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toothpastecanyon · 5 years

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Dreams That Walk, Nightmares That Talk, Chapter 4

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

For @lilaclily00

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Birdsong. It’s the worst thing in the world to hear when you’re trying to fall asleep. The sun glowers through Marie’s curtains and she covers her head with a pillow, but she can’t escape the awful, awful chirping.

Morning is here, whether she likes it or not.

She groans into her mattress. Then, after a long hesitation, she rolls herself over and drops her feet on the floor. Her legs feel cold coming out of the covers; it makes her grimace.

Slowly, she stands. She stretches. She shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes with one hand while reaching for the kettle with another.

(kettle)

(one two three one two three one two three)

(water ends on right)

She goes through her rituals of turning on the tap, flicking on the switch, getting out the cup, feeling a little less like a zombie with every motion. By the time she gets to the fridge, she’s awake enough to notice something’s missing.

“No milk.” Marie taps a finger (onetwothree) against the fridge door. “Forgot to go shopping… Idiot.”

“Did you want some milk?”

A voice comes from behind Marie and makes her jump. She whirls around to see Alcor floating way too close to her face, a nervous smile on his cheeks and a bottle of something way too purple to be milk clutched to his chest.

Before he can speak again, she points at it.

“I am not putting that in my tea.”

“Huh?” He looks confused. “But I thought you said you were out of milk?”

“Yes, and that is not milk.” She pauses, then adds: “Not cow’s milk, anyway.”

“Cow’s milk…” Alcor seems to ponder that for a second, then his eyes widen in understanding. “Ohhh, right! That’s the type humans normally drink! Can’t believe I forgot that.”

The kettle’s boiling. Marie walks past him to get out a teabag.

“Yeah, I can get you some of that milk-”

“No, thank you.”

He floats up to her again, way too close for comfort. She tries to ignore him as she pours her tea.

“Don’t worry! I know what I’m getting this time, I can just-”

“No!” Marie snaps. She grits her teeth as he recoils. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want your help, okay? I don’t want you - I don’t know - teleporting a bunch of severed cow udders in here or something. I can live without milk. It’s fine. ”

With that, she turns away from Alcor. Gets out a spoon. Stirs her tea one-two-three one-two-three one-two-three and doesn’t look at the kicked-puppy expression she knows he’s got on his face again.

Out of the corner of her eye, though, she can’t help but notice him backing away.

He doesn’t say a word; it seems like he’s left, but then she turns around and sees that is not so. He’s sitting on the couch in the living room, his back to her, his head bowed over something. Marie gives him an odd look, but he doesn’t stir.

Should she say something?

She considers her words for a moment, but nothing comes, and she opts to sit at the kitchen table instead. Perched there, sipping her black tea and looking out into space as the sound of birdsong hangs between them, Marie can’t help but find this a little awkward.

Like having a houseguest, but worse.

The silence stretches. Alcor flips a page of something; she cranes her head to see what that something is, but it’s out of view.

So she just sips her tea. Jiggles her knee a little bit. Checks the time on her phone, grimaces at 5:42 AM.

(five four two five)

(three four five three four five three four five)

(nine nine nine ending on right)

She didn’t get nearly enough sleep to deal with this. The nightmares were the worst they’d ever been in her life; trying to get any rest had been a hellish cycle of going to sleep, waking up in a cold sweat at the sight of awful visions, and checking the time only to realise barely twenty minutes had passed since she last looked.

It was terrible, and, staring at the back of Alcor’s head, she could think of only one reason why they’d gotten so much worse. Letting him into her mind, letting him eat her nightmares… it had stirred them up like some kind of hornet’s nest.

Hopefully this isn’t permanent. Hopefully, if she leaves them alone, they’ll settle down again.

Marie rubs her eyes at that thought. She takes another sip of tea and then stands up, clearing her throat - Alcor doesn’t look over at the sound.

“I need to get ready for the day,” she says. “So, I’m going to go now-”

Alcor’s voice cuts in abruptly. “You know what I love about this?”

“Huh?” Marie blinks. “Love about what? Alcor?”

He doesn’t so much as twitch in response. After a moment of hesitation, she approaches him, putting a hand on the couch he’s sitting on and leaning forwards to catch a glimpse of what he’s staring at.

