Chapter Text
There is no time of year so ungodly horrid as an early morning in August. The sun had been up since half passed five, far too early for any sane person to be awake and out of bed. But even with all the bedding kicked to the end of the mattress, the heat made it impossible to get a good nights sleep. The air was hot and growing wet with humidity by the hour. Now it was sweltering in a clinging heat that made everything unbearable and sticky. There was absolutely no escaping the heat on days like this, and no amount of blue skies or happily singing birds would lift Dipper's sour temper. He had rolled out of the wrong side of the bed this particular morning and proceeded to spend the rest of the early hours in a fowl sort of mood that was becoming harder to hide.
Breakfast had been quick, black tea and a half eaten biscuit with jam. He might have eaten more if his great uncle hadn't been across from him at the table, lecturing him on every bit of etiquette he'd need to remember that afternoon. Occasionally stopping to tell him to sit up straight and keep from rolling his eyes.
Whether Dipper liked it or not, his uncle had ever so kindly pulled one too many strings and got him an interview for a position down at the bank. After all, Dipper was now twenty and in need of employment. It wasn't that he objected to the idea of working. He was hardly a loafer. But the idea of being forcibly placed in the position of a bank teller was mind numbing and dull. Dipper looked on the prospect with a bitter frown, however he was too good of a nephew to argue. He did still slouch and pout over his rapidly cooling mug of tea.
Uncle Ford, or rather his great uncle Stanford Pines, was incredibly well respected around the city. He had a unique intelligence about him, well mannered and formal, a successful detective for many years. In comparison, Dipper was less than impressive. Even though he'd been practically raised by his uncle, Dipper lacked the refinement and the quick mind. Growing up Dipper had idolized his uncle and wanted to be just like him. As he got older and the pressure of schooling started to weight him down the novelty died away and was replaced with a slight resentment at how overly protective and sheltering Ford could be.
Dipper had done everything in his power to prove himself as capable and clever, only to be sat in a chair behind a desk and told to be practical and quiet. His uncle didn't want him to become a detective. Ford strive to make him into something 'good'. Even on this morning, as Dipper sat at the small kitchen table letting his breakfast go untouched, he said nothing to interrupt Ford as he spoke. He would nod, but nothing came out of his mouth that wasn't a, 'yes, Uncle Ford'.
Finally, Ford checked his pocket watch and had to skedaddle off to the precinct downtown. Though not before reminding Dipper for the fifth time in an hour to not be late. Dipper had pushed his plate away after that, not able to stomach any more dry pastry. He crossed his arms and quietly sulked as his uncle left.
It took Dipper a while to drag himself back to his room. Begrudgingly doing as told, he dressed in his Sunday's best for that afternoon. The suit was a touch boring but passable. Not that Dipper really knew what was in fashion, nor typically cared. His sister was the one to do the job of telling him how it all looked. Poorly, she had said, watching him struggle with the tie. It wasn't a terribly unfashionable suit, a soft brown, well ironed, with a blue shirt under the far too warm sweater vest.
Dipper had to resist the urge to roll the sleeves passed his elbows. He couldn't quite tell if it was the summer heat getting to him or if he was on the verge of a panic. His skin was clammy and he felt about ready to throw up when he looked at himself in the small bathroom mirror. He looked every bit working class, doomed to spend his life behind a desk. The thought made him want to jump out the second floor window and hit the ground running. Surely there was an East bound train at this time of day.
He knew he'd never get the chance. Not even when the time came to leave and his sister came to collect him from his bedroom. She took him by the arm and hauled him through the house, waving a quick goodbye to their other great uncle, Stanley – Ford's twin brother and responsibility. According to the law, Stan didn't live there. It was all very secretive and no one breathed a word of his existence to anyone, just in case. Something about being connected to some illegal dealings in Mexico. The fact Ford didn't arrest him was all very hypocritical but family blood was a strong persuasion. It sounded all very wild west to Dipper, like something from a film. He wished his life was that exciting.
