Chapter Text
Dipper awoke in the woods.
He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, but he shouldn’t have been worried. It was hardly the first time he’d fallen asleep outside. This little habit had caused Mabel to fuss over him several times, but he couldn’t help it. The wilderness was just so different from the city, and yet it felt so familiar. It had been truly amazing to see his namesake constellation for the first time, and he’d never really gotten used to being able to see the night sky in all its glory. He was sure that, realistically, it would lose its wonder eventually, but he would take it while it lasted.
However, on this occasion, he was on edge. Something wasn’t right.
Still hardly able to open his eyes from the grogginess, he rubbed his face, then shivered as a chill went up his spine. He swallowed, winced at the noise, and the realization hit him.
The forest was completely silent.
Now that he was paying attention, it was horribly obvious. The light creaking of the trees, the animals shuffling through the worn paths between the trees, the white noise provided by the insect choirs; they were all mysteriously absent.
What could’ve caused this? Dipper tried to think of anything in the journal that might’ve mentioned something about creepy, ominous silence, but nothing came to mind. He pried open his tired eyes, urging his fuzzy vision to sharpen. He couldn’t help but notice that everything was brighter than expected. As the details around him came into focus, he made the second big discovery of the night. The world was gray scale.
Dipper’s heart leapt into his throat, and he followed suit, scurrying to his feet in a frantic tangle of limbs. He was in the mindscape? But the only time that had happened was with-
There was a flash of gold to his right, and he spun around, barely containing a shriek. When he turned, there was nothing but more eerie forest.
Was Bill there? And if so, what did he want? Dipper couldn’t help but remember his last meeting with the demon. He’d spent ages afterward trying to remember the terms of the contract he made, but between the stress of the situation and what had followed, he couldn’t figure out if the exact wording would mean that Bill could possess him again at any time.
The thought alone had kept him up for two days.
Terrified, he kept watch on the surrounding trees, his arms out in front of him, as if he’d be able to physically fight off any intruders. But as he looked out nervously into the dark, his eyelids grew heavy. The stillness had done nothing to keep him awake, and he was still so tired. He drooped, and even though his fear hadn’t lessened, he began to sink down to the ground, lying in the grass. The world blurred, and he thought he could make out the faintest laughter echoing in the distance.
-
Dipper shot out of bed, eyes wide. He usually never remembered his dreams, but this one, he recalled with uneasy clarity.
Despite his worries about Bill, he had never been able to find much about the mindscape. It was yet another mystery with seemingly no answers to be found. Of course, there was one being in particular who probably knew plenty about the mindscape, but there was absolutely no way Dipper was going to trust Bill to answer any of his questions.
Dipper managed to lift himself out of bed enough to read the clock, then groaned. 4:23. He fell back on the bed and yanked the covers above his head, intending to get some more sleep. Soon, even his frantic thoughts were slow enough to get him an hour or two of restless sleep. He woke up to a pig on his stomach and sun in his eyes. He was just as tired as he was when he went to sleep the night before.
“Hey, sleepyhead! It’s about time you got up!” Mabel rescued Dipper from her pig and gave him a huge grin. He’d never quite understood how she could manage to be so cheerful in the morning. “You’re just in time, I’m making Mabel juice. Do you want some?”
Dipper winced. “No thanks, Mabel. I don’t…actually, yeah, I think I will have some. Do you have enough?” Despite his initial hesitation, Dipper resolved to try at least a little. After all, it might help him wake up a bit.
Somehow, Mabel’s grin widened. “Of course I do, bro-bro! And,” her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “I heard from a little piggy that there may be chocolate chip pancakes, too, but only if you’re there quickly.” She winked. “Just between you and me.”
Some of the uneasy weight in Dipper’s chest lifted a bit at the thought of pancakes. “That is excellent news. What’s the occasion?” he wondered.
“The occasion is that I got Grunkle Stan to buy chocolate chips yesterday. We’re celebrating my success in making him a little less of a cheapskate.”
The two laughed. “Now remember what I said. I’m not reserving any of those pancakes for you, mister, so you’d better get your butt downstairs before they’re gone, alright?”
“Yeah, yeah. Look, I’m up, see?” Dipper dragged himself out from under the covers, already missing the warmth.
Mabel pointed at him. “Alright, but I’ve got my eye on you.” She broke character with a grin, and left.
Dipper laughed a little to himself and went to retrieve his hat. Mabel had almost made him completely forget about..
Oh.
The mindscape.
His light-hearted smile faded, and he bit his lip. Though he hadn’t initially intended to bring it down to breakfast, he grabbed the journal as well.
Brushing his hand over the cover, he took a deep breath. Whatever he faced, the journal could help him stop any of it. With the journal, he was almost unstoppable.
