Chapter Four – Our Love Is God

Dipper woke up early as always, with a splitting headache and aching muscles. The light coming through the window to his left stung his eyes and made his head hurt more. It took him a moment to realize where he was, what he was doing there, and who he was with. His heart skipped a beat while he looked around and didn't see his room. He didn't recognize the place, but relaxed again when his eyes fell on Bill, who was sleeping next to him. He remembered then, he was in Bill's room, right. The clock read 9:34am and Bill kept snoring. His head hurt as he tried to recall the events of the previous night.

As memories unwound in his head, his heart sunk. The issue with Pacifica would have to be dealt with through groveling. But then he remembered further and a blush fell on his already blood-rushed face. He soon realized neither boys had shirt on. He didn't really want to check under the blanket to figure further. He looked at the sleeping boy again and saw how cute such a foreboding figure can become when it's resting. It brought a smile to his face.

Standing up off the bed, he began to redress in the clothes flung around and he weighed over the moral implications of just leaving without waking Bill first. But then it didn't matter, he woke up on his own with the movement of the bed being his alarm.

"What's the rush?" He said, groggy. He was rubbing his eyes as he sat up. Dipper turned while still composing himself. It was the first full look of Bill's room that he got. The room was small and mostly empty, which made sense being that he did just move in. There were very few indications of personalization except little things here and there, like the trenchcoat hanging on the bedpost.

"I've got to get to Pacifica's house." Dipper disclosed shamefully.

"What? You said you were done with Pacifica!" Bill demanded. He cared more than Dipper expected him to.

"Yeah, and that was a sweet fantasy a world without Pacifica; a world where everyone is free. But now its morning and I have to go kiss her aerobicized ass." He finished dressing and Bill looked concerned.

"No, you don't."

"Yes I do." He paused. "I'm not strong like you are." And with that, Bill rose from the bed and began dressing.

"Well, let me come with you?" Bill was already half dressed and Dipper stood stagnant. "As backup." He clarified.

"Really?" Dipper was almost amazed at the welcoming kindness. Bill nodded with a small laugh. "Thanks." He picked up the trench coat and walked closer to the shorter boy who soon after reached up and lightly pulled their heads closer. Bill had to crane his neck down a little lower for them to kiss, Dipper kept his hands around the back of the other's head while kissing him. When he fell back away out of the kiss, his momentary confidence slipped out of reach. He stifled a laugh with a thought in his head. "Um, by the way," he made awkward double-pistol-fingers and smiled wide at his own next phrase. His arms fell after a moment's hesitation. "You were my first." He blurted and patted the blonde on the chest twice. Bill shut his eyes and took a moment of smiling and processing before laughing out loud. Bill just kissed him again quickly.

Bill drove both of them to Pacifica's house in his car, an older truck that was worn in from years of use. Pacifica's house was pretty huge, a brick palace three stories tall and fitting of it's owners. It felt slightly out of place, even on the richer side of the town. They walked up to the front door and he reached to ring the doorbell, but Dipper stopped him before the button was touched. Dipper shoved his hand into his pocket and glanced at the driveway. Only one car was parked in the three-car section; a red convertible Dipper grew to hate.

"Her parents aren't home," Dipper said pulling out a set of keys, each marked a colored line – one green, one yellow, and one red. He grabbed hold of the red one in his fingers. "We can just invite ourselves. She gave me these keys, so."

"I feel like that's something she should have taken from you before you left her last night." Bill remarked and Dipper unlocked the door.

"I guess, but come on. What's the worst I'll do with her key? We're not coming here to kill her or anything." Dipper retorted and pushed open the door and entered. Bill stood in the doorway for a minute, admiring the sheer size of the home before him. He entered and shut the door behind him, the wind of the shutting door swaying his trenchcoat like a cape as he walked. "Pacifica? ... Pacifica?"

"Whaaaat?" Pacifica called back sounding annoyed by another's presence. Dipper followed the voice into the living room, which connected with an open kitchen. The blonde girl was slumped on the couch in a silk bathrobe nursing a hangover that he could already tell was much worse than his.