What she sees surprises her, at first.

“Ben’s drawings?” Marie looks down at the blue file in Alcor’s hands. She watches him flip through pages of his art. “Huh. I suppose that kind of imagery is right up your aisle.”

Alcor closes the file. “It’s not that. Look.”

“Look at what?”

“Look at how you’ve kept them, in a nice little file. You’ve ordered them by age - that had to have taken some time.” He places it on the table, and smiles. “Look at where you keep them. On display, in the centre of the living room. That’s what I love.”

She frowns. “I don’t see what you mean.”

“You don’t? Don’t you think you should be scared of the things he drew about?” He looks up at her. “Don’t you think you should be scared of him?”

“Excuse me? Absolutely not.” Marie’s scowl deepens; she crosses her arms. “What are you implying? I’m well aware that Ben’s soul used to belong to a demon, but that has very little bearing on the person he is now! The things he drew - they’re just that! They’re drawings! That’s what he did with the horrible things he saw at night: nothing dangerous, nothing to be scared of! Just all these beautiful drawings he put his heart into, and… why are you smiling like that?”

Alcor’s smile is odd; at first it was happy, but as she spoke… it didn’t fade, but it did shrink somewhat, and a shine snuck into his eyes that’s strangely wistful. He doesn’t speak, at first. As she watches, he looks away again, down at the file in his lap. Then, quietly:

“And that’s exactly what I love about this.” He looks away again, down at the file in his lap. “You care about him so much… not despite of who he is; you actually embrace it. That’s incredible. ”

She raises an eyebrow. “That’s not some sort of achievement. I’m his mother, of course I care about him.”

“Not an achievement.” A soft snort. “With all the bad parents out there in the world, I’d say it is.”

At that Marie steps back, clutching her cup of tea. Alcor continues.

“There’s a lot of kids out there who’d kill for someone like you. I mean, your son’s a demon, and this is how you react? ‘I’m gonna put all the weird pictures he drew into a file so I can look at them whenever I want!’ I mean, that’s amazing! I wish mine had… um…”

He blinks and looks up at her, seeming to come back to himself somewhat. That strange little smile widens into a regular happy grin.

“Anyway,” he says, clearing his throat. “That’s all I wanted to say. I’m sorry about last night; if you don’t trust me after I lost control like that, that’s totally fair, and I’ll leave you alone. I just wanted you to know that… I really admire how you treat Ben, and if you ever do want my help-”

“No, don’t.” She shakes her head. “Stop.”

“Stop? Stop wh-”

“Just stop, okay?” Stepping back again, she takes a deep breath. “You’re being very flattering, but I don’t deserve a pat on the back for the way I treated Ben. I wasn’t a good parent to him. I tried to be, but I just wasn’t.”

“You-”

“I really let him down when he was younger. I really hurt him.” She looks away. “Even if it’s better now between us, I think he’d really take issue with you acting like I’ve done something exceptional. I haven’t.”

Alcor doesn’t say anything to that. He’s silent again, and she doesn’t dare look at him. Instead, she turns around, clenching the cup in her hands. Tea’s gone cold, she can feel it. She walks over to the kitchen, sets it on the counter. Only then does she sneak a glance over to the couch, and see Alcor has completely disappeared from sight.

Only from sight, though. Marie doesn’t need to look at the wards flickering by the door to feel his presence, his gaze on her. She rubs her eyes and shuffles over to the shoe rack.

“I’m going to get some milk,” she mumbles, to herself as much as to him. “It’ll be fine. Won’t be gone long.”

She shoves her feet - one two

(onetwothree onetwothree onetwothree right left right)

into some already tied sneakers, and heads for the door. The sunlight’s blinding; she squints and shutters her eyes as she stumbles towards the car, feels for the handle…

...the handle?

Oh, right.

Her car’s still at the hospital. Because of course it is.

Goddammit. She glances back at the house, then scowls and starts marching down the pavement. It’s fine. She has legs, she can walk.

Everything is fine.

