Chapter Text
Dipper
“Ready for our science test?” Caleb asked.
“We’re going to math,” I replied.
“Yeah, but we’re not taking any tests.”
“Fair enough. Yeah, I’m ready. I’m more worried about whatever Mabel’s doing to . . . you know, I’m not sure if she’s celebrating my tests or making consolation prizes. Either way, I’m pretty sure it’s just her way to vent her own stress at these tests.”
Our conversation ended as we reached the classroom. It was a normal math class: turn in homework, shrink under the unwavering gaze of Mr. Vamanos, rise like a sprout when/if he smiled at you. I looked at our work for the day. Logically, it couldn’t hurt me. They were only pictures. Besides, Rhonda, Caleb, and Liam–and sometimes Thomas–took turns sitting with me and sitting with Gia and Shawn during lunch, and we even had a DD&MD game going on. Sure, it hurt that Gia and Shawn were upset at something that wasn’t my fault, but I had friends, I had Mabel, and yeah, I had a lot of moments of panic, but they were just that–moments. Never mind that I jumped at the slightest sound and half the time couldn’t sleep despite taking as much melatonin as possible.
It can’t hurt you. Yet the equation (not that equation, this is a normal one) haunted me with its diagram, that of a triangle. It warped before me into a yellow thing wearing a top hat, strangling me and laughing madly.
My pencil clattered to the floor and I realized that my fingers visibly trembled. I didn’t pick it up.
You’ve seen what I did to your great uncle. Want to know how it feels?
Or! Or! Or! How about this?
I know your mind even better than you do at this point, Pinetree!
I’ll never leave you now!
You never stopped agreeing to give me a puppet.
Stuck with me forever.
Your sister doesn’t love you.
“Dipper? Are you alright?” Mr. Vamanos queried.
“I . . . I have to go,” I heard myself say, my voice seeming detached from my body. My breaths came in short bursts. Everything seemed detached, numb. I dashed out the door before the teacher could stop me.
Empty hallways. He’d come when no one’s around. Find somewhere safe.
Everything was too much. I couldn’t feel anything but the chains and the lashings and the hurt and the tightness in my chest and I couldn’t hear anything but the ringing in my ears and a maniacal cackle and
nowhere was safe, nothing was fine, Mabel
come help me, I need you.
I stepped on something that dug into my foot and pulled myself to higher ground despite my slim arms being weak with fear. I wasn’t sure where I was, but I wasn’t where I was first scared, so this was better. I rocked back and forth, cradling my knees. I realized I was whispering to myself. “He’s after me, he’s after me, he’s after me.”
“Dipper?” The word didn’t pierce the fog clouding my brain. “Dipper, what’s wrong?”
He’s after me he’s after me he’s after me help please stop he’s after me he’s after me he’s after me help please help make him stop he’ll hurt them he’ll hurt them he’ll hurt you.
More voices, but they blurred together and I paid no attention. None of them were helping or running away. Didn’t they know to run? Bill was after them, he was after everyone. He’s after me he’s after me he’s after me he’ll hurt them he’ll hurt them he’ll hurt them.
“Let me go up there,” a voice said, but this one wasn’t like the others. This was a comforting rock, a solid, anchoring presence. My breathing slowed just hearing it. I heard clatters, and felt a hand on my shoulder. I was still whispering– he’s after me he’s after me he’s after me. “He’s not after you, Dipper,” Mabel murmured. “He’s gone. We kicked him out, remember?”
I leaned into her and she wrapped her arm around my shoulders. The words stuck on repeat. “He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.”
“Yeah, gone. You’re gonna be okay.” She pulled me into a tighter embrace. Tears slipped down my cheeks, and I had enough function left to be embarrassed. She rubbed my back. “Do you need to go home?”
I opened my mouth to deny it, to say that I would be fine. But nothing came out. Why can’t I be strong enough?
“I’m sure the teachers will be fine with it.” Her voice continued to be a soothing balm.
“I bet they’ve already called Mom and Dad,” I forced myself to say, sniffling and snickering simultaneously.
Mabel laughed. “Yeah, probably. But it really is okay if you’re too bzzz-ch-changy to do another four hours of school.”