Dipper's sister Mabel held him by the elbow, walking a touch too fast down the road. Her long skirt swished around her calves, pleats swaying with every step. Her free hand tugged at her sailor's tie with excitement. She fancied herself quite charming in the purple and white dress, with matching hat. Hair curled and pinned up at the back of her neck. Her heels clicked against the road as they walked briskly towards downtown.
The closer they got to the bank the more Dipper felt like his neck tie was trying to strangle him. He cleared his throat and ran a finger along the collar to pull it away. It earned him a quick smack from his sister. He sighed.
“Stop fidgeting. You'll do fine,” she told him with confidence.
“That's what I'm afraid of.”
Dipper felt like he was being lead to the noose. A bit dramatic but he considered his imagination to be overactive on the best of days. If he couldn't be a detective like his uncle, he pictured himself adventuring through the rain-forest or excavating a pyramid. Instead of this. The large building was coming up along the street, standing tall and imposing among the other old brick and stone facades. Decorative moulding along the roof. Large forward facing windows that bounced the light back into his eyes. It was built out of the same stonework as the jailhouse. Dipper was sure of it. He sighed again.
“Stop that. What's wrong with you?” Mabel rolled her eyes a little.
She didn't see anything wrong with her brother getting a job. Of course she spent her afternoons watching boys at the university play tennis and going for tea with friends. Her dream was to go down the middle aisle with a well off gentleman, preferably with a royal title. Dipper didn't see that happening any time soon, and certainly not out in Oregon. What Prince or Duke would be way out there? Still, Mabel was shooting for the moon and wouldn't be convinced otherwise.
Dipper spared her one glance before tipping his head back to trying to spot the highest spot on the building's roof. The large brick structure stretched high over head and the roof came to a point at the top, with a bell tower to boot. It was impressive and horribly frightening. The creeping urge to throw up rattled his stomach again and he took a step backwards. Surely it wasn't too late to reconsider the thriving lumber industry outside town. He might like living in the woods.
Mabel tapped her heel impatiently. The sound cut into Dipper's brain with sharp efficiency. He groaned and pulled out his old secondhand pocket-watch. He was early by almost half an hour. Ford told him to be early and never late. As he fumbled with the pocket-watch his fingers started to tremble.
“I don't think I can do this.” He hadn't meant to say it out loud. Hearing himself say it made the whole situation far too real for comfort. Dipper smoothed his hand down the front of his suit, checking his jacket buttons and tie. He was overheated and dizzy. The sun was leaving beads of sweat along his hairline.
“You're fine, you big doof.” Mabel helped slip the watch back into his jacket and lightly brushed a loose strand of hair out of his face. “Mr. Northwest is practically giving you the job. This is all formal beeswax.”
“You'll come in and wait, won't you?” Dipper hoped that if this was really nothing but a formality, then it shouldn't take long. However, Mabel shook her head and hopped back.
“I was only walking with you to get out of the house. Besides, there's a boat race going on in the park,” she told him with a wide grin. Her afternoon sounded much more fun. “If you finish up fast, you might still catch me there.”
“Don't go wandering off with strange men, Mabel. I'm going to get an ear full if I don't bring you home later.”
“Relax. If I'm not back here by the time you're done, come find me in the park.” She lightly poked him in the ribs. “That is, if you don't blow it in there and run off to South America.”
She was teasing but it still sounded like a solid plan to Dipper. He snorted on a laugh that was short lived. The bell-tower over head struck the quarter to mark and rang out loudly with a few loud chimes. There was a light shove to his shoulder and Dipper took an involuntary step forward towards the high steps of the bank entrance and the crowd of people filtering in and out the large double doors. He told himself there were worse jobs opportunities in the word, though he couldn't quite think of any right at that moment. He tried to scrounge up any feelings of gratitude that he knew he should be having but fell short and frustrated. Dipper took a deep breath and looked back over his shoulder. Mabel had already turned on her heels and started walking away.