________________________________________________________________

Marie walks to the corner store. It’s summer in Southern Arizona; she can feel the sweat beading on her scalp, the shirt sticking to her back, can see the outline of the pavement against her eyelids every time she blinks. The heat is oppressive, pressing down on her, unpleasant, inescapable...

...and utterly ridiculous: she’s hardly been out here five minutes and her skin already feels medium rare. Why does she live here, again? She really does not know.

Pressing her palms to her eyesockets, she lets out an extended groan and turns herself away from the sun. She can feel the plodding of her feet against the concrete, can hear the whoosh of cars going past her; in the shade of her hands, she opens her eyes again and stares down at her shoe.

They go one foot in front of the other, one-two, but she counts them (one-two-three), (right-left-right). A crack in the pavement’s coming up, and she steps left on it because left is bad, she puts all the bad luck in her left leg so nobody dies.

A wry smile, because that’s the kind of thought a sane person has.

(Right left right)

(Make it right)

(loveyouloveyoumoreloveyoumost)

Marie keeps her head down, the sun keeps beating down as she’s walking, her legs keep walking (right-left-right) and she can’t quite stop counting them yet.

As she’s staring down at the pavement, there’s a flicker.

At the very edge of her vision, a figure. It’s gone when she glances its way.

A frown, a tired one. She lingers for a moment, squinting at the opposite street, but it’s nowhere to be seen. Of course it isn’t - it’s not like Alcor going invisible. There’s no hints, no traces of its presence.

There’s nothing to be seen, because it doesn’t exist.

Doesn’t exist. She spots it again - a shadowy flash in the corner of her eye - and her mind flashes back to last night. Dreams. Souls. A thousand specks like stars shimmering on her carpet, bits of other people in you...

No. Stop.

Marie physically shakes her head, tells herself no no, stop, this is just her brain fucking with her. She’s just tired and having a bad day - nothing unusual there. She’ll get the milk, go home, try and sleep this off before work. If she can’t, she’ll call out, but either way it’ll be fine-

Another flicker makes her scowl.

-and she’s not going to play this game. He doesn’t exist, he just doesn’t, and it’s way too hot outside to be standing here thinking about it.

With a huff, she turns around and starts walking to the corner store again; she can see it now, it won’t take much longer. She plods on, and her eyelids burn, and the sun cooks her shoulders, and even though he doesn’t exist, she catches glimpses of a figure on the other side of the street.

Between her and him, the cars are rushing past - shhhhhhooom, that’s the sound they make. When Ben was little, he used to giggle like crazy whenever they imitated it.

“Shhhhhhooooom!”

Laughter. She can hear him now.

“Shhhhhrrooom!”

“Zzzooooom!”

“¡Mira, Ben! Una moto: nyrrrrrrooooooooom - chik chik - NYYYYROOOOO-”

“Oh, the turn! Santino, you missed the turn!”

“...I totally did, didn’t I. Whoops, heh, I got a little too into the game… what’s that, Ben? Are you laughing at me? Eso fue c ómico, ¿eh? ”

Marie snorts and sits back-

but she’s not sitting.

She stumbles back into reality with a yelp, blinks hard as she gets her footing back. Her eyes dart wildly around her surroundings - still on the pavement, still walking, coming up to an intersection now… she decides not to think about what would’ve happened if she’d walked right into the road.

The corner store is just on the other side. She slows and presses the button, and rubs her eyes as she waits to cross. Pointedly ignores that man standing in her periphery.

Cars stop, walking man sign lights up, and she walks away from him.

Into the store, where it’s nice and cool. Bells jingle as she opens the door; a woman looks up from the cash register and smiles at her… something Marie only realises when she’s already stalked past the counter and into the drink aisle.

Oops. She cringes at that while she finds where the milk is. It’s right by the end, and there’s not a big selection. While she stands there, trying to figure out which carton’s reduced fat…

She becomes aware of him again. Not as a flicker in the corner of her eye this time, but a sudden, skincrawling certainty that he’s standing right behind her.

Almost instinctively she looks over her shoulder, and sees nothing but a magazine display. There’s no one else in the aisle with her, but the certainty doesn’t fade. She turns back to the milk and it still feels like he’s inches from her back, like she should be feeling his breath on her neck, his hands on her shoulders, his voice in her ear:

“You look tense, Marie.”

