance seems to irritate the demon as his hair is yanked into position. Jackie has no choice but to look him in the eyes. "I've had my eye on him for months. Now you've given me an excuse to have him all to myself." The grin falls into a pout. The grip loosens too. "But don't worry! We can be together again one day. I know how lonely you've been without me." How long has Anti's eye had that green glint to it? He tsks in sympathy. The hair stroking resumes. "All those bad habits. Give me some time and you won't have to be lonely again. Can you do that?" No. Fuck off. No way is he going to... going to... He will wait for his master, of course he will. "Yes, sir." Anti rises to his feet. "Good boy. Now, why don't you run home? I have better things to be doing than stand here proving you can't deceive yourself." Jackie doesn't need any more incentives. Racing isn't a pace he is able to maintain anymore. Nevertheless, he travels home as rapidly as his body will allow him. He hadn't brought his keys. In his defense, he believed he wouldn't be coming back. Not to mention he was not about to risk Anti gaining unauthorised access to the egos' home. He bangs on the door like he had eight months ago. They're all clearly beside themselves. No words are spoken before Jackie is practically smothered by Marvin while simultaneously being berated for his disappearance. Where had he gone? Why didn't he think to give them a heads up before leaving? Did he not realise how worried they'd been? Also, had Chase said anything to him about staying out tonight? Jackie doesn't understand. What did Chase have to do with him sneaking out? If the guy had gone to drop off a forgotten toy, that wasn't suspicious. Neither was the prospect of traffic delaying him or Chase secretly heading to a pub. Come on, this was Chase they were talking about. There must be a perfectly reasonable- What about a hallway? Why's that significant? Oh. Oh no.

[buddaheadcannonsonice]

Rika's back and MC gets left P. 4

Rika is back and MC gets sick at the same time she feels abandoned. Part 1 (x) | Part 2 (x) | Part 3 (x) | Part 4 (x) | Part 5 (x)

Rika felt a sense of satisfaction

She got off being the one everyone considered the most

sure, she lead MC to the RFA

sure she made a lot of trouble for MC and the rest of the members

But the one thing she did not want anyone to forget or even ever know really was

it also meant she could take her out of rfa with ease

And they wouldn't ever know it was her or care if all went to her plan

-- Yoosung --

From the last time MC invited Yoosung over, he remembered where she now lived

Why didn't I visit her sooner?

Yoosung made his way to her building, knocking repeatedly and waiting for a response

Where is she? It's almost midnight…

He almost gave up when she didnt answer either calls, text, or the door

Rika! Yoosung was surprised to see his cousin walk by

“Yoosung, what are you doing here so late?”

I came to see if MC is okay, shes been MIA for a while

“She’s fine! I talked to her not too long ago and she said that she was going to visit her family for a few weeks. I forgot to tell you guys about it too… sorry.”

It’s fine, don’t worry about it! Though, it would have been better if she told us herself…

“I dont know the details, but something about one of her family members being recently diagnosed with a terminal illness.. Yeah, it was terrible. She said they started to cough blood and she went to go help them through the process. Poor MC.”

You’re genuinely concerned for MC, you’re so nice Rika.

“Ofc, shes a memeber of the rfa too!”

Sorry, its just i know you dont know her that much, but im glad you guys get along well. Do you know when she’ll be back?

“I think after the funeral. Though it may be longer since i dont know how shell be okay after all of that. Next time we talk, ill ask her, okay? How about we go visit V? Im sure hes awake and wouldnt mind if you came over for a sleep over”

Yoosung felt like a huge boulder had been lifted from his shoulders now that he knew MC was physically okay

He felt bad that she didnt tell anyone that she was leaving to tend to a sick family member

But he felt that he would forgive her since she seemed more of a private person

I should get her a gift basket when she comes back; poor MC will be greiving when she returns- I could add chocolates and that coffee she likes with an uber soft blanket. Yeah, i wil do that for sure when RIka tells me when she comes back

Yoosung wanted to be a shoulder for MC when she came back since she was there for him when Rika was gone

he wanted to prove to her and himself and RIka that he was more than just a college student who played a lot of video games; that he was also a capable man

-- Zen --

Zen has entered the chatroom.

