Chapter Three - Dead Man Walking

Later that day, Dipper found himself at this house playing darts with the three girls. Indiana condemned Atlántida to sit out after she threw three darts in a row into the wall, two to the floor, and one to the ceiling. Pacifica was oddly professional at the game, but as Atlántida explained in a hushed whisper, "Paz regularly practices darts on a dartboard with pictures on it. Who's in the center changes depending on who angered her last.

"Don't get on the dartboard." She added quickly. Dipper gulped heavily and she nodded, seemingly agreeing with his fear. Another dart hit the bull's-eye. Pacifica tossed strands of hair from her shoulder. She turned around and motioned for someone else to take a turn. Dipper stood and began playing.

"Hey Dipper, who was that guy fighting Wes and Peter yesterday?" Indiana asked from behind her handheld mirror. He opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted.

"You mean the guy he was drooling over?" Pacifica laughed. Dipper hit the wall. "He was basically throwing his dick at this guy. God, good to know the newest member of our group's gay."

"I'm not-" She interrupted again.

"So what's his name?"

"I don't know. 'He didn't throw it.'" He did air quotes. "But seriously, I'm not gay. His fighting was just... impressive. That's all." There was a pause, then all three girls laughed. Dipper blushed in frustration.

"Hello girls! Hi Dipper! I brought some food." The girls' laughing ceased slowly and Dipper relished in his mother's entrance. She pulled the assault on his interest in the mysterious kid to a screeching halt with her presence. She placed a bowl of chips on the table by the door. Another dart was thrown at the wall, despite how close Dipper stood to the board.

"Thanks mom." He smiled, but Pacifica didn't seem so intrigued. She grimaced at the food and pushed it to the side. She seemed to believe herself above eating such crap. His smile faded. Indiana acted as if there was no food around. He knew her to have an issue with food. The third girl was the only one happily reaching to the bowl and stuffing her face.

"So, any big plans for tonight?" His mom said, standing in the doorway with a seemingly naive smile plastered to her face. Despite the look, she noticed Pacifica whisper an insult to the other girls, cuing their hysteric giggling. Dipper pretended to not have heard.

"Actually yeah." He started, his mother's eyes still trailed behind him to the girls. "There's a homecoming party at Peter's house. Pacifica's going to drive us."

"Isn't Mabel also going to that party?" She finally focused on her son instead of his friends. He shrugged. Honestly, he prayed she wasn't planning on attending the party after the incident relating to her invite. Mrs. Pines pulled her son into the hallway gently and in a hushed tone she spoke. "Don't let those popular girls change you." Her words were strained through gritted teeth and a plastic smile.

He opened his mouth to insist they won't change him, but something kept the argument inside. Something in his upbringing wouldn't allow him to lie to his mother, even if unintentionally. He stood stunned before all he could say was, "I need them."

"For what?" Her words stressed further. Her smile became even less real. "You have other friends. You have Mabel."

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He was inexplicably irritated by the statement. "Maybe I want more than my sister in my life." And with that he turned away and back into the room, where all the girls had already gathered their things and prepared to leave. He followed them out to Pacifica's care, which was as red as everything else she owned, and they left.

The red convertible pulled up in front of a 7Eleven and Dipper hopped out from the passenger's seat. It wasn't exactly warm enough for the four of them to have driven with the roof down but they did regardless, leaving his hair a windblown wreck. As he walked in the door of the store, Pacifica yelled, "Dipper! Don't forget to buy Corn Nuts! It's not a party without Corn Nuts!!" After a minute the blonde added that they had to be barbeque or she wasn't letting him back in the car.

Air blasted on him from above the door, which messed up his hair further. Looking into a surveillance mirror by the corner, he attempted to take control of his hairdo - to no avail. Ditching the idea and accepting the mess, he walked aimlessly through the aisles until he came upon the section that seemed to be where corn nuts should be. The store's intercom played slightly outdated pop music faintly. He knelt down and filled through the rows of chips and snacks. He didn't hear the footsteps approaching from another aisle.

"Greetings and salutations." A familiar voice chimed. "Care for a Slurpee with that?" Looking up from his crouched position, the mysterious new kid from earlier that day stood above him, his forehead bandaged and visibly bruised, and his knuckles wrapped with bloody gauze. He didn't seem to mind the injuries. In his hands was a large cup with blue slushie packed in to the very top. His lips were stained blue and red on the inside, Dipper could only assume that meant this kid's had more than two already.