She doesn’t realise she’s got her eyes closed until she catches herself almost falling over. She tries to blink the sleepiness out of her eyes

and that’s when she feels his arms wrap around her shoulders. He hugs her loosely around her neck, and leans on her like he used to - not too much, but enough to feel safe. Comforting. Warm.

Real. It’s exactly like she remembers. His words, exactly like what he used to say.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

With a slow, shaking hand, Marie reaches over her shoulder. She feels for his chin - it feels like it’s resting right there… but there’s nothing.

Nothing.

He doesn’t exist, yet she can feel him squeeze a little tighter. She closes her eyes. Swallows the lump in her throat. Speaks, softer than a whisper.

“Are you real?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. The silence - she can’t bear it long.

“Just tell me if you’re real.” Then hissed through clenched teeth: “ Please. ”

He sighs, and sways her a little bit. Then he speaks.

“Sounds like you had a rough day. I’m sorry."

“That’s not- are you real? Have you been here, this whole time, in my…?” She feels him squeeze again; she tries to shrug him off, but his embrace won’t go away. “Please, just give me an answer. Say yes or no.”

“Do you want to have dinner, or do you just want to go to sleep?” He chuckles. “I made that pasta you and Ben really liked last time. It was a battle to save a plate for you.”

“No, that’s not an answer! Why aren’t you listening to me? You’re- you’re not real. You’re not! You can’t be, okay?” Marie backs up. Grips her hair with white knuckles. “If you were real, you’d talk to me, o-or you’d give me a sign, or anything! Anything, Santino!”

“Okay.” He says. “Goodnight, mi cielito . I love you.”

I love you. She shakes her head at those words, but a part of her still opens her mouth.

“I love you more.”

Her voice, it’s shaky. Watery. He seems to laugh at the sound, and brings her in close.

“I love you most.”

Then he kisses her. He’s there , right in front of her eyes… and yet the more she stares at him, the less real he seems. The less real everything seems; the weight and warmth of his body fades like a dream she’s waking up from, to be replaced with something hard, something cold against her back. She looks for him and suddenly he’s not there, had never been there, had never existed in the first place.

She opens her eyes, and stares at the woman leaning over her. Stares at the fridge doors of the drink aisle looming over her. Stares at the tile she’s lying on.

“...Ma’am? Ma’am?”

The woman from the cash register is shaking her shoulder. She looks up.

“You passed out, are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Hospital…” Marie blinks. “No, I should call out.”

The woman says more words, but at that moment her phone buzzes. She can feel it in her pocket; it’s uncomfortable, pressed against the tile. She sits up and takes it out.

“Oh, I have a text. From Ben.”

“Ma’am?”

She unlocks her phone. “One second, sorry.”

Scrolling over to her text messages, she begins to read:

Hi Mom. Had a great time w you yesterday, hope youre doing well. Would love to meet up again sometime, maybe go and see a movie or something? You can text or call me when youre free and I can make it work. Love you.

There’s a flicker at the edge of her vision as she gets to the end. She sees that, and she feels the hardness of the store tile she’s sitting on, and she thinks this is probably not what Ben meant by ‘doing well’.

A grim smile. She's gone and let him down again, it seems.

#transcendence au #Ben Can't Sleep #toothwrites

11 notes · View notes

seiya234 · 6 years

Text

It started with a bag of potato chips.

Namely, a bag of artisanal potato chips Mom had gotten for them (for Mabel) (for them) at the farmer’s market that week. They were pickle flavored, made their entire room reek of dill, and came in a handmade paper bag. Before the Transcendence (before he had died) (no) Dipper usually let Mabel have the potato chips in favor of the soft pretzels Mom bought at the market for him and Dad.

But Mom had forgotten the pretzels (forgotten that he was still there) (no, just forgot that he could still eat), leaving only the potato chips.

No one had summoned him all day and he and Mabel had quickly realized that it was…. best that he not follow her to school. He could have gone to the Mindscape, could have danced in the dreams of a thousand sleepers, gone from Pisa to New Delhi to Nome just because-

The chips haunted him. As soon as he realized he couldn’t have them he wanted them more than anything else on the planet. It was dumb-part of Dipper knew this-to obsess over freaking potato chips. Perhaps it was his new nature, his new form of being. To want, to hunger, endlessly.