Zen: MC! Please call me when you get this!

Rika: Zen, I forgot to tell everyone that MC went back to her home country to take care of a sick family member. I didnt want to say anything right away but she told me just recently that it may be a while before she returns because of how bad things are …

Jahee has entered the chatroom.

Jahee: Oh no that’s terrible. Is her family member in that bad of condition for MC to leave without saying bye?

Rika: I am afraid so. From what I know, they are really ill that it is now deemed terminal.

Zen: Oh man, i really thought something happened to MC

Rika: What do you mean?

Zen: I dont know, I thought maybe she got bored of us and left us or something happened to her health wise. I hope she knows that we are all here for her when she comes back

Rika: Dont jinx anything! I’ll let her know though that you were worried whenever we talk again ^^

Jahee: Please do. Id feel much better though if I could talk to her soon. Do you think you can let her know to call me please?

Rika: I will pass the message along!

Zen: me too please, I really miss her :c

Rika: I will, you guys worry too much ^^ dont worry guys, everything will be perfectly fine ^^

Zen: alighty then, i gotta go and meet some directors to talk about my wonderful gorgeous face making its appearance on stage soon, bye~

Jahee: Oh my heart!

Rika: Good luck!

Zen has left the chatroom.

He didnt trust Rika

He didnt even trust Jahee at the moment

He knows he saw MC at the store that night

And it seems highly unlikely that she would just leave without explaining the situation

Especially if someone she cared about was really sick

Would she?

-- Jahee --

From what Mr. Han had been accumulating she knew what was going on somewhat

Though if the rest of rfa should know she didnt feel like she had a place to tell them

She did abandon MC just like the rest did

She wont deny that what the rfa did to MC was abandon her at a time she would have needed them 

despite all MC probably gave up to help them 

But she didnt want anyone to be in the unknown

Although, she didn't know if Rika was lying or telling the truth maybe rika did know mc was sick and didnt want to tell because MC said so

Jahee didnt want to risk anything by letting the cat out of the bag cringing

For now all she felt like she could do was gather as much as she could about people with pneumonia 

She would look into it since that was all Mr. Han told her

Maybe find some coffee as well for MC and maybe chocolates as she thinks about pleading for forgiveness 

-- Jumin --

He had no right to act like he should care for MC anymore

The moment they all left her, everyone in the rfa lost all the rights to care for MC

The only thing he could do was offer her the best treatment possible when he found out what she had it made him very uncomfortable to not know what she was suffering from

aside from the stabbing pains of being betrayed that he couldn't fix for her

but that was only if Seven could find a way into breaking MC out of there

But he knew the longer they waited the worse she would get

When he saw MC through the camera on Sevens screen, he knew he never wanted to know what it felt to lose someone again

After he though rika died, he felt like his world tipped over

But if he loses MC, he knows he wont ever have a reason to go on living with himself

He did find comfort knowing that MC never seemed to have had lost her personality and all that made her so easy to be around

By the looks of it, it was all thanks to Paco who never seemed to leave her side

Are you almost done?

“I want her out of there as soon as possible as well, okay?”

Jumin was taken back with how Seven snapped

“Dont let it get to you, he always gets like this”  the famous ‘Vanderwood’ who leaned on the side of the wall said

I dont want to know

He decided he didnt want to get into what Seven did on his own time also bc ‘Miss’ Vanderwood was slightly scaring him

“Just get the IP address so we can get there and go”

“I cant just do that! Well, I can but there seems to be more stuff this guy is feeding me atm and its all about MC”

“Look at it when you get her out of there! Poor girl must be seconds away from kicking the stupid bucket”

Excuse me?

“DOnt take it to heart, he gets angry when he has to wait before a job”

“Shut the fuck up, I still have my taser, you oaf”

What do you mean hes feeding you?

“I mean, this Unknown guy wants her found but for some odd reason he cant let her go… idk myself, but it looks like hes just doing his job”

“What makes you say that?”