"Uh.. no thanks. Just Corn Nuts." Dipper finally found a fitting bag and plucked it from its spot. The kid made a disapproving face, almost disappointed the other boy didn't want to share in the experience of a slushie. "I'm Dipper, by the way. Are you ever going to tell me your name? Or will you never 'throw it'?"

The blonde grinned, still satisfied with his earlier remark. He glanced down into his cup and swirled at the straw. "I guess I'll end the suspense. Name's Bill Cipher." As he said his name, he held out his hand.

Dipper pushed up from the floor and stood upright. It was the first time he realized he was half a head shorter than the tougher boy, and still had to look up to make eye contact. Dipper was 5'11 to begin with, making the kid in front of him need to be 6'3 at the very least. He shook his hand awkwardly, noticing the rough texture of his skin was made cold by his ever-constant grip on his frozen drink. "So, Bill. That stunt you pulled in the caf' was pretty severe." Bill moved out of his way and held out an arm, leading him to the cashier. As the brunette passed him, he followed behind, his trenchcoat swirling.

"The extreme always seems to make an impression." He smirked. Dipper let out a chuckle and looked at the floor as he walked. Something about the stranger instilled a childlike, impressed awkwardness in awe of the other's being. The dirty tiles caused a repetitive metronome sound to go with their steps.

"So what's a Baudelaire-quoting badass like you doing in this old town?" The other boy cocked his head and half-rolled his eyes, grinning. He let out a small, short laugh, as if finding it funny he would compliment him.

"My dad's work. He owns a-" He paused quickly, taking a sip from his drink. "-a deconstruction company."

Dipper stopped walking, thinking over what he heard. "De-construction?" He glanced behind him to make sure he heard right, and only continued moving towards the register after the taller boy nodded. The two made it to the counter and the tired, pierced girl took the bag and money from Dipper and they continued to speak.

"Yep. The old man seems to enjoy tearing things down." Dipper laughed honestly, but then quickly realized the fact that he was openly laughing at the other boy's father, and stopped, blushing and embarrassed. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Well, I guess everyone's got some static in their lives." He had his mouth open, ready to continue speaking, but was interrupted by a car horn honking aggressively.

"DIPPER!!" Pacifica screamed, loud enough to be heard through the shut doors. The last syllable was drawn out until it sounded more like a 'ugh' sound than an 'r'. Both boys stared out the glass walls. Bill turned to face Dipper, who was still shocked.

"For example, I don't really like my friends." He muttered. Bill cut in quickly, pointing.

"I don't really like your friends either. How's about you bag the party and hang out here?" The cashier girl pushed the plastic bag and change towards Dipper, and he collected his things. Dipper chuckled again, almost dropping the plastic bag.

"Ah, at the 7Eleven. Swanky first date." He said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

"Hey, come on," Bill voiced, lightly pushing Dipper, who fell a bit more than expected. It took the shorter boy a minute to regain steady footing. "I love this place." Dipper chuckled again, a bit less sincerely this time, with a shred of almost piteous confusion. By now the cashier girl had gone into the backroom on break, the two boys being the only present customers and they seemed to have decided that her counter was a fitting place for a conversation.

"No offense, but why?"

Bill's shimmering blue eyes flicked from the cup to the brunette. He tapped his thumb on the plastic cap a few times and bounced the heels of his shoes. "I've been through ten high schools by now. I move every couple months. My dad keeps two suitcases packed, so this is only a matter of when I'll move away again. I don't bother with people's names or faces if I'm just going to leave soon anyway." Dipper just stared at him questioning. He, understandably, didn't get the correlation between moving and 7Eleven. "The only universal constant through my jumping cities is this place." He did a gesture that motioned to the store they were in. "This concrete oasis. Every time I get upset, there's a 7Eleven nearby. It makes me feel better."

He took a long sip from the drink. Dipper stayed silent, with his mouth slightly open in preparation for if he ever thought of a response to that. The blonde kept drinking the slushie until he flinched and put his hand to his head, grimacing. "Plus, I love the rush I get from brain freezes."

If it were possible to vocalize a string of question marks, Dipper would be shouting it.

"It's like freezing your brain. A safer way to get lost in pain. Everything feels better numb. Also it tastes good. Who needs cocaine when you've got slushies?" There was a pause. He tilted the cup towards the other boy. "Care for a hit?"

Dipper closed his eyes tight in pure frustrating disorientation. "Does your mommy know you eat all that crap?" That was all he could muster, a semi-mocking question was all he could come up with.