Also to his now far superior senses, they smelt impossibly good.

He looked at the clock (you don’t need to).

3:08 (20 seconds, 14 milliseconds, the feel of the earth slowly turning on its axis, the whirl of a body in motion around the sun-) PM. Mabel would be home soon and then she could give him some chips and he could put this whole stupid day behind him.

Mabel sighed with relief as she exited the building. Another school day done. She began the long walk home and once again tried to tell herself it was because she liked being outside and not, say, because her bus driver was a poop butt (be nice) and wouldn’t let her on his bus anymore.

She used to like school. School was where her friends and art class were. But they had had to cut art class this year because of dumb budget thing. And yeah, Mabel did art stuff all the time at home but that wasn’t the same as actually getting to go to a special class for it every day. How was she going to learn new things now? Dipper had rolled his eyes at her and just told her to use YouTube but that wasn’t the same. And as for friends-

Mabel blew out a raspberry. She was half way through the school year. She should be used to this by now. Used to not having Cherry or Eddie or Christina talk to her any more. Used to sitting alone at lunch, to having her teachers look over and pretend not to see her raised hand. Thanks to one or two…. thingies from Dipper at the beginning of the year, no one made fun of her or messed with her anymore, outwardly at least.

They just ignored her now. Oh, and left notes in her locker, notes which made her feel dirty just to read, notes that sometimes had an adult’s handwriting on them.

(She read each one then threw it away. Her parents couldn’t do anything about it and she was scared what Dipper would do if he knew.)

Mabel kicked a rock in her path and sighed. Used to be, her and Dipper would take the Alcor Express to Gravity Falls and spend the afternoon at the Shack. Soos would make her Magic Milk, Melody would do her hair in a million tiny braids, and both of them would show her and Dipper the new attractions they had made. After Paz and Grenda and Candy got out from school, they’d come over too, and they’d all chase Dipper through the yard until dinner time in Piedmont. But Mom and Dad had made them stop, saying they didn’t want them hanging out with strangers two states away.

(“But they aren’t strangers!” she had cried. “They’re our friends and we love them!”

Mom had pursed her lips and Dad had sighed. They gave each other one of those long looks that they thought Mabel was too stupid to understand. Finally, Dad said, “We will try and stop at Gravity Falls on our way to Seattle in January. Meet this Mr. Ramirez. Then we will discuss this further-”

Mabel opened her mouth to argue, but from the looks on her parents’ faces, she knew she shouldn’t push it.

Also that they expected her to break the news to Dipper.)

She blew out her breath in a big raspberry and stepped over a branch on the sidewalk. Remember.

Remember to be nice. Remember to be fair.

Remember that this was hard for Mom and Dad too. Remember that she could have made things a lot easier for herself if she had just lied about Dipper at school. Remember to remind Dad to set a place for Dipper at dinner tonight.

Remember, no matter how hard she had tried to forget, the scream Dipper let out as she saw him burn from the inside out.

Her steps sped up.

Remember to think about everyone but herself. Remember to not think about how lonely she felt, and no she shouldn’t feel that way, she talked to the girls on the phone all the time, be fair Mabel.

Was she running now? Yup, Leftie and Veronica were definitely running now.

Remember how tired she was. Remember how much Dipper relied on her for everything. Remember to try and control her emotions somehow by the time she got home because now Dipper could tell when she was upset and she didn’t want to try and explain why she was upset. Remember to stop being so upset, to stop being such a big weenie crybaby, because Dipper had it so much worse than her and she shouldn’t forget that and she needed to be better she needed to be nicer she needed to not

To not remember the mean, ugly, snarly thing in her chest that felt like it was going to claw its way out at any second.

Mabel swallowed the scream that was welling up in her throat as she finally saw the front porch of her house. She took a moment by the front door to calm down. She thought about kittencorns and snadgers and a snadger riding a kittencorn through a rainbow explosion in the Gumdrop Duchy, and that did the trick. Somehow, she managed to pull a smile out of her brain pocket.

Besides, there was that bag of fancypants potato chips Mom had got for her at the Farmer’s Market waiting for her inside.

