( Someone wanted a Harly Quinn and Joker themed short, so this is what I came up with. Oh, and someone else what's another story, so's that will be a thing soon)

He struggles to keep a straight face as he walks down the cold, blank, white, lifeless. Anxiously, Dipper pulls at the sleeves of his white lab coat. The bright lights annoyingly flicker on and off, needing to be fixed. The two guards in front of him look anxious, sweating, hearts beating faster and faster as the reach closer to a door and what is locked insider hat door is a madman.

"Your scared," Dipper says in a calm voice.

The guards stop, shifting impatiently." You would be too," he says in a raspy voice.

"He's a madman. He drove the last doctors to insanity. The last one jumped off the roof of this very building a week ago after just one hour with him," the other says, licking the sweat from his cracking lips. Both trembling.

"How long did first one last?" Dipper asks innocently titling his head to the side.

"Three months," the first of the two said with a lump in his throat.

Suddenly, a loud laugh left Dipper's lips, then, quickly covers it with his hand. Clearing his throat, the young doctor regains his composure, but still smiling softly." Then I guess I'll have to last longer then the other guy," he says, making the both men's breath hitch." Now open the door. I'm ready to see my patient," he hums.

The guards share a look, unaware that the whole time, Dipper has been watching them closely. After punching in the code, both guards step to the side, allowing Dipper to pier into the dark room from where he stands.

Without hesitation, Dipper walks into the dark room, doors making a loud sound when they slid closed. Taking a deep breath, Dipper let his shoulders fall, let his mask of confidence fault his feet. He was terrified, yet excited when his great uncle came to him with this job offer, but people only need to see the mask.

"Hello there," a bubbly voice calls out to him from the shadows. The room is almost pitch black, only a smile light came from the center of the room, barley could anyone see what lurks in the corners. "You're new," he chuckles.

"I am," Dipper says while walking over the bed. "It's nice to meet you Mr. Cipher," he calmly greats.

Bill Cipher. This madman people call him. This man was responsible for killing hundreds. A king is what the criminals call him. He sits on gold thrown, bathed in blood. Heroes feared to fight him, yet here his sits. Helpless people of all kinds made deals with him even if it ended badly, even if the risk of them being wrong was 85%.  

"How many dose that make? What number am I?" Dipper asks as he sits himself down in the chair beside the bed that Bill is strapped to. Trying to stay calm.

"I've been here for a year. You're the 15th," he chuckles.

"If it was the twelfth, it would have been my lucky number," Dipper smiles.

A dark chuckle leaves Bill," your interesting," he coos, grinning wildly at him.

"And you're insane,". Dipper comments, pulling out a pen and small notebook out from his pocket. " let's get started."

"Let's," he agrees, landing forward.

*

"Do you think you can fix me?" Bill joyfully chuckles, leaning playfully onto the palm of his hand while he sat cross legged in the chair. Dipper sits across from him, got ting down notes of Bill's behavior.

A thoughtful hum leaves Dipper's throat as he looks up from the notepad with a soft smile. "That's what I'm here for," he teases gently.

"Are you afraid Pinetree?" Bill whispers seductively, his fingers curling into the table as he crawls forward with a crazed, toothy smile.

"I'm trembling," Dipper leans in close, smiling.

The month came and went fast. Not once did Bill try to drive the young doctor to madness. The lad is very interesting— in a good way. A very good way.

The boy was not what Bill had expected. He's nice, treats Bill well, sometimes sneaks him cookies. The boy is sweet, nothing like his uncle that Bill once knew well. The small and frequent visits is something he never thought to be enjoyable other then driving the others to insanity.

"How have you been feeling lately?" The young doctor asks as he looks up once more with his big doe eyes.

Bill draws back. Lazily, he leans back in his chair. "A lot better, now that your here," he coos. A soft giggle leaves the doctor pines as a light pink pouters his pale cheeks. Adorable.

Swiftly, Dipper regains his prefrontal mask." You're so sweet," he cheeps. "But how is your do you think you'd act with others in a populated place?" He asks hopefully.

"Depends," Bill says coldly, yet the smirk that stretches across his lips is warm; wanting to kiss the lips of the young man in front of him.

Dipper's eyes move down the notepad, jotting down what he previously said. "The others think you should try talking with others of your— mental state. Would you consider it?" He asks.

Bill pretends to think for a moment, putting on and act for his lovely little plaything. He had found himself a toy— one that must, and will, be taken care of carefully, tenderly, sweetly. If playing his cards will win him this beauty. He'd do it— will do it.

"Of course!" He chimes excitedly." It's been a while since I talked to anyone. I'd love to!" He cheers, leaping from his chair with much thrill.

A concerned smile is on Dipper as he nods, writing down in his little notebook. "Well, there's a meeting tomorrow if you wanna go?" He says.

"Yes, I would," Bill teases, leaning on his palm, smiling.

"Great," he smiles.

*

Dipper's heart spend, never had he felt his chest ache when he was with Bill, it's recent, and oh did it hurt. It hurts so good.

As he walks out of the room that which belongs to the killer Bill Cipher. He must be a tired. No way his heart was beating for a killer. It can't be. No. Tightly he hugs his pillow  to his chest as he sits in his room, waiting for dinner. Ford came in earlier to ask about Bill. Dipper was terrified when he asked, his heart pounding when he handed over his notes to his great uncle.

"Dipper! Time for dinner," Mabel cheers happily, bursting through the door. The smile drops from her face as she looks at her tense little brother." Are you ok?" She asks softly, walking consciously up to him.

He shakes his head." I think I need a vacation," he says flatly. Squeezing tighter around the pillow.

*

The next day, doctor Pines didn't come in, or the next day after that. Bill even went to went to that stupid meeting. If the doctor, he's very interested in, doesn't show up the next day, he might kill a man. Might.

And he didn't, Dipper didn't come into work and that's when Bill got tired of dealing with other doctors— other patients. In a result, Bill smashed a glass of water over another's head. Then, bursting out laughing at the pain.

Dipper came in the neck day, afraid of what he had left too. Bill didn't talk a single time when Dipper entires the room." Bill, are you alright?" He asks in a shaky tone. Bill smiles, just smiles as Dipper slowly steps forward to the bed. "Please talk to me," he asks, taking a seat on the chair next to the bed. "You were doing so well."

A dark chuckle leaves Bill. Still not saying a word. A lump sat in Dipper's throat, cheeks inappropriately blushing right now. Bill, playing, tilts his head to the side, and his finger gesturing toward him. Curiously, Dipper leans forward. Bill has no weapons, any subbed moves will alarm the guards, even with no cameras in his room anymore. For reasons.

A sudden, sharp gasp leaves Dipper wanks him forward by the collar, kissing him. His eyes widen, as Bill bites his lip. Hard. It bleeding, making him pull away fast; falling backwards onto the floor, hand gripping his chest, and bright cheeks lighting his face. "I have to go," he stutters, heart racing as he sprints out of the room.

The officers try to stop him, but his small figure slips past them. Them stopping when they see the blood dripping from his mouth. He has to quit. It's not good for his heart, Bill wasn't good for his heart. This isn't Batman! Bill isn't the joker, Dipper isn't Harly Quinn. If Bill wasn't a psychopath he'd be Dipper's type, but he doesn't find a thrill in hurting people, he took this job to help people.

Maybe Stan was right? Maybe he was to young to take a job like this when so young. He just turned 20 a few months ago. Even with all his extra studies with his great uncle, his stupid young people hormones, he feels things he hates himself for. He has to quit, before something wrong happens.

He's not pulling a Harly Quinn.