"It's Dipper. I'm here to apologize." His words came out a little whimpered. Bill took his time coming in behind the boy; he was strolling slowly and looking over everything – the high ceiling and chandelier in the foyer, the pool table to the right of the door, and elegant dining room to the left. He admired it all with an overwhelmed intimidation.

Pacifica pulled herself upright. "I hope you brought kneepads, bitch." She spat. She didn't notice Bill yet. "Fix me a prairie oyster and I'll consider it."

Bill cut through the dining room to the kitchen, which extended and flowed into the living room eventually. Dipper joined him there and Bill handed him a white mug he found on the granite countertop. "Thanks but what's in one of those? I know there's raw eye and vinegar but-"

"Hot sauce, Worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper." Bill cut in listing ingredients while searching.

Dipper began looking as well. "You sure know your hangover cures..."

Bill shrugged. "One of the few things my old man taught me well." Soon enough they compiled the disgusting ingredients. They put them all together in a cup and Dipper grimaced before getting an idea.

"Do you think she'd notice if I spit in it?" Dipper said quietly. Bill shook his head, still shuffling through cabinets for a reason Dipper couldn't place. "I'm gonna do it." He reeled up saliva and mucus and spit it into the cup. "Ew. Good revenge, right?" He laughed at his own joke.

Bill stood up from the squatting position of searching with a clear bottle full of blue liquid that said 'drain cleaner.' "I'm more of a no-rust-build-up guy myself." He swirled the liquid around in its container. His eyes were near the shade of blue of the chemical contents, bright and edging on neon. Dipper shoved him lightly with one hand.

"Don't be a dick, that stuff would kill her." He argued.

"And thus, ending her hangover!" Bill sang, pouring the chemicals into a clear cup. The entire contents drained until it was empty. "I say we go with big blue."

Dipper chuckled, but his smile slowly faded over their conversation. "She'd never drink something that looked like that."

"Right." Bill reached for another white mug and dumped the contents into it. "So we put it in a mug, she won't have any idea what she's drinking!" Everything he said was coated in sarcasm and playing but Dipper didn't find it funny. At first he laughed but the persistence got to him.

"Forget it."

"Are you a chicken?" Bill bent a little to have their faces on equal levels, making little chicken noises. He set the mug down on the counter. Dipper's face contorted.

"No, you're not funny." He backed away and stood to the side for a moment, Bill realized he pushed him too far.

He reached for his hand and walked towards him, their faces close together. "Hey, it was a joke. I'm sorry." Bill kissed him and Dipper took a moment to kiss back, but then they stood there, lips locked.

"Come on!" Pacifica shrieked from the couch. She was slumped under a blanket and half of her limbs her hanging off the cushions. Dipper backed off of Bill and grabbed a mug, turning towards Pacifica. He turned towards the living room. Bill looked into the remaining cup.

"Dipper."

The brunette stopped in his place and turned back to Bill. "What?"

Bill hesitated, and then shut his mouth once again. "Nevermind." Dipper went back to walking. Bill stayed back for a minute, sighing. He looked back at the remaining mug and then to Dipper as he paced away.

The two boys eventually both made it to the living room, Pacifica rose from her laying position and sat with her legs crossed. Her makeup was smeared from the night before and her hair was a mess, but even still she was relatively stunning.

"Aw Veronica and Jesse James. Quelle surprise." She hissed. Bill stayed a distance behind Dipper. "Well, let's get to it. Beg."

"Um, ok." Dipper began. He spoke slowly. "I think we both said a lot of things that we didn't really mean last night and-" He was cut off by the queen bee.

"Oh, I would actually prefer you on your knees. In front of your boy toy here."

Dipper stayed upright. "Anyway I'm really sorry." Her cackling cut him off. Her laughing echoed that of a witch.

"Do I look like I'm kidding, ha ha." Her words were acidic. "Down."

Dipper glanced behind him at the blonde boy with pleading eyes and he turned away. Bill had enough respect for him to not want to embarrass him further by watching the humiliating spectacle. Dipper knelt down and stayed speechless.