“RIght here it says: Job. No. Yes.- Unknown”

Isnt that a good thing then? That means we can get MC out faster

JUmin didnt care for all the extra side stuff

He wanted to just get to the point and storm in there to save MC and take her to the doctors he had on standby

Just hurry up!

“I would want to bu- OH shit”

Jumins heart stopped for a millisecond thinking that MC died

When he didnt see anything abnormal on the screen that showed MC he was confused

But looking at what Seven saw

He understood

Is that Rika?

-- 707 --

Watching RIka give MC injections of unknown substances made him physically want to scream

Why would she do that?

What was she even giving MC?

Where is Unknown?

“Damn, white loaf can really go on strong” he ignored Vanderwoods snide comment focusing on V holding MC down so Rika could give her another injection

“Let’s go now Seven, no more playing around!”

Okay okay, let me just get this on my laptop so we can watch as we go

“If we take my helicopter we could be there quicker”

Yeah lets do that

Seven was in a daze

As he looked into the breadcrumbs Unknown was giving him

He began to wonder why Unknown even took MC away if he was going to help them in the end

Unless he too was forced into do this all

But why would Rika do this? What could she gain from this?

“Please dont”

Seven turned to look at Jumin who looked at him when they heard MC’s voice

“Ready or not here it comes~” Rika sang

“You both may want to look away” Seven heard Vanderwood say before turning away

Not once had he ever looked away from the screen while on the job

--

You begged her to stop

Whatever it was, it wasn't the same anymore

You began to remember names and faces but you couldn't match them together

Please stop this, it hurts!

“Sweetie, you're dying anyways, this is me being merciful and helping you go faster. Be thankful.”

What about that other stuff? What was that other stuff?

“It will all be over quickly if you just listen to her, please MC”

You turn to look at the stranger with the sunglasses: who’s MC?

Am I MC? Are they talking to me ?

You think you know them but you can't match any faces or names at all

“I'd ask if you have any last words you want me to give to someone but at this point, you probably don't know if you have any friends or family “

You shake your head trying to think

Somewhere someone has to know who you are

Why can't I talk?

You panic; thrashing your body away from the woman and man

“Stop it!” You hear it before you feel a stinging sensation on your cheek

“Like I said,you're already dying “ the woman says as she huffs for air

The look on her face scares you

It looks like she's enjoying whatever is happening

“You should never talk to strangers “ you feel the weight of something hard crash on you holding your face down on the now cold floor

“Don't ever go to places you don't know”

The pressure intensifies making your head build more pressure like it will explode

“Rika, that's too much” you hear the man from earlier

Help me please! you silently beg 

You wonder why he doesn't help you

“Stay out of this V”

You feel something stab your shoulder

Then you don't feel anything at all

-- Vanderwood --

Seven was annoying

Richie rich was annoying

They all were pissing him off

The rush to get to where this girl was chaotic

He was used to the silence that Seven would accompany him with

But not like this

This silence was deafening and suffocating

-- V --

He didnt want to harm MC

she was one of the good ones 

but he didnt want to make Rika any worse than she already was

He knew 707 or Jumin must have caught on by now 

with the help he got from Unknown, he knew they would make it but not soon enough

He made sure that whatever happened; it would all be on him 

Even if MC may never wake up again

even if Rika would spend a lot of time in the hospital 

even if Jumin and everyone in the RFA should come to hate him

even if he should become the villain; 

he would do whatever it takes to preserve Rika’s legacy and love and pride

He just needed for MC to hold onto life 

She was already sick 

and the medication he had replaced with the medication Rika wanted Unknown to give her seemed to have been working 

He made sure Unknown gave her the treatment she needed

But he didnt anticipate for Rika to inject her with a strong dose of whatever she had made for MC

By the looks of it 

it definitely was not the same that he had Unknown give her

-- Unknown -- 

Any minute now, it would all be over 

one way or another, MC would no longer suffer

He knew that by lying to Rika he was compromising his safety as well as Saeyoung’s

But he couldnt kill MC slowly

not with what RIka had made for her 

No. 