With renewed confidence, he went down to the kitchen for breakfast.
-
“Phew! I was worried you’d gone back to sleep, Dipper! If you had, I don’t think I’d be able to stop a certain pig from taking all the pancakes.” She shot an accusatory glance at the table. There, Stan and Waddles sat side-by-side, each with a plate of pancakes.
“You had better not be talking about me,” Stan grumbled, burying his face in the newspaper.
“What? Oh, what would ever make you think that, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked in the most innocent voice she possessed. Stan rolled his eyes, and she gave him a grin.
Dipper cleared his throat a bit. “Hey, Mabel? Could I talk to you for a second?”
Mabel frowned. “Yeah, sure, Dipper. Is everything okay?” She flipped one of the pancakes on the stove without looking away from Dipper.
“Yeah, fine. I just need to talk to you.” Dipper gestured to the living room, and Mabel looked back at the stove.
“Can it wait a second, Dipper? Your pancakes are still cooking, I don’t want to burn them.”
Dipper felt his fingers tighten around the journal. “I’d really rather talk now.”
“Well…alright, alright. Let’s go.” With one last flip of the pancakes, she followed her brother into the living room.
Stan watched them go with a frown, but he did nothing to stop them. He glanced at the pig, who, to his surprise, was watching him intently. “What do you want?”
Waddles didn’t budge.
Stan narrowed his eyes. He would not be bested by an animal. “No, I’m not going to go listen in on them. That would be stupid.” He took a sip of his coffee, but the pig still stared him down.
“Don’t you know a thing about the Rule of Drama? If I go listen in on them, there is no way I won’t get caught. Then they’ll both be mad at me, and I do not need something else to feel guilty about.” A pause. Waddles hadn’t moved.
“And no, the Rule of Drama isn’t just in fiction, okay? It is a universal constant, and one that I’m not about to mess with.” Stan paused, but a giggle interrupted his next sentence. He turned to the door to see Mabel and Dipper reenter the room.
“Don’t look now, Dipper, but I think Stan’s finally taken a dive off the deep-end.” Mabel returned to the pancakes, pleased to see that they hadn’t burned in her short absence.
“I did not. I was teaching your pig about the relevance of drama. It’s a very useful lesson, and it was pro bono, too.” He chuckled. “On second thought, it wasn’t free. You should be paying me for your pig’s education.”
Mabel laughed, and shoveled her brother’s pancakes onto a plate. “Order up!”
Dipper detached himself from the wall and took a seat at the table next to Stan. With the journal in his lap, he dug into the pancakes, hardly taking time to breath. Stan watched him inhale his breakfast, one eyebrow raised, but Dipper didn’t acknowledge him.
“Hey, kid, is everything alright?” Stan asked awkwardly. Dipper opened his mouth to reply, and found it jammed full of pancakes.
Mabel answered for him, much to his apparent dismay. “He had a nightmare, that’s all.”
Dipper choked and turned to his sister, looking betrayed. “Mabel!” he whispered frantically.
“Dipper, it’s fine.” She plopped down next to him with her pancakes. “He had a nightmare and he’s embarrassed about being scared, but that’s all it was. Right?” She looked pointedly at Dipper.
He frowned at her, then shoveled another enormous portion of pancake into his mouth instead of answering. Mabel sighed.
Stan looked between the two curiously. Were they having a fight? If so, what could he do about it? He sighed. He should not be taking care of children.
After a few minutes of silence, Dipper excused himself and went back upstairs. Mabel looked pained to see him go, but didn’t say a word to stop him. Instead, she walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher.
“Grunkle Stan?” she asked quietly. “Do you want some Mabel juice?”
-
Dipper could barely refrain from slamming the door to his bedroom. How dare Mabel suggest that it was all just his own paranoia? Why didn’t she believe him?
Granted, he didn’t have any evidence that Bill had actually been in his dream, but who else could’ve brought him to the mindscape? Dipper knew Bill was behind it, but Mabel wasn’t so certain.
She’d told Dipper that he had probably just had a nightmare, that not everything was a death omen. Same old spiel as always. Dipper had thought that the gnome incident had put an end to that, but apparently not.
It was so irritating to constantly have people doubt him, even after he’d proved himself right again and again. He’d show them. He’d find a way to prove that Bill had been in his head. Dipper sat on his bed and grabbed a notebook, intending to work on one of the codes in the journal he’d yet to crack.
As soon as he began writing, his aggression evaporated. Not that he noticed.
Influencing emotions is an energy-consuming activity, and knowing exactly when to do it is key. Too much, and people will notice. Too little, and there isn’t enough effect.
But amping up Pine Tree’s frustration was all too easy.
The sunlight flooding in through the window was an unnatural gold.