"That's better." Pacifica rose from the couch like a queen from a thrown, stepping onto a balcony to witness a public execution she called on. From below she looked like a giant, though barely 5'5 without heels. She glared down at him. "But you're still dead to me." She ripped the mug from his hands, he didn't realize that he was trembling, or why. She took a sip and Bill stopped staring into space.

Pacifica swallowed a gulp, then a moment later she reached for her own throat, gagging and gasping for breath. She put the mug down on the ottoman and fell forward, her knees buckling as she coughed roughly. Bot Dipper and Bill stood there with wide, shocked expressions. It took Dipper some time to finally spring upright and hold the girl, who leeched her arms around his shoulders and slumped down. She fell to the ground, out of his grip and hit the floor, her hand pulling on his pant leg, and then he realized her chest wasn't moving, there was no breathing. There was no life.

Both boys stood in an astonished silence for what felt like forever. "Holy shit..." Bill muttered. Dipper pushed her immobile hand off of his clothes, the limb dropped to the floor with a small thud. Dipper leaned over the ottoman, trying to keep vomit down his throat for the second time in 12 hours. Bill took his spot over the frozen girl, squatting above her and analyzing the situation. Dipper stared down into the white mug and just then realized the contents were blue.

"Oh my god... Oh my god!" He yelled, pushing himself back upright and flinging himself down next to Pacifica, shoving Bill to the side in the process. "Don't just stand there, call 911!" He put his hands on her shoulders and tried to shake her back to consciousness to no avail. She was dead and he knew it.

"It's a little late for that." Bill admitted, through Dipper's shouting of the girl's name.

"Pacifica? Pacifica?!" He knelt on the floor with his knees close to his chest and his hair slunk down over his face. He breathed heavily, obviously terrified. "Oh my god I just killed my best friend!"

"And your worst enemy."

"Same difference!" He swatted away at Bill's words. The darkly dressed boy began to search the area as the other wailed. "The police are going to think I did this on purpose!" He slowed and backed up, sitting on his legs and running his hands through his hair. "They're going to have to send my SAT scores to San Quentin." Bill filed through magazines and makeup scattered about before coming across ample 'evidence' for their crime scene.

"Unless... Oh, look! She was reading the Bell Jar!" Bill said, mocking shock and disbelief, somewhat sarcastically. Dipper remembered that to be the semi-biographical recount of a protagonist descending into clinical depression written by, and somewhat about, Sylvia Plath. He also remembered the fact that Plath killed herself a month after publication. Bill bent down and brought the book to the dead girl's hand, wrapping her fingers around its spine.

"Oh no..." Dipper muttered.

"Oh yes..." Bill picked up a journal that was half-crushed by couch cushions and handed it to Dipper, with a pen snapped onto the rings. "You're good at forging. You can fake her handwriting. Make her sound deep." Dipper hesitantly took the book and Bill began brainstorming a suicide note. "Like this: 'I had pain in my life like Sylvia Plath. My problems, like hers, were myriad-'"

Dipper cut in with a sarcastic, heavily fake impression of Pacifica. "I was having my period!" Bill stared at him in silence for a moment. Dipper burst into laughter at his own joke. The laughter continued for longer than need be, then again any laughter in front of a dead body is more than need be. His laughing slowed until he just sat sighing, and his eyes fell back upon Pacifica and he remembered the situation. He screamed. "OH MY GOD!"

He reeled back slightly and Bill grabbed onto his shoulders. "Come on, Dipper! Do you think this is funny? You could go to jail!" Dipper nodded and Bill pulled him back to where they were. Dipper was more than glad to have Bill with him, seeing as he seemed to have a better grasp on reality at the moment, and the solemn seriousness and reasoning to keep both of them out of jail. He could tell the blonde was just as nervous as he was, but better at controlling his own emotions.

"Okay, okay." Dipper breathed deeply and tried to compose himself. "She wouldn't use myriad in a suicide note, she doesn't know that word. She, uh, she missed it on her vocab test last week."