"Not anymore." The blonde tower of a man-child declared. "Nope. When she was alive, I didn't drink all this stuff." Dipper's face softened with concern. "But after, I did learn how to cook pasta and pay rent and that the world doesn't owe you anything. So while you're planning your future to go to some college and marry some lawyer, keep in mind that the sky's gonna hurt when it falls, so you better start building some defenses kiddo." Dipper opened his mouth to ask like six questions all at once. "It's a good way to get lost in the pain. Like.. when the voice in your head says you're better off dead, instead of opening a vein or something, you could just do this." After that he just went back to sipping his drink and exposing himself to more brain freezes, shrugging.

"...You just segued from 7Eleven to explaining how you use slushies as an alternative method of self-harm to cope with your mother's death?" Dipper was confused, concerned, and shocked all at once. Bill thought over the question for a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth and his head swaying to the sides, and then nodding.

"Yeah, pretty much." He used his hands to make a motion acting as if he were imagining a sign. "It's like... 'Tragic Backstory; 7Eleven Edition'." He laughed at himself and pushed the cup towards Dipper. "Come on, just try it."

"You're ridiculous." Dipper said smiling despite himself, and despite the weird tangent this kid trailed off onto, he found himself oddly attracted to the figure before him, and somehow comfortable with such a stranger regardless of his usual awkwardness. This living embodiment of chaos had a calming effect of the ever-paranoid twin. He was already holding Bill's cup so he just decided he might as well try it for him, since he was so passionate over the subject. "I don't get your whole deal with brain freezes." He said between sips. "They don't hurt that-" And then the freeze hit him. It felt like he was having a particularly bad, cold migraine. "Oh, son of a bitch!" He yelled and stuffed the cup back into Bill's hands, and he just laughed.

God, he had a really nice laugh.

The dark, brooding shadows around his eyes seemed to lighten with the sound of his pure laughter. There was always a hint of something chaotic beneath his eyes that Dipper noticed from the first time they locked eyes, but when he laughed, Heaven's light shined on him instead. When their hands touched as he shoved the cup back, it felt like Dipper's brain freeze transferred to his heart for a fraction of a second.

Maybe Pacifica was right...

And then she entered. The little bell chime of an opening store door rang and air wafted down onto blonde, uber-perfect hair. Pacifica was visibly fuming.

"Oh god, I gotta go." Dipper shuddered and scooted past and behind the other boy.

"So I see." He said and turned to face the both of them behind him.

Pacifica's eyebrows arched sharply and she stomped as well as she could in stellatos. Once she was close enough to both of them she stopped and crossed her arms like an angry mother. "Corn Nuts?" She hissed, impatient. He just held them up nodding, and muttered apologies. Bill's eyes flicked from the sight of an angered goddess to her obedient follower. He seemed put off by her mistreatment. "Now quit talking to Red Dawn here and let's go!" She stormed off, Dipper followed running. He stopped at the door to turn behind him, expressing the visual version of 'sorry.' Bill waved it off as a forgiveness and the brunette dashed the rest of the way to the outside.

Dipper never liked parties. He always hated them. But then again, he never experienced a party as one of the most popular people in school.

See, I don't believe fame changes all people.

But it does change how well parties go.

Instead of just sitting in the corner and wishing for home, he was included in conversations, flirted with by pretty girls, and, of course, given drinks. He was never big on drinking, he honestly hated the taste of alcohol, but the opportunity so presented itself and he was obliged to take it. Usually he would never, but in a room full of beautiful people having the time of their lives, he figured that he might as well join in the fun.

Peter's house was relatively large, but far too small to hold all the kids he invited. It was long-overflowed and packed. The neighbors had most likely already called the police to report the noise. That being an assumed known fact didn't stop anyone. The party would go on until sirens screamed.

"So, it's salt, then lime, then shot?" He asked, but he didn't wait for an answer. He already had the bottom up. One of the girls said something, but he couldn't hear over the blaring music. People walked, and danced, and made out everywhere around him. It was a sea of hormone-fueled bad choices and right now, he was loving it.

"You're doing it wrong!" Pacifica yelled and grabbed the shot glass from his hand, making a remark about how inexperienced he was with drinking. The girls laughed, and so did he, even though he didn't hear what she said.

"Really? 'Cause I feel great!" He shouted, slurred. Pacifica threw a crumpled napkin at him and rolled her eyes. He thought she heard her call him a lightweight, but in the moment he entirely forgot what that meant.

"Looking good, Dipper!" A girl said, standing in front of him. She latched her arms around his neck and shoulders and kissed him. The force of her leaning on him caused both of them to fall backwards onto a couch, but he wasn't even sure she noticed, she didn't seem to flinch. He didn't really know what to do, nor did he really mind. It was shocking enough a pretty girl even looked at him, much less actually kissed him. He didn't know her but he didn't really care.

