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“I- I don’t know who to choose! Give me a sign!”
The axe trembled in Dipper’s sweaty grasp. His arms were shaking so badly they almost seemed to be trying to strike by themselves.
But they couldn’t seem to choose a target. Dipper felt them trying to lash out at each of the two Wendys in turn. His eyes darted between them like a squirrel on amphetamines, skipping over the journal they both tore at.
His gaze lingered on the Wendy on the left. She looked up to meet it and shot him a smile and a wink.
Dipper looked over to the Wendy on the right, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“She’s the shapeshifter, Dipper!” she shouted. The journal shook between the two matched strengths. “Don’t listen to her!”
Dipper’s gaze shot between the two Wendys once more. If looks could kill, they looked like they might be about to blow each other apart with nothing more than the force of their angers. The journal shook between them like it was about to tear in two.
Dipper could feel the pulse in his fingers. His heart was like a racing metronome, pounding against his chest like it was trying to break it. God, he couldn’t do this- what if he picked the wrong Wendy? What if the axe in his hands bit into real flesh, spilled real blood?
But he looked again at the way hatred in both Wendys’ eyes, and he knew that if he didn’t step in they would likely kill each other. His grip shook, he stepped forward and he swung the axe with all the strength he could muster.
Bone cracked beneath the metal. Flesh tore on the axe’s swing through and away from its target. One Wendy fell on her back as her opposite’s grip suddenly released. The other let out a strangled gasp and looked down at the sudden gasp in her chest, a single rib just sticking out, red beginning to stain the plaid.
She put a hand on the wound, testing it, her mouth agape. Her fingertips came away dripping crimson.
“Finish her off, Dipper!” came Wendy’s voice from beside him, outside of his field of vision. The noise of scrabbling for a grip on the dirt and stone, then quick and heavy footsteps and a sudden seizing of his shoulder. “You hurt her- now kill her before she can change back!”
Wendy looked up from the gash in her chest. The red was spreading down her jeans and flannel. A deep red began to block out the blue and plaid.
“... Dipper?” she said, her voice trembling. Her mouth hung open just a crack. Her eyes accused him with their surprise.
“She’s bleeding,” Dipper whispered.
“That’s just the shapeshifting!” exclaimed the Wendy with a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let her fool you!”
“I... I don’t...” Dipper tried to stammer out a response. His throat felt like it was closing.
The wounded Wendy fell to her knees. One arm was folded over her chest, perhaps in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding. The other Wendy knelt beside him, keeping a hand on his shoulder.
“Dude. I know it hurts. That thing looks like me. But we can’t let it get out. It can turn into anyone, remember? We wouldn’t even be able to trust each other!”
Dipper looked back at the head of his axe, still covered with blood, then back at the Wendy bleeding out in front of him.
The Wendy with a hand on his shoulder, seeing the consternation evident in his features, held out an open hand. “You want me to do it?” she asked, her tone soft. Dipper looked back at the axe once more, swallowed, and placed it in Wendy’s waiting grasp.
She stood with a reassuring squeeze on Dipper’s shoulder, and hefted the axe handle with both hands. The bleeding Wendy looked up at her and tried to speak, but nothing came out except a slowly rising gurgle.
Dipper looked away and heard a noise like the smashing of an overripe pumpkin. A knife pulling out of a sticky, glue-smeared sheath. A body hitting the pavement fifty feet below. And silence.
Dipper put a hand over his mouth. He felt another one on his shoulder.
“You gonna be okay, man?”
Dipper nodded.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice trying resolutely not to crack.
Wendy squeezed his shoulder once more.
“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”