"Then it's a badge for her failures at school. Work with me here!" Bill became more frantic, Dipper assumed it was the heat of the moment finally showing its effect on his emotions. He tried to keep himself sane so neither got in trouble, but that was easier said than done.

Dipper breathed and put the pen to the paper. He recalled Pacifica's handwriting to be bubbly yet fancy, a staple of her life in a nutshell. The letters were mostly attached to one another like cursive, but resembled print more. He knew well enough now how to write as the former queen.

"Think long and hard, what would be her last statement to a cold, uncaring world?" Bill said hesitant. He was trying to calm himself and make this seem like less of an issue. Once he could do that, both of them would be fine. His slipping emotions infuriated him, being that it was uncharacteristic compared to previous numbness. If he could stop speaking then he could go back to not showing his fear, but focusing on both the conversation and his stress made it hard.

"Uh... Dear world,"

Believe it or not, I knew about fear. I knew about loneliness. I hid behind smiles and clothes and I learned to kiss boys with my tongue.

"That's good." Bill confirmed. Dipper's handwriting was unrecognizable.

The world weighed me down like a concrete crown.

Dipper watched the body and felt like it moved. He hesitated his writing and stopped. He thought he heard her say what was written.

No one thinks a pretty girl has feelings, no one understands my insecurities. I am more than dresses and makeup. No one sees the me inside of me.

"Jesus, you're making me sound like a prick." He heard and whipped his head to the side. There was no one there, but he felt her presence.

"You alright?" Bill asked. Dipper nodded.

"Yeah I just... I thought I heard something." He looked carefully at the body and slowly went back to writing.

"Alright, just keep going. This has to be good enough to fool the cops."

Later that day, after Dipper and Bill had finished and left carefully, leaving no sign of their having been there, the body stayed stagnant. They left with Dipper still having a nagging feeling of Pacifica being around him. The cops arrived on the scene after her parents came home that night and found her dead. They read over the note after first assuming it was murder. They quickly fell for the setup of a suicide.

Dear world,

Believe it or not, I knew about fear. I knew about loneliness. I hid behind smiles and clothes and I learned to kiss boys with my tongue. The world weighed me down like a concrete crown. No one thinks a pretty girl has feelings, no one understands my insecurities. I am more than dresses and makeup. No one sees the me inside of me. No one saw past my popularity and money. Beneath all that though was a terrified girl who clung to her pillow and cried. My looks were prison bars. I'm left with a myriad of scars. No one thinks a pretty girl has feelings but I weep for all I fail to be. I've decided that I may be able to help the world by leaving.

Donate my clothes for goodwill, and donate my car to crippled kids or ghetto moms on crack. Give them my hats and shoes, and my three TV's. Find people who need things and give my things to them.

- Pacifica Northwest

School was canceled the next day in mourning. Dipper was shocked. He actually did it. He got away with murder. The thought sent sick shivers down his spine. He wanted to throw up again.

On the next day, a chilly Tuesday that left a thin sheet of frost on the grass, the students at Riverview had a moment of silence and an assembly in tribute to Pacifica Northwest. Dipper felt uncomfortable mourning with the crowd, all of which assumed they understood the situation for the most part, and they knew it to have been a suicide. He knew the truth.

Pacifica was dead but she didn't leave him. He kept seeing her in mirrors and hearing her in the wind. There had been moments where he stared right at her for a solid ten seconds before his eyes involuntarily flicked to a different spot, and she was gone again. She haunted his every waking hour; she spoke to him and stayed near him. It wasn't until midday on Tuesday that she had actually spoken to him in full, not just a passing subtle whisper. He had stuffed himself in a bathroom prior to the assembly, trying desperately to compose himself. He and Bill had come this far in their crime but his anxiety might just ruin it all.

"Nice use of myriad. I guess Mrs. H was right, vocab tests do come in handy sometimes." He heard her voice pierce the otherwise silent lavatory. His eyes flicked up from the sink he had been standing over to the mirror in front of him. There she was, alive as always, with a stream of red blood and blue chemicals mixing as they slid down her chin. His heart dropped. Her skin was paler than usual and he could swear it was tinted very slightly blue. She was still wearing the bathrobe.