Around him, everyone partied. Peter's house was an absolute mess but that seemed irrelevant at this point. Empty cups and pizza boxes littered wherever there wasn't someone. People were in the pool and upstairs in the parents' bedroom, stuffing themselves anywhere and everywhere. It was all a blur to him though. Once the girl stopped, she got up and walked away laughing, he just stayed surprised and satisfied on the couch with a huge grin.

Peter and Wes stood on the table holding a piñata shaped like an elephant with the words 'Washington Pachyderms', the school's rival team. Everyone cheered as they vandalized it, screaming swears and insults.

Eventually Atlántida, whom he found himself in the habit of calling Atty now, pulled him up from his seat and encouraged his continued participation. "You're my favorite out of you three, you know that?" He confessed, his words slurring. All three girls were sober, or at least more so than the rest of the partygoers, and especially more than him. He spent another while wandering around the house, drinking whatever people offered and getting pulled into interactions with people he didn't know. He would regret the drinking in the morning. To people who didn't know him, he came across as a party animal at this point, which was usually far from the truth. His fun went on for another hour or two, or five, he couldn't really keep track of time at the moment.

But for Dipper, everything came to a quick stop when his sister entered. Everything went on as normal for most others, but where she walked silence fell. The girls found it hilarious that she actually had the guts and gullibility to show up. He felt ready to puck.

He rushed to her side, slipping and almost falling multiple times on the way there. On his way, he stopped by Atty and asked her to find Peter. "Tell him I saw some freshmen sneaking over the fence." She ran off. He hoped that would be a long enough diversion to keep him away from his sister. He heard the jock yell about how he 'fucking hated freshmen!' followed by yelling. Finally getting to his sister, he tried to support himself using her shoulders as a steady. "What are you doing here?" He asked, trying to compose himself as much as possible in front of his twin. She wasn't fooled.

"Are you alright?" She tried to help him keep his balance but he faltered nonetheless.

"Yeah, yeah. Yeah. I'm all good. I'm great. Why are you here?" He had trouble focusing on her specifically. His eyes slid from her to around the room multiple times, she had to keep putting herself into his vision.

"Don't you remember? Peter invited me. He sent me a note." Dipper's heart dropped. Pacifica yelled his sister's name. His heart fell another six stories. "I brought sparkling cider!" He just closed his eyes for a moment and decided to try convincing her to leave, but it was too late for that.

Pacifica held up the elephant piñata and stepped up on the table. "Alright Riverview! Time to commemorate our impending win against Washington by whacking their mascot!" She yelled, people cheered. Mabel walked towards the crowd around the table. Dipper stumbled without her and caught a wall to keep from falling. Wes smacked Pacifica's ass, yelling something about preferring her over the piñata. Peter stormed back in the room, screaming about the lack of freshman to beat. Dipper watched as his sister rushed to him with a hopeful smile that he knew would turn upside down in a matter of minutes.

"We need a volunteer!" Pacifica looked about the room but everyone knew she already had her sights set on a victim. After a minute or two of her looking around, Mabel was shoved onto the furniture with a piñata bat in her hands. Dipper pushed through the crowd, not minding if he hurt anyone in his way. Multiple people hit the ground through Dipper's carnage and cursed him while he went. Pacifica blindfolded Mabel and Peter brought out a second piñata, this one saying "Mabel Pines" instead of the school's name, and was wearing a dumb-looking fake sweater. It had crossed eyes and a tongue sticking out of its mouth like an idiot. Everyone but Dipper laughed at the sight of it. His sister was still standing there blindfolded, waiting for the 'okay' to begin hitting the piñata. Dipper refused to allow that to happen.

He ripped the piñata from Pacifica's hands and the room went silent. "What's your problem?" He shouted then rushed to the backdoor with the party supply. Pacifica came down from the table, angrier than he had ever seen and she chased him, somehow managing to run amazingly fast in heels. Dipper turned to her, made eye contact, and threw the piñata into the pool with one hand and flipping her off with the other. He could see that from the inside of the house, Mabel only just took off the blindfold in a sad confusion. He paced back into the house, Pacifica fuming as he passed, and helped his sister off the table.

"What's going on?" She still held the bat in her trembling hands.

"Listen," he said gently and protectively, "just go home. I'll explain later." She opened her mouth to argue but he just repeated, "Just go home. Please." It was the first time she looked around at all the crowding, furious and disappointed partygoers glaring. The house was actually silent, save for music that no one listened to. Tears welled in her eyes and she ran out. Once she was out of the house, Dipper turned his attention back to the raging blonde. He never felt himself transfer more hate into a glare than that moment. "Consider this my resignation from the Lipgloss Gestapo. I don't want to be part of this, anymore. I'm going back to civilian life." And he turned to leave. Or tried to, anyway.

