Work Text:
Dipper isn’t even sure how he got the job. He remembers being desperately broke, under-caffeinated, over-tired, and moody, and he was about 75% sure that he was wearing one of Mabel’s sweaters when he walked up to the coffee counter, stared at who he assumed was a manager and flat-out asked for a job. He thinks they threw the apron in his face and told him to show up the next morning. Again, he couldn’t remember. All he knows is that it was the most unprofessional way he’s ever acquired a job and has no idea what made management think he would be any good at making coffee.
Dipper is, in fact, terrible at making coffee. Personally, he can make himself a decent drink, but that took years of discovering his own taste buds (i.e. rejecting said taste buds by making the coffee scalding hot enough that it had no distinguishable taste). These people though, from teenagers to exhausted adults to the occasional kid with a misguided sweet tooth, he had no idea. Sure, there were recipes to follow, pretty standard by the book but for whatever reason Dipper is shit at measuring. He’s pretty sure he gave his first-ever customer hot sugar water. He can’t remember whether or not he added whipped cream. All he knows is that Bill, his asshole of a co-worker, had laughed to the extent of scaring off all the customers in the shop. Despite the fact that he was being laughed at, Dipper hadn’t really minded if it meant an empty shop and no demanding customers.
Thus, he’s usually on clean up and, every once in a great while, Dipper will have to make a single black coffee for some poor customer. Bill, again, always finds this hilarious.
“I think I got it right that time,” Dipper admits, unable to stop the hope that blooms in his chest that maybe, just maybe, he’s got this coffee thing down. Bill scrolls through his phone and points at the lady with a pinched face, not even bothering to lower his voice.
“You gave it to the wrong one, Pine Tree.” Dipper’s name tag reads Dipper. He always makes sure to check it. Bill never bothers.
Wrinkling his nose in distaste at both the nickname and the accusation Dipper looks around for the woman he did give the coffee to and, sure enough, she’s pursing her lips and glaring down at her coffee cup. Dipper squats to hide from customer view, putting him at eye level to Bill’s knees.
“You’re already short enough, don’t you think?” And no, Dipper does not think. Dipper is not short. Bill is just unreasonably long both torso and leg-wise. Also his fingers. His fingers are also very long and...his nose! Yeah. He’s got a funny nose. Said nose crinkles up in annoyance when both women come up to the counter to complain.
Dipper half expects Bill to yank him up and throw him to the rabid customers. Instead, he smiles with his teeth and produces the correct orders out of nowhere. Dipper notices a small splotch of dried mocha on Bill’s dark jeans. He tentatively reaches out to scratch it off.
He just really hates Bill.
“Hey, kid, you’re pretty and everything but this is a little unprofessional,” Bill quips, noticing Dipper’s finger on his upper thigh. Dipper splutters, yanking his hand away and glaring up at Bill’s annoyingly angular face.
“You had coffee on your pants!”
“I don’t see anything.”
“I just- you’re so- not anymore! You saw me scratch it off!”
“Mmm, didn’t really see anything from up here Pine Tree, but I sure did feel it.”
Dipper’s cheeks heat up once more, straightening out so fast and uncoordinated that he bangs the top of his head on the bottom of the counter. Hissing in pain he clutches at his head and glares at an ever-amused Bill.
“I quit,” Dipper grumbles, and bends to brush dirt and crushed coffee beans off his knees.
“Your break ends in 30,” Bill says dismissively, not putting any weight to Dipper’s words as he turns back to the register, a sly, somewhat charming smile plastered on his stupid face.
Dipper’s left eye twitches in annoyance and he openly takes a chocolate chip muffin from the fresh batch rather than the morning’s. Bill doesn’t say anything, just grins wider.