He remained silent and tried to wash the insanity from his face with the sink's water. Upon looking back into the reflective surface, she was still there. He felt vomit edge at his throat. He turned around to face her completely. Only then he noticed the slight transparency of her being. He could make out the writing on the wall through her. "Oh, you didn't think you'd do away with me that easily, huh Dipper? Did you really think you could get away with murder without an ounce of consequence for it?" Her voice rose exponentially throughout the sentences. He cowered. She seemed to have grown in size as she shouted, but she flicked right back to her normal stature soon after. "Nope. Not today, not with me."

"L-Look, I'm sorry I-"

She cackled. "You're sorry? I'm dead! What kind of apology do you think will make up for that!?" He opened his mouth to respond sheepishly, but then someone entered the bathroom. Dipper turned his attention to the other student who entered, then back to Pacifica, or the void where she once stood. She had vanished. Dipper made eye contact with the confused student who only saw a boy on the verge of tears in the bathroom alone. Dipper left without a word.

An announcement for every student to shuffle into the auditorium sounded over the intercom and Dipper shoved down the halls in the crowds. He caught glimpses of her in the crowd. Everyone packed onto the seats of the auditorium and sat down, the seat directly to his right stayed vacant. Ms. Eppling walked out onto the center of the stage. It was horrendously quiet for such a packed room. He watched Pacifica follow her close behind. Squinting shut his eyes didn't help. She was still there.

There was a solid five minutes of explanation on the 'tragic suicide of Pacifica Northwest'. Dipper saw the ghost – or he assumed to be a ghost – roll her eyes and sneer then make direct, angry eye contact with him. A moment of silence followed, Pacifica spent it yelling at Dipper, then hushed again as the guidance counselor continued.

"We all misjudged Pacifica. This is the most beautiful suicide note I've ever read." Ms. Eppling cooed. "I mimeographed copies of the suicide note so you can all read her anguish and reflect." As copies were passed around, Dipper tasted bile. To see his forgery of her 'suicide note' made him physically ill. The empty seat beside him became occupied, that fact being the only distraction from his need to puke. Bill grabbed onto Dipper's hand and squeezed, sending a reassuring presence about him. The counselor began calling on people for their interpretations of the note.

"I never knew about her pain..."

"Her life had hit a rocky patch."

"Deep down she was kind, not cruel."

"She didn't mean to be a bitch."

Words of memorial spiraled through the room. Pacifica seemed to be slowly growing very happy. Ms. Eppling looked at Dipper. "Mr. Pines, you've been awfully quiet, you were close to Pacifica, weren't you?"

Dipper sank fast into his chair. Bill squeezed tighter on his hand. Pacifica stared him down, smug and smirking. Dipper's heart beat fast enough to probably kill a small horse. "Um... Maybe Pacifica realized that, in order to be happy, she had to relinquish her power and, uh, the only way to do that was death...?" He winced at his words.

"My god, look at this! We're breaking through!" The middle-aged woman cried. "Pacifica would be so proud of you!" Despite that, Pacifica didn't look it. She only scoffed, but the room of students soared into statements of reflection. The ghost-girl soon realized something. She was somehow more popular in death than in life. This fact made her ecstatic. She fluttered about the stage coming near anyone who spoke exceptional praise about her.

"What do you keep looking at?" Bill muttered. Dipper turned to him with his mouth slightly open to speak. But he decided he'd only sound insane if heexplained that he's fully hallucinating the ghost of the girl he killed. He just shook his head. "Just relax, we're fine. You don't need to be nervous." Dipper bit his lip to keep himself from yelling. How can I not be nervous?! His head screamed. How, after killing the most popular girl in school, after forging her suicide note, and being probably haunted by her, am I supposed to not be nervous? But he didn't yell. Not at Bill, not right now.

The rest of the day went on as uneventful as usual, save for Dipper's new partnership with the dead Pacifica. God knows what she is, he had no idea if she was a ghost or a delusion. He had no clue, nor did he want to. All he knew now was she was there with him, watching, listening, speaking.