I looked at my shaking hands. “Yeah, I’m not sure I’m up to it.”
“Hey, can we get a chair or a stool or something?” Mabel called. It occurred to me that, in my panic, I’d made it to the top of the lockers. We’d had our entire conversation sitting atop the lockers, and I hadn’t noticed.
It’s not as if I hadn’t seen any triangles since the whole . . . fiasco. It was impossible to avoid all triangles forever, and would be silly of me to try. After all, most roofs were in that shape. It wasn’t my first panic attack either (or maybe it was an anxiety attack? I always got those two mixed up. I should Google it later) but it was the first time it happened so publicly. I rested my head on the car window, wishing I could be better, good enough to not need to go home. Mabel sat across from me. She simply told the others, “He needs me.” And I was glad. Without her, I would have fallen apart at all the confused, concerned glances Mom sent my way. I definitely would have when she sat the two of us down on the couch and declared we needed to talk.
“Your teachers said you had some sort of panic attack and ran out of math class,” she said, “Dipper, you’re not being bullied again, are you?”
I shook my head. “They usually leave me alone now that I have friends.”
And since Pacifica scared them off.
“You’ve been acting distant since . . . since around the time you came home from your great uncles, and it only got worse after the second time you went. Did something happen there?”
I shook my head again, my stomach squeezing with the guilt of the lie.
She sighed. “I just want to make sure everything’s alright. I know it can’t be, because of your panic attack and such, and I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m helping with.”
You can’t help anyway. No one can, not really. Can you erase those two months? Even if you could, would it be worth the cost? “I want to tell you, but I don’t think I have the words,” I said carefully.
“Well, tell me if you ever do think up the words.” She hesitated. “Look, I know you two want to go back to your uncles’ place this summer, but I’m not sure you should.”
“What?” I cried.
“But Mom!” Mabel protested.
Mom cut her off. “You just said nothing happened there, and I don’t know if you’re hiding something or telling the truth, but you didn’t act like this until after you went there. I know you love it, but maybe it’s for the best.”
“You’re talking about it like it’s final,” I observed.
“My best friends are there!” Mabel exclaimed.
“Yeah! And the first friends I ever made!” I added.
“I’ll think about it,” Mom said.
It looked like that’s the best we were going to get. We went upstairs and I went to Mabel’s room instead of my own. I set my backpack down and reached for my textbooks. I’d try to push through this jittery, numb feeling, as well as that of being betrayed by my own mind. It wasn’t quite as bad as immediately after either Bipper incident, where everything felt violated and dirty and scattered–though come to think of it, I’d kind of felt that way since Bill had been kicked out back in December. It was hard to believe that it was March. Even harder to believe that we might not go back to Gravity Falls in a couple months. I’d been semi-content in the time that Bill hadn’t been invading my brain, but there had always been this pull, this longing, for what we’d left behind–for who we’d left behind especially. Mabel didn’t talk about it, but I knew she felt it too. She loved her friends here, but none of them really got her like Candy and Grenda. I’d just die if we couldn’t go back, but how could we convince Mom that we should go back?
“Want help with your math homework?” Mabel queried. “I picked all your homework up for you.”
“Thanks,” I replied, “yeah.”
We’d created a system for math homework with triangles: Mabel would read the equation out to me, I’d write it out and solve it on a different piece of paper, and once we’d done all the problems, I would staple the paper with the process to the original and quickly jot down the answers (on the original) to minimize the amount of time spent staring at shapes that reminded me of the world ending and chains and can you stop with the evil laughter? It’s getting on my nerves.
Once we finished, I said, “So how should we convince Mom that we should go back?”
Mabel frowned. “I don’t know. Especially since she’s not exactly wrong, is she?”
I looked away. “No, she’s not. But we have to go back. I’m sure we can think of something.”
“Yeah. Give us a day and I’m sure we’ll come up with a gajillion and one ideas!” She declared, but it seemed like a halfhearted declaration. I wondered if something else was bothering her. She was the champion of unwavering faith and optimism, after all.
“That’s not a real number,” I replied, needing to uphold my persnickety brother status. She blew a raspberry at me. She’s bounced back to full energy. I bet she’s just nervous at the idea of not going back to Gravity Falls.
I’m sure everything is fine.