“Wish me luck!” he called after her. From the distance she turned briefly to wave. The sight of her colourful dress and hat were eaten up by the afternoon crowd and the busy street traffic. Dipper let out a swear hidden under his breath before he could bring himself to go inside. Each step up the stone stairs were a forced slog that took every ounce of willpower he had, the whole time fighting off the urge to run and never look back.
Standing inside the bank was just as overwhelming as its exterior. Dipper hadn't expected otherwise, but that didn't change how his stomach did an uncomfortable turn as he stood awkwardly among the organized rows of furniture and the mix of people moving about. The floors were neatly polished and his good dress shoes squeaked as he walked forward. Every surface from leather couches and wooden tables looked perfectly clean, free of a single speck of dust. There was an orderly and serious feel to the meticulously kept desk tops and unfriendly faces behind them.
The atmosphere of the bank was like stepping into a void that was stained a dark mahogany. The large windows at his back did nothing to liven up the foyer. All the sun's light seemed to get absorbed by the dark upholstery of the waiting chairs and heavy floor rugs. Dipper shifted, feeling lost and out of place almost immediately. It wasn't uncommon for the bank to be busy but today felt exceptionally claustrophobic. He took a step in the direction of the other shuffling flow of people. Suddenly, his idea about jumping on the next train and getting as far from this place as possible was looking like a gem of an idea.
Dipper made it from one end of the room to the other. He didn't fully know where he was suppose to be going, or who he should ask for help. He scratched the side of his neck, hating how his collar rubbed at his hot skin.
This one room wasn't even the entirety of the bank. The entrance and tellers were all up front. A long hallway on his left lead to private offices for accountants. A large waiting area was stationed just before the hall to allow people to sit before their meeting. To Dipper's right side the tellers sat behind their high desks. He couldn't imagine joining them some day. They all scribbled away on paper, frowning at each new customer who didn't have the right recite or statement for their transaction immediately ready. Dipper could feel his soul slowly dying from simply watching them all.
Up a large set of stairs that veered off on a curve were more offices. He could see them from the ground level with their tall decorative door frames. With a heavy groan Dipper tried his luck up there and climbed the stairs two at a time. The higher he got the more of a view he got of the streamlined desks and rows of people waiting at the tellers. The balcony ran the length of the bank on that one side, laying out his future for him in a dreadfully bland manner. No longer entertaining his idea of running away Dipper was wondering if he should simply jump off the balcony. Certainly that was easier than joining a travelling circus when he didn't even know how to juggle.
A glossy black plaque on the wall told him he had the right office once he reached the end of the balcony. It read, 'Mr. Northwest. Bank Manager' in neatly printed gold letters. Dipper hesitated for at least a full two minutes before knocking on the closed door. No sooner than he'd dropped his hand to his side did the door was opened for him. A stationed clerk looked him up and down, took his name and frowned. He looked no more inviting than the rest of the staff Dipper had seen so far, all miserable faced and serious.
He pointed to a short row of chairs to the side of a desk just inside the office and told Dipper to sit. Dipper did as told, sitting on the edge of the cushion with his hands balled up tightly in his lap. The clerk disappeared through a side door into another office leaving him alone.
The anticipation made his foot begin to bounce, shaking his whole leg. It was hardly professional and Dipper could hear Ford's voice chastise him in his mind. 'For Heaven's sake, Mason. Sit still. Behave yourself'. Dipper swallowed and tried to settle his knee but there was no stopping it. He ran his palms over his thighs, finding them clammy.
Dipper ducked his head and tried to remember what his uncle told him to do for this meeting. Despite what Mabel seemed to think, this was in no way a sure thing. He could still muck it all up and lose the chance at a decent job. And he could very easily see himself doing just that. 'Be polite. Shake his hand'. Dipper wiped the sweat from his palm off on his trousers. His heart was going a mile a minute, loud enough that he could hear it in his own ears.
His want for cynicism made him frown, pulling a crease between his eyebrows. He was to be profession. While young and inexperience he was suppose to be eager to learn and please. Perfectly expendable. An exploited worker bee that would gladly sit behind a desk and do as told until the day he died.
“Mr. Pines.”