But he chose to try ignoring her. She came in and out as she seemed to please. Dipper sat on a couch firmly under Bill's arm, leaning into his chest and clinging to the trench coat he had grown to love. Bill flicked through channels on the television. The local news was broadcasting Pacifica's 'suicide'. As was the basic, non-local news. 'Northwest Commits Suicide' was plastered on every channel they came across. It was if he couldn't escape her. Bill just flicked the screen off and flung the remote to the carpeted ground. He groaned. "You know, next time we kill someone, let's choose someone who won't make headlines everywhere."

Dipper nudged at the other's side. "We won't be killing anyone else. That was an accident and it won't happen again." Bill nodded.

"It was a joke." He defended. Both stopped making noise as the front door opened. Bill muttered a quiet swear under his breath. He stood up off the couch, accidentally pulling Dipper along with him. "It's my dad. Come on, time to leave the living room."

"Why? I've never met your dad." Dipper tried to crane his neck to get a look at Bill's father, but the blonde held him in place.

"And I'd prefer to keep it that way." But it was too late, the man had already made it to the room both stood in. Dipper had never, not even when in front of Pacifica's dead body, seen Bill's face drain of blood and composer so quickly. He looked terrified and furious, ready to fight in self-defense. Dipper's brow collected drops of sweat at the sight.

"Who's your friend, Bill?" The man with a deep voice and potbelly grumbled. He had a pack of beer stuffed under his arm and sunglasses perched over the bridge of his nose.

"Just leaving." Bill hissed and turned Dipper towards the door, whispering an apology into his ear.

"Now come on, you can let your friend stay for dinner." His father slapped a can of alcohol into Dipper's hand with a strength that stung without effort. Bill took the can out of the other's hand and put it on the counter.

Dipper realized it would be best if he didn't stay, as expertly portrayed by Bill the idea already was. "No uh, sorry but my mom's making dinner. Spaghetti. My favorite. Woo." He trailed off awkwardly, his attempt at enthusiasm wavering.

Bill still had Dipper by the shoulders, gripping too tightly. "Nice. You know, last time I saw my mom," Bill's words were acidic and aimed at his father, violent eye contact unbroken with the man. "She was waving at me out the window of a library in Texas. Right, dad?" His poison lips spraying the words with careful, concentrated precision that tried to kill. His father said nothing, but looked furious.

"Okay well, see you tomorrow." Dipper just brushed Bill's hands off him and rushed out the door, calling quick goodbyes and exiting.

Dear journal,

Bill's father will not be speaking at our wedding.

The days following Pacifica's death only got worse for Dipper in school. Having lost the pinnacle of protection in the cutthroat environment, he fell back hard to bullying worse than he had experienced prior. Hell had risen from the ground with Pacifica's name scribbled all over it and him.

Joking rumors swarmed that the real reason Pacifica killed herself was to spare her being of Dipper's presence. Others spat that Dipper should have died instead. He didn't normally let this stuff under his skin but Pacifica's death harbored guilt-ridden vulnerability in his heart. He felt – heard – her remarks of what he had done.

A week after his harassment started up again, two weeks after Pacifica's 'suicide', a less than friendly message was scrawled onto his locker in big black letters.

"EXTRA, EXTRA! FAGGOT CAUSES SLUT TO KILL HERSELF!"

Another message, obviously in different handwriting and different marker, found it's home right beneath that.

"WHO'S NEXT? I VOTE THE QUEER!" And followed by that, another one. "TAKE HIS BOYFRIEND OUT WITH HIM."

Dipper's heart sank. This was beginning to wear him down. The two remaining queen bees of the school slowed their contact with him as this happened. Atty gave still shot glances of remorse and honest concern towards him when she could, but Indiana had taken the first chance to steal the now empty thrown on the school. She wore more red instead of green, even going as far as to take Pacifica's bracelet from her locker and wear it as her own. She grew an ego far past anything Atty, and possibly even Pacifica, could have been capable of. He heard her scoff at the 'rat-shit of a friend Indiana was.'