Instead, he made sure he gave her the medication she needed 

he made sure that Saeyoung would find the bread crumbs he left 

He expected Rika to pull something big for the finally so he made MC an antidote to what Rika had 

he didnt give it to her yet but he would have to leave it for Saeyoung to find if Paco didnt find a way of getting the vile out of his jacket before they got to MC

All he needed now was to find a way to make amends 

To MC and to everyone else 

but he would do that after he found a way to forgive himself and Saeyoung 

because if he didnt make him hate him; none of this would have happened 

and MC would have had treatment for this and have never been involved 

When would Saeyoung see how toxic both were to everyone else?

Especially to someone good and simplistic and perfectly normal like MC. 

Did Saeyoung even know?

Did his brother know how toxic both brothers were to everyone?

Like how toxic they were to one another.

[ambz1234321-blog]

New year, new post

I remember the first time I realized I was more sad than I’d ever been before

It wasn’t the kind of sad when your heart gets broken and it just aches, it wasn’t the kind of sad when you lose someone close to your heart, it wasn’t the kind of sad when your feelings get hurt over something silly but you take it to heart. It was this awful, gun wrenching kind of sad that was a mixture of every other kind of sad possible. Where you were so sad it turned into a mind out of body experience where I was so lost in the sadness that it didnt seem like there was anything else in existence for a while.

I was 15. You’d think after being deathly sick 9 months prior that I’d be on a kick of loving life and appreciating another chance. It was the exact opposite, however. I went through my cloud nine moment after getting healthy again, I had soo many friends and the cool, older, hot boyfriend who helped me make soo many more friends. I was cool, skinny, pretty. I had it really good for a 15 year old girl. But 15 is a sticky age. A lot of people have a hard time for different reasons but it’s definitely an age where you broaden your horizons, some people more than others, and it isn’t always easy. Peer pressure and the pressure of high school wasn’t really what my issue was. My issue was that I reached this age where I started to realize. Realize how much of my life had been sugar coated, how i really knew nothing about anything, how the only thing that made me so cool and so popular was the fact that me, and everyone else around me, knew nothing. So when I started to realize and learn things about myself that to this day, people still don’t know i know, I realized that I wasn’t anything special, that if people knew me and where I came from, my background, they’d be a lot quicker to judge.

The first time I ever remember thinking why my family was “different” was in 7th grade when a girl asked me if it was true that i was a “test tube baby” since I didnt know my dad. I didnt know what she meant then but i was quick to tell her no.

It was weird. I always knew that I knew my dads name, that i used to see him, that he lived near Eden Drive. There was just these things I knew. Never verified for most my life, but I just knew. People asked me if I was black, spanish, why i looked nothing like my mom. I never knew the right answers but I also never cared because people always loved my tan skin and curly hair. I never cared because I was Queen Bee. I had so many friends that i couldn’t keep up. I was never alone, I was never bored. Which for an only child, I was lucky I had so many good friends around. I remember watching so many friends go through their first heartbreaks. The ones that made them think they were gonna die, never “fall in love” again. The ones that made people hurt themselves because they were so convinced that at 15, it was the end of the fucking world. Out of the blue, I found my end of the fucking world. And holy shit do i wish it was over some stupid fucking boy.

I hate to say this  is where it started but I think it did start because of a boy and a supposed “best friend”. I was the cool girl, with the hot boyfriend, and all the friends. I thought nobody would dare to betray me or backstab me. But they did. My boyfriend and best friend hooked up, he dumped me like a piece of garbage before college because what college boy dates a high school right?? I’m embarrassed that thats where it started but I also, 5/6 years later, have accepted that there’s a lot of things that contribute to why I feel the way I do. No matter how stupid or small. I spent the summer after my sophomore year in my bedroom. I was in and out of the hospital multiple times that summer. I was “dehydrated” or had a "stomach bug” twice a month. I feel stupid for lying but I was “dehydrated” because I’ve always eaten in my room so I’d throw away my food or hide it until I could throw it away. Id lay in the sun for hours without water until I felt nauseous. And then take 16 advil to make me feel better. I tried to be as discreet as possible which was stupid. But nobody caught on so I guess I did fine. I still can’t take the blue advil PM’s to this day because the first time I attempted to OD was with those because they had the most out of all the pill bottles in the cabinet. I puked for 12 hours straight and laid in my bed & on the bathroom floor in a basically acomatose state for 3 days.

