Chapter Text
“Pack your things.” The CPS representative held out a garbage bag, slick and shiny like an oil spill in the ocean. Fang dug fingers into the already pilling black sweater she had been given (as it was the only thing she wore for a week) and rubbed the toe of her boot against her calf, the scratchy fabric of the sweatpants she found (leftover merchandise from the Memorial Library) rubbing against her skin. Not wearing her own clothes was hard enough, but she did not realize how even more unpleasant it would be Child Protective Services called with the news that the demonologist department had finished their investigation of the house and that she was now free to remove some of her belongings. The representative had picked her up at the Shack, which was instructed to remain immobile for the day while its legs were glamored out of sight.
Fang sucked in a breath. The house didn’t smell the same. Usually it smelled like dust, leather, and rancid demonic residue left behind from her parents’ boots. Now the house smelled a little like plastic and unfamiliar chemicals. Taking the garbage bag, she peeled the interior apart with her fingers, the static pulling between the plastic. The echo of her heart rammed up her spine and into her ears.
The demon beside her gestured at the bag in distaste. “Wait. Seriously? They’re only giving you a garbage bag! How are you supposed to pack everything?” His voice had that faint echo of the mindscape, a soft reverb like shouting across your neighborhood early in the morning before anyone else had woken up just to hear your voice bounce back at you. He looked different than usual too. He was wearing an off-orange t-shirt and a pair of shorts, his messy hair curling up like little bat wings. It was a stark difference from the black suit she was used to him wearing, though it seemed like an act of good faith that he broke down his exterior to appear more human and approachable.
And who was she to judge? She was literally wearing sweatpants from 4,000 years ago. She probably looked different to him too.
Fang looked at the CPS representative who was completely unaware of the demon standing 3 feet away with an angrily crinkled nose. “How long do I have to pack?”
“10 minutes,” the representative replied, before yawning and checking his MagiOrb.
“Only 10!” Dipper shouted, knowing Fang was the only one who could hear him. “That’s so unfair! I thought these people were supposed to help you!” The angry snap to his voice made her shudder.
Taking the bag, Fang looked back at the representative. “Can I be alone? Please?”
He shrugged, “I don’t care. I just have to be here to check your bag.”
She marched towards the back of the house, bypassing Dipper. She stopped briefly at the door to her bedroom. She’d spent days trying not to think about what was behind that door, though it finally came to the point where she would have to reckon with it. Slowly, she opened the door and stepped inside.
The room was almost as she left it. Her bed was still unmade and her MagiOrb was left lying on the ground, a thin crack running along its crystal exterior. But then there were the few things that didn’t belong. Yellow caution tape, numbered markers where “evidence” once was, half of a brown and withered pine tree circlet, and a big black stain of ash and blood in the carpet. Fang tried to swallow her discomfort, her throat dry with dread.
“Well, that guy seems like a jerk,” Dipper commented. “But hey,” he nudged her with his elbow, phasing through her. He smiled a little, like he was telling a joke only she would understand. “You have me. Make me a deal and I’ll move anything you want back to the Shack. It would be our first deal.”
He extended a hand, casual and inviting. A cold chill went up Fang’s spine as she looked away.
“I’m fine,” she said. She stepped over the blood and ash stain and set the garbage bag down on the bed.
The room felt like a constant reminder of the life she had left behind and destroyed. There were black and gray cords hung on the wall that symbolized her progression through the ranks of Exorcism, the ones that she would wear tied around her waist during special occasions like the celebration of the angel or to welcoming parties when a new baby was born. A dream catcher still hung on her wall, and a stack of rare printed books she was allowed to take from the library sat on her desk.
Walking over to her closet, she grabbed a handful of shirts and leather jackets, and pulled them free, hangers and all. She stuffed them into the garbage bag, the black exterior protruding and swelling. Then moving over to her dresser, she pried one of the drawers free and proceeded to dump some of its contents into the bag without much thought.
“Uhhh don’t you want to fold those? I’m pretty sure it helps save space,” Dipper remarked. She ignored this and continued to stuff clothes into the bag. “Or you know… don’t do that I guess?”
Abandoning the dresser drawer on the bed, she brushed past Dipper, scooping up items from the floor into her arms: her MagiOrb charging port, a pair of black sneakers, and her messenger bag still containing school supplies (she had since been unenrolled from New Portland High school due to her “excessive trauma”).
She dropped all of it on the bed, before turning around and noticing the thin slick frame of an item on the floor. She picked up the tennis racquet and held it gingerly between her fingers. She got it from a yard sale when she was 10, the owner likely realizing Fang did not have many toys or playthings, and telling her to take it and hit a ball against the back of her house. The rim was still faintly lined with anti-demon enchantments she had placed on it; which she then used to hit Dipper on the head several times. Everything in the room was a symbol of what had occurred within the past month from the leftover brown and brittle pine needles strewn on her desk to the black human shaped stain on the carpet.
“Fang,” he said, this time with a serious but sweet tone to his voice. “Are you okay?”
“I just,” Fang said, struggling to find a sense of reason in the crashing waves of her mind. “I just want my clothes and then I want to leave.”