"I thought I had more loyalty in my little entourage. I mean, Indiana was always a huge bitch but god how can she be so drunk with power to realize that she looks absolutely disgusting in red." The ghost-of-guilt Pacifica ranted as Dipper just stared at his vandalized locker.

There was a note in handwriting Dipper knew all too well as that of the jock who he had previously forged. It was Peter's, big and bold, brash as can be. 'Come on by Pacifica for a little memorial. :)' The meaning had been clarified directly after Dipper read it, as a tight and strong as steel hand grabbed onto the boy's neck and turned him around. "We're going to have a little memorial for Pacifica tonight. You, me, and Wes. You better be there, unless you want to end up six feet under next to her." And Dipper was shoved into the cold metal as the athlete left. Dipper knew that the 'memorial' would be the football player's way of 'avenging' the fallen princess by absolutely obliterating him right there. He knew going meant being in for a brutal physical beating, and not going meant worse.

Mabel had stopped coming to her locker at the same time he did weeks ago, a month after he became close to the girls, and he missed her now more than ever. It was only she, besides Bill, who would stand by his side through this. But he knew he didn't deserve her support when he left her deserted in her time of need. It was only fair she did the same.

The peak of the harassment came when Wes brutally mocked Dipper to the point of tears, not that he'd ever let the jocks see him cry. The football player called slur after slur, angry threats followed by mocking of Dipper's sexuality, and finished off with Dipper checked against a locker until he just stayed pinned and eventually slid to the floor in defeat. That was when the tears started to trickle over the tip of the dam. Atty was the only one he knew personally that was in the hallway at the time his walls broke and he bawled. She seemed like she wanted to help but the late bell rang and she assumed she'd only make things worse so she left without a word. At first Dipper would flinch at any noise, praying no one would see him like this; a hysteric mess curled in fetal position leaning on a heavily vandalized locker and an absolute mess in all regards. But soon he realized he didn't care, the taunting couldn't get worse.

Almost a whole period went by before his loneliness was disturbed by footsteps that started slow, but then sped as the neared him. Dipper prepared for heavy bullying, braced himself, and instead was met with someone's hand falling protectively on his shoulder and the person kneeling to his level. Dipper's heart began to sing as he realized who came.

Bill's eyes caught Dipper's, and then trailed up to the locker door's graffiti. The compassion and sorrow drained quickly and were replaced with instinctually protective rage. He kept his love for Dipper obvious behind his irises.

The bell rang and students spilled out into the halls, Wes and Peter neared laughing. Bill very swiftly stood upright the second one of the football players – Dipper didn't notice which – hissed an insult at the crying boy. Bill's white-knuckled fist plummeted into the jock's jaw. And again, the other side. And again. Until the boy was pinned to a locker and being beaten raw. The remaining football player grabbed Bill by the arms, not the shoulders this time, and held tight. The one whose nose and mouth were bleeding kicked his foot up into Bill's stomach, then punched him in the chin from below right after. The one holding his arms released and Bill fell to the ground. They continued to kick him while he was down. Hit after hit fell on the blonde and Dipper stood up, his heart hurt at the sight before him, and he shoved whom he now processed to be Wes away from him. A teacher grabbed and pulled Peter away but Wes rebounded back on top of Bill before another teacher also ripped him off of the injured blonde. Being that it was the last bell of the day, it took longer than necessary for all the students to drain from the halls. Dipper knelt down in front of the other boy with pure concern and guilt painted to his face.

"Are you okay?" He whimpered and Bill's bleeding and beaten face turned to him. Dipper cringed slightly at seeing the pain in his eyes.

"I'm fine. Are you?" His voice tried holding up a stability Dipper was not expecting. The brunette still had tears trailing down his cheeks. He simply nodded unconvincingly and Bill put his hands on his face and pulled him closer, wiping a sliding tear with this thumb. "They made you cry... You can keep crying, I'm not going to tell you to stop. But I swear to god I will make them regret this." His voice faltered in pain but had a strong, mildly terrifying rage to it that somehow comforted Dipper. "You are the only thing that's right about this broken world. I promise this will end soon."