Bill, as stupidly annoying both appearance and personality wise, always lets Dipper get away with shit. He doesn’t go and tattle to the nearest manager and always seems to know how to fix Dipper’s problems before they get to catastrophic lengths. He also always gives away his own break time to Dipper. Though it’s a nonverbal privilege as he’s never heard Bill outright admit this, all he knows is that Bill never goes on break. Never. And Dipper is well versed enough in the standard 15-minute break time for workers over the age of 18, yet Bill is always the one dismissing him and no one says anything when Dipper returns in 30.
Bill, in a weird way, is probably the best coworker Dipper has ever had.
But he’s also the worst. Because he’s Bill.
He’s on his break with Wendy, a cool red-haired chick who Dipper is kind of in love with. But he’s chill and plays it cool.
“Hey there! You’re on break and I’m also on break! Break buddies!” Nice, he sounded like Mabel. Dipper cringes a bit and settles down across from Wendy, grateful that she doesn’t even bat an eye at his mouth garbage and instead reaches out a fist for a fist bump. Dipper glady takes the out and shoves a good half of his muffin into his mouth.
“For now,” Wendy concedes, looking down at her phone with a frown. Then, quick as a flip, she straightens out with a grin and a snap of her fingers. “Oh, hey! Do you think you could put a good word into the boss for me? Maybe score me longer break times like you have?”
Dipper stares, mouth open and muffin crumbling down his shirt. Hastily he snaps his mouth shut, trying to process the bizarre request.
“Uh, Wendy? I haven’t met the boss. Is he in today? Oh God, did he see me mess up that coffee order? Did he see me grab the muffin?” Dipper panics and tries to hide his crime by tossing the remains of the muffin in the trash nearby. He misses and ends up making a muffin mess on the break room floor.
Wendy, looking perplexed by his anxiety just laughs and very purposely misses the bin herself when she aims to toss away her sandwich wrapper.
“Did you bump your head again or something?”
Dipper’s not paying attention, he’s too busy trying to scoop up his muffin crumbs into his hands, kneeling on the floor, and just not having a good day. He knew Bill looked too happy today. He must’ve known the owner was in and was trying and succeeding in getting Dipper fired. All while making himself look like the perfect employee!
“I am so fired,” he says pitifully, shoulders sagging. Wendy, seeming to sense that Dipper’s dramatics were genuine, knelt down next to him, gently bumping her shoulder to his.
“Nah, Bill likes you too much for that.” Bill? What does it matter if Bill likes him? Unless …
Dipper feels his cheeks go hot, and stands up. Figures that jerk wouldn’t have told him. After all this time! He should’ve guessed that Bill was related to the owner in some way, what with all of his goofing off and casual authority. Bill was no run-of-the-mill coworker and now Dipper’s job depended on whether or not Bill found him amusing or not.
Groaning loudly he rubs his face, shoulders slumping in defeat, and says, “Should I quit? Just end it while I can?” Wendy laughs again, shoving her uniform hat on and pulling Dipper’s down over his eyes.
“Maybe. Just don’t go throwing your apron at customers when you do it, otherwise said customers will think they can show up the next day as if they work here.”
“When did that happen?”
“Uh? When Robbie quit and you got hired? Only you didn’t get hired. You just showed up and everybody liked you enough to keep you around? It was pretty ballsy, but we all gave you major respect for it. Especially Bill.”
What is his life? That couldn’t have been what happened. There’s no way an actual working establishment would let some kid off the streets into their shop and work just because…
Though that’s kind of what happened, isn’t it? Dipper didn’t fill out a resume, he didn’t go to an interview, and he sure as heck knows next to nothing about coffee making.
“I…”
“It’s funny how dumb you are!”
Dipper startles, whipping his head around and staring at Bill who pointedly gestures to Wendy to the exit. Grinning widely she just waves goodbye and leaves, abandoning him.
“Pine Tree, don’t tell me you got a thing for Red? We’ve got a strict no-dating policy for the workers,” Bill practically coos. Dipper blinks rapidly and starts to shake his head while also sputtering denials and assuring Bill that he knows the rules. Not that any of that sticks, what with Dipper’s face getting progressively more red the more Bill stares. Except this stare is decidedly less amused and more annoyed. It’s a shock to his core when he realizes that he’s seen Bill annoyed plenty of times but rarely at him.