——

Finally, finally the door opened to their bedroom and Mabel came in. He tried to ignore the way her aura was muted and damp, deep ugly puce and magenta and sqarporple. The way she threw her horse backpack to the ground instead of placing it lovingly on her papasan chair, like she did last year.

The crick she was getting in her neck from constantly looking down.

He wished he was ignoring it because it would hurt Mabel to draw her attention to his awareness of her dejection, but honestly, it was because dissecting her emotions would delay the delivery of potato chips from Mabel’s hands into his mouth.

“Mabel!”

She tiredly smiled. “Hey Dippinsauce.”

He went on. “My favorite Mabelrooni!”

“Hi.”

“Mabellina!”

She raised an eyebrow, a skill she had learned at age seven and refused to teach him (not that he needed her to do that now) (no, stop it Dipper.)

“Whoa there broseph,” she said, picking up the potato chips. “I thought we agreed- no talking like each other because that’s weird and like, we’re twins but not like, horror movie psycho twins.”

Despite the need surging through his system, Dipper shuddered. “Like that one convention last month,” he said.

Mabel grimaced. “Yeah.”

He knew how many individual grains of salt were on each chip. He knew how many chips there were in the bag (57.) He knew that there were chips from four separate potatoes in the bag, and that said potatoes came from a factory farm in Idaho and not from a backyard in Piedmont as was claimed by the proprietor. But the pickles and pickle juice that flavored the chips were handmade, that much was true. It felt like his stomach was going to crawl out of his mouth to get at the chips.

It probably felt like that because that bad boy was currently trying to squeeze its way out. Dipper frowned, and gulped hard to push his stomach back in place.

Mabel had grabbed the bag.

Mabel had opened the bag.

Mabel was saying something or the other but she always blathered on for a bit after school it wasn’t that important what was important was chips in his mouth now-

“Mabel, can I have the potato chips?”

There. That was polite. Ish.

Mabel smiled. “No offence Dipperino, but I’ve been looking forward to these all day. But I don’t mind sharing! We can do ‘one for me, one for you,’ and make it even even!”

Dipper frowned slightly. “Yeah but I’ve been waiting for them all day. I’d reallylike the whole bag if that’s okay.”

His twin’s smile wavered, but then re-fixed itself. “I’m sorry Dipper. Normally I’d let you have them all to yourself since I know… I know it gets lonely during the day. But I was really looking forward to these.”

“Well, so was I.”

“Well, me too! Can’t we just share? Like we used to do all the time?”

“N̦͉̝̼͈o̴̦͖̭̺͇̮!̣̼” The force with which the word came out of his mouth surprised him, but he kept on going.

“You don’t understand Mabel. I spent forty minutes today tracing the history of each and every potato that went into that pack- and I didn’t even want to! It just happened! Dad came in here to vacuum, and he walked through me, and I didn’t even notice because I was so busy thinking about the chips! I don’t wantto want them but I do! So just. Give them to me? Please?”

Dipper was really upset, she could tell. And he was right. He had a rough day. She should stop being selfish and give him the chips. Be a good sister and all that. Besides, there was some Lays and peanut butter to dip them in downstairs. Ignore the hot, mean, ugly snarly thing screaming in her stomach.

She opened her mouth to say okay, she extended her hand to give him the bag-

Mabel clutched the bag to her chest and snapped out, “No!”

Her brother had gone still, stiller than a person could ever get.

“What do you mean ‘no,’ Shooting Star?”

Ohhhh no he wasn’t going to get her with that trick.

It was the mean snarly thing in her stomach that spoke for Mabel, the mean snarly thing that had been born when she woke up in a dark, pink place, that had only continued to grow since then.

“I mean no! I’m… I’m tired too Dipper! I know this is harder for you, but haven’t you ever thought about that it’s hard for me too? I’m tired of… Of giving you everything! Just this once won’t you let me keep something for myself?”

The room in Dipper’s vision turned red, every single thing in his sight a shade of throbbing, angry crimson.

“It’s hard? For you?! At least you’re not dead!”

“Dipper you aren’t dead though-”

He laughed, and the glass of Mabel Juice she had poured for herself got lumpy and gross like old milk.