Dipper's head shot up, skin turning a sickened mixture of both pale and flushed. The clerk was watching him with a steady, unimpressed stare. Dipper cleared his throat and quickly got to his feet. They said nothing to one another, only tipped their heads in passing as Dipper was waved into the next room.
The sidewalks outside the city's main bank was a bustle of energy for such a random afternoon mid workweek. Couples taking a stroll. People running errands. There was nothing special about the day in particular, at least nothing that stood out as important or remarkable. It didn't come hot of the heels of a holiday. The day was simply busy. There was something about the sun being bright in the sky that drew people outside to flock and mill about, wasting their respective lunch hours in the fine weather.
Bill watched it all from the backseat of a shiny black town car. He leaned into the backrest of the leather seat and glared out into the sunshine. He watched as kids tagged along behind their mothers. People were smiling and nodding to one another as they passed. Honestly, he couldn't have been less interested to be among them.
Bill Cipher was not a day person. He thrived at night and tried to keep all his business to such time. His line of work was easiest at night where he could move through the shadows, going as unseen as a ghost. His men would follow, leaving a wake of destruction in their path. Bill's mere presence was like a bad dream cast of the city as a whole. He was, on some accounts, a boogieman. Someone to be feared. Deadly and untrustworthy. The comparison was flattering to say the least. He enjoyed reading the tabloids written about himself. How they called him a murder and a madman. It always made him smile because they were correct in every regard.
Sitting parked outside the bank, he concluded that this job would have been just as simple at night, if not more so when under the cover of darkness. However there would be a significant lack of a captive audience, something he was specifically wanting on this fine afternoon. Bill adjusted his hat until the brim obscured his face and hid the easily recognizable eye-patch he wore over one dead eye.
With a smooth grace about him, he stepped out of the car and stood along the curb. They had remained parked long enough for the car to be noticed, standing out from the other less expensive models with its shiny hood and almost brand new polish. The car itself was a decoy. To be seen but hardly useful. It would sit along the curb long enough for the police to show up. As per the plan, the second the police came along, the decoy car would take off like a bat out of hell and lead the pursuing cops array. Bill lightly knocked his fingers on the roof of the car to signal the driver to wait as they headed off.
Bill entered the crowd and made eye contact with a handful of men posted along the street corner. They were all his own, pulling away from their unassuming pose of innocent bystander to come flank him on either side. Calmly, Bill fixed the cuff of his suit jacket to make sure the thin pinstripes were neatly in line. With a small smirk on his face he took the first long stride towards the stairs.
As the gang entered the bank, they cut an imposing shape inside the doorway, blocking what was essentially the only exit. Back lit by the sun, they were a mass of black shadowy figures, tall, broad, and intimidating. Bill met the wary looks of the public as he took two steps forwards into the foyer and stopped. Politely he removed his hat and smoothed his blonde hair back just to make sure it never fell out of place. He smiled wide and crooked as he looked around with his good eye surveying the crowd before him. Without the hat to hide his features the man was immediately identifiable to anyone who frequently read the papers. Uncommonly tall, tanned skin and a black eye-patch. Bill stood out as a dangerous force to be reckoned with, challenging anyone to come forward. Someone in the room gasped aloud and anyone close to him jumped away.
“Ladies and gentleman.” Bill's voice carried through the room with authority, loud enough to echo off the high ceiling. He tipped his head to the side, giving them all a courteous nod. The men at his sides pushed back their jackets to reveal an array of hidden firearms kept discretely underneath. “If you're fit to run, I suggest you do so now.”
The suggestion was a complete joke. He already knew that every exit to the bank was currently being monitored by his men, locked or brocaded to keep everyone trapped inside. If there was anyone brave enough to try and break away from the flock, his men had orders to restrain or kill on sight.
Bill cackled with unhinged delight as the crowd burst out in a chaotic uproar.