She grabbed his arm and spun him around to face her. The girl who was normally two or three inches shorter than him somehow felt a mile high. He felt vomit rise in his throat that stung to keep down. His stomach churned. "Don't spin me, I'm not feeling well." He muttered. His balance began to weaken again. Pacifica curled her hand around his chin and dug her blood-red nails into his cheeks.

"No! You don't get to be a nobody anymore!" She jolted his head around with every word. "You're not just nobody! You're an ex-somebody! No one, not even absolute losers will touch you after this! Transfer to a different school because come Monday, no one at Riverview will let you play their reindeer games!" Her howled words burned his ears. She released him, throwing him back. He caught himself on a chair and desperately tried to catch his breath. Soon he couldn't hold his vomit anymore. At the last second, he turned and made sure to aim for Pacifica, his bright red bull's-eye. He puked right on her lap and chest. The room of guests gagged and gushed and 'ewwww'ed at the sight. She screamed – no screeched – like a banshee.

Once her shriek ceased, she looked at him with all the rage of Hell in her blue eyes. "How dare you! I raised you up from NOTHING! And this is my thanks? I get paid in puke?!"

"Oh, lick it up baby, lick it up!" He hissed, as he stood upright again. And suddenly his face stung, and his eyes were disoriented. She slapped him. Hard. He put a hand to the wound and had to bend over a little once again to recover.

"I know who I'll be eating lunch with on Monday, do you?" It seemed unimportant but he knew what she meant. It was a declaration of his disownment. He could see the crowd of people back up slightly, everyone refusing any eye contact with him; he became an exile. He left the party with everyone on silence. After slamming the door, he heard the roar of it coming back to life. Everyone seemed to act like it never happened. That wouldn't be the case at school on Monday.

The Demon Queen of High School has decreed it. Come Monday morning, I'll be deleted from existence. From this point on, I'm just a dead man walking.

I guess this is what it feels like on death row.

He stumbled across sidewalks, drunk and alone, and absolutely furious. He didn't care about his reputation, this was about his sister. No one, not even "friends" could treat her like that without repercussions. But then again, no one could treat Pacifica the way he did without consequences either.

He began thinking over ridiculous solutions. Maybe he could change his name and ride up to Seattle. The only real thing in his mind at the moment was a means of transportation not being available. He jokingly told himself he could steal one. Steal Pacifica's. That would be appropriate.

But then he walked past a small house with one light on. The light was from a window with no blinds, and the clear image of a person – a familiar person – preparing for bed. It was Bill. Dipper felt his spirits lift as he saw the blonde. Then he flicked the light off, and the view he had became impossible. After a few minutes of thinking, still not entirely in the shape to make decisions, he actually walked up to the window, which upon closer inspection was open.

And in he went.

Bill was in bed when Dipper walked up to the window and knocked on the windowsill a few times. The blonde sat up slowly and looked at the figure in the opening. Dipper waved and pointed down, indicating a question: Can I come in?

The tired kid turned away, looking at his trenchcoat hanging on his headboard, then the clock on the table. It was about midnight. He turned back and shrugged. Dipper climbed in.

"What are you doing here?" Bill squinted in the dark to try to make out the other boy better. Dipper shrugged in the same fashion as he did a minute ago.

"I angered Bloody Mary and she decided it's off to the guillotine for me." Bill nodded understanding. Dipper sat on the bed in front of him. "I decided I should spend my last hours enjoying myself." He slurred and Bill scoffed.

"And you plan on doing so how?"

And Dipper fell forward, his lips on the other boy's with a smile on both ends of the kiss.. Bill hesitated for a moment before shutting his eyes and wrapping his arms around the back of the shorter boy, pulling him down as he laid back, bringing him with him. Dipper may not have usually done this. He only knew this kid for less than two days, but his little crush, mixed with poor decision-making led to one thing then another. If anything, this could at least confirm or deny if anything was to work out between the two once Dipper was actually sober. This was how he ended up seeing if he would make or break in a relationship.

After releasing for a breath, Bill looked in the brown eyes of the twin and stared. "How did you find my address?"

I learned that night, waking up in Bill's bed with a splitting hangover, that there is more than just the taste of alcohol that I hate. I hate the way it screws over my decisions. I hate the raging hangovers. And most of all;

I hate not remembering much of the later end of that night.