I remember slowly falling asleep after taking those advil and having the song Super Rich Kids be on repeat for probably 14 hours till I started puking. I can remember that song faintly playing again and again, for what felt like years. Sometimes it would fade away and I’d swear I was dying. Other times it was blaring.

It still sends chills down my spine every time I hear it.

I tried so hard that summer. I’m still depressed and I hate that after so long I still haven’t gotten better. But then I think about all the things I never would’ve done if I had taken my life that summer.

It became a normal thing for a few months, if i wasn’t taking a bunch of pills to fall asleep, I was cutting myself anywhere I could hide it. I had a playlist on my iPhone 4s called “ill kill myself to one of these.”

The first time someone noticed the cuts on my wrist was a kid in my PreCalc and Trig class. He was friends with a lot of people I was friends with but we never really talked. He saw one day and asked if I was okay. Of course I said I was fine and he grabbed my hand and told me he was always there if I ever needed someone.

If I had a chicken nugget for every time someone has told me they were there if I needed them, Id be 700 pounds and probably happy at that point. But the one thing that was different about him, was someone noticed me for something more than the popular girl, with the big butt, and all the friends. He didn’t care about any of that and was one of the most genuine people I’ve known to this day.

Once school started up again, I felt much better. Always partying, always with friends. But there was still just something driving me crazy deep down. One friday in october, I was home for once on a weekend. And checked my Facebook to find a message from what I thought said, “Alex Lamonaco.” I froze, and looked again to see I was wrong.. It said Alexis Lamanaco. I was so damn confused and wanted to just block this person cause I thought they were fucking with me. But I decided to accept the message. Which was the click that changed so much for me.

I did not think for one second that accepting that message was gonna be opening a door to a whole new world that had been kept a secret from me for a reason.

I wasn’t an only child. (From my dads side). Not only did I find out I had a sister, but a niece on the way. I was in fact half puerto rican. My dad was a piece of shit. My dad was in jail. My dad was in jail for molesting my older sister who’s mom wasn’t as strong as mine to fight for sole custody and she told me she was happy it was her and not me.

We’ve talked on and off ever since. Ive blown her off every time I was supposed to meet her. But she has always been understanding.

My niece is 5 now. My sister is a really good single mom, she reminds me a lot of my own.

Im 19 years old and my mom still denies that she somehow made me with another man who’s half puerto rican. It drives me so crazy that she can’t tell me about our life but after what I’ve learned.. I can’t blame her one bit. I can’t blame her for drinking excessively my life. I can’t blame her for being sad most the time. I can’t blame her for anything. Especially because I’m at the age she was when she had me and I can’t even imagine having to deal with the things that woman did.

I can remember the second time I tried to kill myself like it was yesterday. It was exactly a year and three days ago, in my apartment in Laramie, Wyoming. But I am getting too drunk and crying too much to write about it so ill save that one for another time.

i write this with complete confidence and as good as it fucking feels to write this all out and look at the bigger picture, I’m bawling cause of how far I’ve let this come. I can remember exactly where this sadness started. I can’t remember every thing Ive been sad about because as this disease has taken over me, I’ve began to get sad at everything. No matter how good or bad. I’ve met so many people along the way who claim to be depressed, suicidal, or anxiety ridden. I can now see maybe why people never took me(still don’t take me) seriously about it. I was so good at faking it. I swear I can look at a person and be able to look straight through their fake happiness. But I also would never want to make that assumption because people who feel this awful, will go to such extremes to hide it and make sure nobody can see that side of them. I keep finding excuses for myself. I feel this way cause of this and cause of that.. blah, blah fucking blah. But the only real reason, is come of myself. Ive proved to myself over a handful of times that theres nobody out there who can fix this or help me fix this. But i still can’t find it within myself to help myself when I am the ONLY person who has the ability to do so. So… with that. Im gonna sleep on it.. for the almost 2000th day in a  row. night night.