It took immense focus on Dipper's part to keep his knee from bouncing. His fingernails dug into the meat of his tights to help remind himself not to move. He might be sitting properly and still, but Dipper's attention was everywhere at once. The slight bite of pain in his leg kept making him look down when he should be facing forward. A nearby clock ticked the seconds away and made Dipper bristle. He glanced at it awkwardly, wishing it would shut itself up. He already felt scrutinized by the man sitting on the other side of the desk, he didn't need to feel judged by a clock too.
Dipper forced himself to look straight ahead. The desk in front of him was like all the others he'd seen, large and richly stained in that deep red toned mahogany. On the other side, staring right back at him was Mr. Northwest. Northwest was an especially unfriendly looking middle aged man. The hard line of his mouth was harsh and firmly set like he didn't know how to do much other than frown at the people he believed to be beneath him. The man leaned forward against the desktop, hands clenched against the wood. His expression shifted slightly with one eyebrow raising. It was a look that made Dipper feel sufficiently inadequate and small.
Dipper lost control of his nerves for a moment and his kneed started to bounce. He covered up the fidgeting by shuffling back in the chair he sat in. He cleared his throat a little and swallowed hard, far too aware of the sweat starting to collect under his collar. A single bead of sweat tickled his skin as it rolled sluggishly down his spine.
There had been an attempt to make a good first impression. Dipper made sure to come off as polite and eager for the position. Now he just felt as though he came off as embarrassingly desperate. He'd never said the words 'yes, sir' so earnestly in his life. It was unnatural and he disliked the taste it was leaving behind in his mouth, acidic and spoiled.
Mr. Northwest was exactly what Dipper expected the man to be. He was stuck up, entitled, and impossible to please. Northwest was neither approachable or open to small talk. His questions to Dipper were short and to the point, only interested in what he could and couldn't handle – in relation to the job being offered of course. They spoke of nothing else. Still, whatever Dipper answered with, no matter how relevant, seemed to fall on deaf ears. Dipper detailed his competency with mathematics. Every so often there would be a responding nod, followed by a judgmental hum. Now an eyebrow raise. That slight change in expression made Dipper want to scream.
Dipper bit down on his tongue hard enough to keep himself from saying the impulsive snide remark that was dancing on the tip of his tongue. Every bone in his body might be itching to lean into a sarcastic comment but Dipper couldn't let it slip out. He couldn't go home without this job. Not only would it be embarrassing but the disappointment waiting for him would gut him. Dipper could only imagine the look of Ford's face if he had to say he didn't get the position. It already had his stomach in knots. Enough so that Dipper was debating on whether or not Mr. Northwest was the type of man who would accept 'special favours' in exchange for the job. Unfortunately, Dipper was not subtle enough to even know how to bring that up, and the very idea made his eye twitch as he looked across the desk at the man behind it. Dipper blinked quickly and looked back down to where his fingers were digging into his thigh.
Noise coming from outside the office was as good as an earthquake, loudly answering Dipper's prayers for a distraction. It started with shrill screaming, followed by a short burst of gun fire. Dipper jumped in his chair, turning to look over his shoulder at the closed door. His breath caught in his throat. For a moment he was convinced his heart stopped beating. But when Dipper touched his chest there was an intense pounding under his fingers which convince him he was still alive. For now. Another set of shots rang out and Mr. Northwest was on his feet. The desk chair scraping across the floor as it was roughly shoved backwards. Dipper heard the man gasp out a swear but he didn't take his eyes off the door.
There was another chorus of screaming voices before a single gun shot silenced them all. The hallway outside echoed with the sudden silence. Seconds passed but the fear of the unknown was stretching each one out to a terrible length. He waited in the growing anticipation while dread sunk into his bones. Dipper hadn't noticed himself creeping up out of the chair until he was on his feet, one hand back against the desk to steady himself.
There was a huge commotion in rapid fire: a storm of feet, a door being kicked in, and another shout. Something heavy hit the floor just outside the office. Dipper fell back in retreat but the large desk kept him from getting very far.