Dipper didn't know what to say. He didn't know what was meant by that. He just knew he could trust Bill's words and accept anything he said. Then a tear began to roll slowly and singularly down Bill's cheek too. It was the most painful thing Dipper ever had to look at. To see a person who has now become a symbol of the strength Dipper lacked in him to begin crying cut like a knife.

"Before you, I was alone," Bill cupped Dipper's face in his hands. "I didn't feel anything but hate towards anyone. You changed that, you changed me." More tears rolled down Bill's cheeks but his face remained unaffected. "You're not alone."

"You're not alone." Dipper retorted, echoing Bill's tone as he put his hands on Bill's shoulders. Bill pulled the brunette into a tight hug and they stayed there, Dipper's head in Bill's neck.

Bill's voice was quiet and slow, his mouth near Dipper's ear as he whispered. "We can start and finish wars. We're what killed the dinosaurs. We're the asteroids that's overdue." His words were rhythmic and poetic. Dipper couldn't trace the saying back to any literary quote but assumed Bill had to have found this is in some text somewhere. The artistry in the words seemed like they had to be from some beautiful foreign historical literature. "The dinosaurs died because God said they must. The new world needed room for me and you." He stopped for a moment and just breathed. "I worship you, I'd trade my life for yours. They all will disappear, Dipper." The blond boy's face was bleeding. He had a split lip and multiple bruises about him. The two just sat there, ignoring the world, ignoring the wounds, ignoring their own tears.

After several minutes, Dipper broke the silence. "They said," Dipper didn't need to specify who they were. "I need to go to the cemetery tonight. They're going to beat the shit out of me..." He muttered. Bill squeezed him in the hug a little tighter. He remained silent for a minute, thinking, until he moved in a way that translated that the two of them should stand up. "And if I don't, I'll probably get beaten even worse. What do I do?"

Bill remained silent as the two boys stood up. Dipper was met once again with Bill's beaten face. "You go." Dipper was shocked.

"I go there? And let them beat me half to death – if I'm lucky?!" Bill took Dipper's hand and began walking out of the school, blood dripping from his chin and leaving a trail of drops on the floor.

"No, you go to the cemetery. I come along with you without them knowing. Then, how about we play a little prank? Eh?" Dipper didn't like the sound of that, or the tone in which Bill had said 'little prank.' They eventually made their way to Bill's truck, and they got in before continuing the conversation.

"What do you mean 'little prank'?" Dipper threw up air-quotes; Bill wiped his face down with tissues as he spoke. Once he finished that, he reached into the side of his trench coat. He pulled out a pistol.

Dipper's breathing hitched. "Is that real?"

"Yep. And loaded." Bill's voice was as clear and confident as it usually is. Dipper calculated the fact that Bill had been carrying a loaded gun. He began to breath unhealthily fast.

"Do you always have that with you...?"

"Everyday." He hissed, happily. Dipper was almost hyperventilating. Bill turned and saw this, clicked the magazine out and pulled out a bullet. "Don't worry, it's filled with ich luge bullets."

Dipper eyed the bulled carefully. He had no knowledge of guns. The closest he had ever been to one was in his great uncle's house (the man owned at least four guns), but he never actually saw any. "And that means...?"

"They're practically blanks. They contain this powerful tranquilizer – the Nazis used them to fake their own suicides when they Russians invaded Berlin." He smiled put the bullet back and put the gun back into one piece. The casualness of the whole scene chilled Dipper to the bone. "We'll knock those two idiots out long enough to make it look like a suicide, y'know, complete with a forged suicide note." He gave Dipper a look implying that they both knew Dipper would be the one forging another suicide note.

At least this one's not going to be used to cover up a murder...

Bill used air-quotes, though his one hand was occupied with a gun. "Pete and I died because we had to hide our gay forbidden love from a misapproving world!" He mocked the jock's tone, complete with an entirely nonsense use of the nonexistent word 'misapproving.' "And when the morning comes, they'll both be laughing stocks!"

Dipper closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Alright. Let's go hunt some jocks."