She looked over at Dipper. Despite his dark and infinite eyes and wings like the flourish of a cape, he looked so unassuming. He blinked at her. “Are you sure everything is okay?” But it was hard to forget it sometimes. The thick curls of fire that would burn around his fingers or the angry twist to his voice when he screamed at her.
Fang dropped on the bed, knowing she should be counting down the minutes in her head and continuing to stuff what little she had into the garbage bag. There was something stained against her gray blankets, somewhat pale and orangey in tone. It was scattered about the room, like it had been dropped along. And then it occurred to her that it was old, golden blood.
Her thoughts wrapped around and tightened like a spool of thread. The air in her chest compressed and pulled on her ribs.
Dipper peeled out of the metaphysical plane, like stepping through a heavy fog. “Fang? What’s wrong? Please talk to me. Let’s not shut each other out anymore.” The moment he stepped forward she winced, as if awaiting a violent reaction, and a whimper clawed itself from her throat.
No. Why did she do that? That wasn’t what she wanted. Things were supposed to be fine now! She wanted to like Dipper, to not be afraid of him. Why didn’t she like him yet? They were supposed to have this incredible bond and, yet, she was still afraid of him.
He followed her gaze to the thick black patch of ash on the floor. “Oh.” Cautiously, he backed away from her and pressed himself into the back of the room, sunlight from the window caught in his hair and reflecting in his eyes. “You’re still scared of me, huh?” It was just like their first few meetings; how he always kept his distance as if she were some fragile thing he was afraid to touch. It wasn’t supposed to be like that anymore.
“I’m sorry,” she said, a quiver to her words. “I didn’t mean it like that. I--” She needed to be honest with him instead of pushing him away. She rubbed at her eyes with the bottom of her t-shirt. “It’s just that I hate being here. I’m reminded of all these terrible things that have happened. And,” she tried to suck in a breath but failed. All she could hope for was that the CPS representative was too disinterested to care if she cried. “Things are supposed to be better now, right? We’re supposed to be cosmic other halves. Why isn’t everything better? Why am I afraid! This is so stupid.”
Dipper thought about this for a moment. He stood with a little more resolve. “I’m afraid of you too.”
“What?”
“You tried to kill me like a week ago and that was terrifying. I haven’t been afraid… like that… in a really long time.” He sighed and slumped back against the wall, wings curling around his sides like a protective barrier. “I’m scared of what happens if you decide you don’t like me anymore. Maybe you’ll attempt to murder me again or I’ll do something bad to you. Except I don’t want to go through that again. And I look around your room and I realize all the terrible stuff I’ve done to you. Which I guess means I’m also scared of myself?” He scrunched up his nose with confusion in that way that made Fang laugh to herself.
Fang dried her eyes again. “I’m a little scared of me too. Because I’m secretly glad you did all that terrible stuff; like with my parents and the Exorcists. They were bad people and I feel better knowing they will never, ever hurt me again. It all just spirals together; I’m so afraid of everything.” She felt her breath pick up again, aching and pulsing across her chest cavity.
But then she looked up at Dipper, the steady constance of his presence. However she felt, he felt it too. Her breathing slowed. She beckoned for him to come to her side, patting the side of the bed. He did so, letting his arm rub against hers. Slowly she tilted her head against his shoulder. It was nice to be close. “We’re both still in some bad places, huh?” she whispered.
He scoffed, “What? Pfft… I--” And then he stopped, eyes settling on her. His voice was eerily quiet. “Yeah. I think we are.”
“We’ll take it one step at a time.” Sitting upright, Fang extended one hand to him with newfound confidence. “I’m ready to make a deal.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am. I want you to move my things into the Shack.”
“Fine. But in exchange, I get to decide what stays and what goes. No freaky Exorcist books, weaponized tennis racquets, or dream catchers. Oh and I want two bags of sour gummy koalas.”
“Deal.” He wrapped his hand around hers; fingers curling at her knuckles. At first the fire that spurted forth made Fang flinch. It was the same blue that haunted her dreams, that turned her childhood bedroom into her nightmare. But now it was lukewarm, and like the glowing neon lights at the corner shop across from the high school. It spurted out as quickly as it arrived, yet they continued to hold onto each other. Fang pulled Dipper closer, tucking him into a hug. He wrapped his other arm around her and pressed his head into her shoulder.
“We’re gonna be okay, right?” she asked.
“Right,” he assured her.
The door creaked and just as Fang looked over her shoulder, Dipper disappeared back into the Mindscape. The CPS representative gave a disinterested frown. “Time’s up. Let’s go.”
Fang grabbed the garbage bag, pulling on the two tabs to close it. Dipper ushered her along with one hand, the faint white aura of immateriality surrounding him. “I’ll take care of the packing. I’ll see you and those gummy koalas at home.”
She smiled. The CPS representative rolled his eyes. “Are you ready or not?”
Grabbing the bag, Fang hoisted it up into her arms, the swell of fabric and hangers pinching into her gut. She walked out of the room for the last time, grateful to close the door behind her. “Yeah, I’m ready to go home.”