When the door finally burst opened the empty space in the frame was taken up by a broad shouldered fellow sporting a rather large gun. There was a second man behind him manhandling the clerk out into the hallway, but Dipper's eye kept coming back to the gun. It was pointed towards the ceiling so he had a fully dramatic view of the whole thing and how the shooter held it so casually. The man himself looked like he cold go a few boxing rounds with a bear and win, all thick arms and large calloused hands. The more Dipper looked at him the more he felt the gun was toy sized in comparison and he wasn't sure of which he should be more afraid of. Dipper felt horribly in awe despite himself, eyes wide in equal parts amazement and fear.
Mr. Northwest apparently felt nothing along those lines as he shouted out, trying to somehow place himself in control of the situation despite the obvious threat of a gunman blocking their only escape.
“Who are you? What do you think you're doing here?”
“You. Both of you. In the hall. Get moving.” The man tipped his gun to direct them.
“How dare you-”
The gunman clearly had no issue with using force with them and stepped forward to prove it. The quick movement had Dipper holding his hands high up with compliance. He inched for the door in shaking steps, amazingly somehow staying on his feet with the way his legs shook.
As he passed the man at the door, he was given a rough shove forward which almost knocked him to the floor. Dipper stumbled over his feet into the next room and hurried himself out into the hall where the clerk stood in a similar state, guarded by the second gunman. The two of them remained quiet while Mr. Northwest yelled in protest, barking orders like he was the one calling the shots still. However, he was being ignored and pushed along right behind Dipper.
For a moment Dipper found himself close enough to the balcony's railing that he risked a glance downwards to the bank floor below. What had once been a meticulously organized lobby with rows of tables and lamps was now a room in full disarray. The floor had been cleared of people, left vacant and haunted by how empty it looked. Tables were pushed aside or out rightly flipped on their sides. Chairs were turned over. Broken glass lay scattered about. Dipper leaned on the railing, wondering where all the people had gone. He could still hear the distant sound of hurried footsteps and the occasional voice coming from below but saw no one right away.
One of the large men gave him a good push from behind. Dipper held onto the railing tightly to keep himself upright but moved where they sent him, walking forward without a fight. The voices coming from the bank floor became clearer as they started down the long decent from the balcony. If he had to guess, everyone had been moved, no doubt locked into the multitudes of office space to keep them under control. This left the main floor wide open and vacant for the robbers to rip apart the bank and take it for all it was worth. Quite the challenge for broad day light and so few men.
This was quite the experience, even though Dipper was now involved in a hostage situation. One with dangerous men at his back, fully armed and not shy about using their weapons. Still, there was this small spark of interest coming over him from an overactive imagination. The rational part of his brain forgetting the fact he was in danger. Dipper had read all about stuff like this in the papers, getting all these bright ideas that Ford scolded him for. His uncle believed the modern news likes to over sensationalizes these sorts of things and romanticize crime almost to the point of fiction. It encouraged bad behaviour, Ford thought. He hated to see the glossy look of wonder in Dipper's eyes when he read about big dramatic robberies and car chases.
Dipper could hear Ford's voice in his head now, like a personified version of his better judgment. The voice instructed him to keep his head down and to not play the hero. Don't question anyone and do as you're told. Although Dipper found it hard to keep his eyes on the floor as they reached the last few steps before the lobby. His stomach was busy tying itself into knots that threatened to make him sick while a weird excitement buzzed in his veins like wild fire. It was so intense that it left Dipper a little dizzy.
Across the lobby, Dipper saw the only people left on the floor. A gruesome sight that he surely couldn't have noticed from his angle from above. Two bodies lay stretched out next to the counters. Two men shot down during the initial take over of the teller booths. Spilled blood was pooling across the polished tiles and soaked into the edging of the floor rugs. Neither of the bodies were moving.
Dipper swallowed down an aggressive lurch in his stomach, realizing that the two men were in fact dead. He'd never seen a dead body before. Even at a distance he found it unsettling. He heard the clerk beside him sputter and gasp in shock, while Mr. Northwest expressed his outrage. Dipper just continued to stare.