It makes his brain reboot, trying desperately to rewind and think of anything that might have brought it on.
“I am not dating Wendy,” he says sternly, meeting Bill’s look of disdain head-on.
“No?” Bill asks, not kindly. “But you have … feelings .”
“She’s my friend.”
“Mmhm. I’m gonna fire her.” What.
“What!” Dipper stands quickly, taking his hat off so he can pull at his hair effectively because what?
“You can’t! You… you can’t,” he says because Bill can’t. Bill’s not the boss, he’s just related to the boss, Surely the owner wouldn’t … the owner.
The owner, Bill.
Bill’s the boss. “You’re my boss,” Dipper says, feeling a headache coming on because now he has to reevaluate everything. Because Bill's his boss. Bill, who single-handedly witnesses every mistake Dipper has ever made and who has been sassed by Dipper nearly every shift. Bill hasn't fired him yet.
Instead, he threatened to fire Wendy. Wendy actually knows how to make coffee and listens to her employer, Wendy who was legitimately hired and interviewed.
“Why haven't you fired me?” Dipper asks because that's just… very important information to know.
Bill tilts his head at an angle that has to hurt his neck before loudly guffawing.
“I never hired ya!” Dipper stares at him helplessly, recognizing Bill’s attempt to avoid answering the question.
“You pay me,” he says, pointing accusingly and Bill’s back to making loud, annoying sounds with his mouth that are probably supposed to convey that Dipper’s the one being ridiculous.
“Well I also charge you when you break stuff,” Bill settles on saying, hands on his hips and looking rather triumphant. Except…
“No. No, you don’t?” Never once has Dipper noticed anything of the sort, in fact, he remembers recently earning a raise of fifty cents just a week ago. At the time it baffled him but he figured it had something to do with the duration he’s been there. Now though, with this new knowledge of Bill being the one who…
Dipper clears his throat, hesitantly putting his hat back on.
“Why haven’t you fired me?” Bill just stands there, and Dipper is disturbed at how Bill seems to be floundering on the spot. It is such a wildly uncharacteristic moment that Dipper too feels like he’s a fish out of water. Both of them just standing in a small, cramped break room and staring at one another.
Finally, Bill seems to get his feet out from under him, because he’s laughing like Dipper just told a joke, and he strides forward to give Dipper’s shoulder a jovial shake.
“Same reason you haven’t quit!” And Bill hightails it out of there, the swinging door moving rapidly in the aftermath of his departure. Dipper blinks a couple of times, feeling a pulsing headache form. Same reason he hasn’t quit? The money, for starters. Dipper isn’t unaware, he knows Bill must be losing some money in keeping him employed. Is he trying to claim insurance? Waiting patiently for the day Dipper sets the place on fire? No. He wouldn’t put it past Bill to just set his own fire.
So…Dipper ducks his head, his face feeling hot, and the edges of his eyes burn at the intensity of his embarrassment. Regardless of Bill’s reasonings, he can’t imagine going out there and acting like he has been. But how else should he act? He can’t-
Bill strides in again, chest puffed out and face stern.
“The only way you get out of this place is if you quit,” Bill states, no hint of teasing or animosity on his face, “and then after that, you’re never getting rid of me.” And just as quickly as he entered, he was gone. And was he just threatened? By his boss?
Dipper swallows, running his tongue along his teeth, and tastes the aftermath of his chocolate muffin. He remembers now how much chocolate chips he saw Bill pour into that batch of batter. He had secretly relished in how Bill wasn’t perfect at everything in the shop. He thinks now, in his moment of alarming clarity, that Bill probably did that on purpose. Dipper walks out of the breakroom in a daze, absent-mindedly thinking of getting a new job.