The small outburst brought them more than a little attention. On the other side of the bank four more robbers lifted up from behind the teller counter. Their work hauled long enough to see who was being dragged through the lobby before returning to emptying each drawer and cabinet of every last recite and bank note that was carried on hand. Dipper could only imagine the amount of money currently being shovelled into their pockets and bags.
One more good shove sent Dipper falling from the last step. He unceremoniously crashed to the floor in a flail of limbs as he failed to catch himself. He hit the tiles hard, enough that the impact rattled his brain and knocked his teeth together when his chin bounced off his forearm. Scattered and disoriented, there was barely any time for him to figure what direction was up before a hand was gripping at the back of his jacket, lifting him roughly from where he lay. Dipper scrambled to get to his feet and shake off the hand chocking him by his collar. He turned sharply and glared at the thug.
Between the two of them there was no contest. Dipper would get his face beat in after a single hit. Still, some wave of insanity made him stand his ground, chin raised high to look defiant and brave. The look wasn't taken as a serious challenge.
“Move, kid.” The man swatted at him. Those thickly calloused fingers barely brushing his hair when he did so. They still came close enough to make Dipper flinch back to avoid being touched.
Dipper kept frowning but allowed himself be lead along with the other two hostages. They were marched in a row down the side hallway leading towards the accounting offices. From behind the row of closed doors Dipper could hear the muffled crying and hushed voices of all the innocent people crowded inside. One of the doors were opened and the three were ushered through. Mr. Northwest made more demands and argued, insulted that he was being treated with such disrespect. Dipper sighed as the man's yelling got louder the longer he went ignored.
Dipper let himself slip through the small overcrowded office until he was able to wedge himself into the back corner. There he had just enough elbow room to cross his arms. The door was locked, leaving them all together for safe keeping. Dipper dropped his head back against the wall and sighed again but this time in disappointment. All the excitement was going on outside and he was stuck in a room where he couldn't experience any of it.
Bill tipped his head to the side, hearing the first sign of distance sirens. A smile started to creep across his face, immensely pleased with himself. He checked his pocket-watch to see how quickly it took them to respond to their little robbery. Slower than probably effective, but quicker than expected. Credit was due in this regard, he supposed. He snapped the watch face closed and shoved it back into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
“Get that money stashed in the car and get lost. Coppers will be on us any minute,” he ordered as he moved around the teller counter and out into the empty lobby.
His men behind the counters moved quickly to empty whatever drawers hadn't already been turned out. Whatever they couldn't grab handfuls of would have to be left behind. Time was a valuable commodity and they were running out of it. Bags in hand the lot scurried to get out of the lobby and back to the getaway car.
Bill side stepped them all, taking care to also avoid the bodies left behind on the floor. The toe of his shoe slapped down into the spreading puddle of blood. He made a snort through his nose but didn't really care about the mess. If anything he was leaving bloody footprints across the nicely polished tiles as he lazily strolled the isle of broken desks.
“Eh! Boss.”
Bill turned around to face one of his boys running towards him from the other side of the bank. When close the man nodded his head towards Bill respectfully.
“You got my keys?” Bill asked. The man jutted a thumb over his shoulder towards the offices.
“Locked up with the others.”
“Then let's get on with it. We ain't got all day.” Bill marched passed, aware that they had precious time now that they cops were at their door step. The distraction of the getaway car would only keep the officers busy for so long.
They couldn't have been in there long, minutes, but already Dipper was starting to get a little antsy. All things considered, the last thing on his mind right then was his career prospects. Surely after today Ford wouldn't be letting him take two steps inside this bank again, not without someone being with him. That is, if he was ever allowed out of the house again. Ford was overly protective in a sense but this was going to send the man into the extreme. Dipper was not hopeful.
The small office was being crowded by almost a dozen people, too cramped together in a tight space that was hot and stale. Dipper unfastened the top button on his shirt collar and shrugged his jacket to the floor. The knot on his tie was wiggle loose. If he was going to be trapped here, he might as well be comfortable. He already knew he wasn't walking away from this with a job. Looking presentable wasn't his problem now.
Dipper rolled up his sleeves to the elbows and stood pressed to the back wall trying to stay out of the way as much as possible. Mr. Northwest had bullies his way into the desk chair nearby. He was still muttering away, offended and flustered. The old man's face was beet red and sweat heavy along the brow bone. He looked like an angry tomato with his face pulled into a tightly wrinkled frown. Dipper tried not to snort on a laugh. It didn't feel appropriately timed. Later, once the police were to come save them all, he could laugh about all this then.
Dipper rubbed at his forehead, messing up what had been neatly styled bangs. The heat of the room was so strong that it had started to melt the cheap pomade holding his curly hair in place. Brown strands were falling free, tickling his eyes when he dipped his chin low or shook his head.
Those short minutes had passed like hours but the door was being opened again all too soon. The small crowd backed away from the door as it swung inward without warning. They all gasped and coward together for protection. Even Dipper tucked himself further into the corner, trying to look small and unimportant. More of Ford's words of wisdom were repeating in his head, reminding him that if he wanted to stay safe he needed to be unassuming and compliant. Don't give anyone a reason to turn on you. Keep your head down and all that jazz.
Dipper managed it for a good five whole second before he was looking up to see the man stepping through the doorway. It wasn't the robber who put them in there, but someone else entirely. Dipper's mouth fell open slightly as he could half recognizing the man from descriptions in the papers. Other than the odd detail, he was simply truck by the man's general appearance and aura of power. A tall, impressive figure that stood with his head high and mighty.
Just as the papers said, the man's suit was expensive and expertly tailored, black with a subtle gold pin stripe. He was blonde with a healthy tan. As handsome as the gossip mags claimed, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline. A tall nose and keen brows. One of them pulled up in a questioning expression as he surveyed the room with his one blue eye. Bill Cipher, gang leader, criminal, a menace to society. Dipper gasped to take in a breath of air but felt it get cut off in his throat.
Even when seemingly unarmed, the man entered the room with such an air of confidence and threat that he didn't need to be holding a weapon to demand attention and compliance. To prove that point, both of his hands were casually slipped inside his trouser pockets. His chin rose and he made a small gesture towards the back of the room where Dipper stood, but it wasn't him he was looking at. The crowd parted to either side to get out of his line of sight. Mr. Northwest pushed back in the desk chair, central to Cipher's attention. Dipper stiffened, happening to be close enough to feel the heat of the man's single eye, even if it wasn't turned on him.
“Afternoon, gentlemen.” Bill addressed them, smiling politely. Then he nodded his head to the crowd and added, “Ladies.”
Mr. Northwest was on his feet, pretending to not be a coward like those around him. He slapped his hand down on the table.
“I demand to know what is happening here.”
Bill cocked his head and gave the man a once over. What was happening seemed to be pretty obvious to everyone else.
“I take it, you're the manager of this fine establishment.”
“I am, yes.” Mr. Northwest nodded his head.
There was a clear snort from Bill but his smile didn't look any less amused.
“Well, Sir,” he said smoothly. “You'll be coming with me then.”
Dipper shifted away slowly. The movement was minuscule, barely an inch before his back was hitting the wall with barely a thud. It had been, however, just enough to draw the attention of that hard blue eye. He still immediately as the criminal cocked his head to the side, a clear sign that he was now looking directly at Dipper. Their eyes met because Dipper didn't know where else to look. He took in each little feature of the man's face, memorizing the change in his amused expression. It cracked with something thoughtful before that single blue eye trailed down the length of Dipper's body. The look lit a fire under his skin and Dipper shivered with the feeling of phantom fingertips trailing down his spine.
The short distance between them could have easily been nothing, putting them hip to hip or chest to chest, enough that Dipper could imagined breath on his cheek and a warm pair of lips graze his temple as Bill smiled at him. Bill licked the front of his teeth, lost in thought. Dipper almost mimicked the gesture. His own tongue passing over his upper lip.
Bill slipped a hand from his pocket and pointed it directly at Dipper.
“You too, kid.”