“Tell that to Mom and Dad! They had a funeral for me remember? There’s a stone and everything!”

“You are alive-”

“Ń̛ót̴͝ ̡to̶̧ ̧t̢h͘ę͠m̷͜!̀̕”

Dipper had burst into flames at that last part, but before she could remind him to put himself out, he kept talking.

“They walk through me even after you tell them I’m there. They visit my grave once a week even though they… they know I’m there with them. They’ve stopped worrying about my allergies. And you know they haven’t told Grandma Lorie and Grandpa Lou about… about me, not like they would have told Grandma Shermie. They don’t correct people when they say I’m dead, not like you do. They… Mark and Anna-“

“Mom and Dad-“

“They… they forget about me sometimes.” Dipper paused. “Well, maybe not forgetting all the way, because in the back of their minds is the constant thought about the Son They Lost and Mabel don’t look at me like that I’m just saying what’s there…”

He pointed a claw tipped finger at her.

“They don’t set a place for me at the dinner table any more Mabel! Haven’t you noticed that?”

“Yeah, but you don’t eat so why does it matter….”

Too late Mabel realized that she had said the wrong thing.

Dipper looked at her.

She was aware, for the first time in a very long time, of his black eyes, of the ears that grew more pointed and long with every passing day.

Fingers tipped with claws that were twitching.

Maybe she should be scared (and she was, a little bit) but this was Dipper. This was her twin, her bro-bro. And no matter how many arguments they had, she had never lost one yet. And while there would be time to apologize later, the key in arguing with Dipper was not letting him get a word in. Once you did that, he’d use his dumb “logic” and “sense” and, worse of all, “facts.”

“You’re tired of being overlooked? Of being treated differently now? Of having people look at you and think of bad things only? Well so am I.”

Mabel put the bag of chips down on the bed behind her, out of Dipper’s line of sight.

“You know; I can’t remember the last time you said ‘thank you.’”

The aura of menace that was building around Dipper shorted out.

“What… what does that have to do with anything?”

The hot snarly thing was still in her chest, screaming in anger, but at this point Mabel just felt tired.

"Dipper.... Dippindots. I spend like, almost my entire day doing stuff for you-"

"No you don't, what about when you're at school and sleeping-"

The look that Mabel gave him shut Dipper up immediately, jaw clicking audibly shut. She went on.

"Since you can't or won't show up for Mom and Dad, I'm the only way you three can talk to each other- and it's not just me telling them what you've said! They've been telling me... mom and dad stuff. No, it’s not that, it’s-"

She shook her head, "They've been telling me adult stuff and expecting me to deal with it for them and I know they don't mean anything bad by that but it really makes my head hurt and-" Mabel blew out a breath. "Then I got to decide what won't hurt your feelings, what you need to hear, and how you should hear it."

"I-"

"There's only so many scrapbooks and macaroni pages I can make to deal with this Dipper!"

Her eyes narrowed. "You have been looking at my 'Mom and Dad Stuff For Dipper' book right? I leave the pages open for you-?"

Dipper was silent and that alone was all the answer she needed.

“Wow. Great. Fantastic.” Mabel didn’t recognize the voice that was coming out of her mouth, all adult sounding and snarly and mean. She looked down into the bag, at the potato chips waiting for her.

“You know what? Fine. I’m done trying for you-“

(no, no Mabel you don’t mean that)

(she did mean it though. Not for always and forever, but for here and now, Mabel Anna Pines was done with this)

She put a hand in the bag.

“Mabel.”

She pulled out a chip.

“Mabel, I thought I told you those chips were mine.”

Mabel put the chip back and Dipper sighed in relief… only to see her grab out five chips and shove them all in her mouth.

The sound that came out of Dipper’s mouth wasn’t human.

Human voices didn’t shatter car windows four blocks away and make ears bleed.

Mabel pushed through and pulled out another chip.

“S͎t̯̱o̞p̤̩̯̥̱̯͘”

His twin froze. Dipper could still see the rise and fall of her chest, the trembling of her arms forced to stay in one awkward place.

He reached out.

He grabbed the bag of potato chips- and he could touch them! He could have t͈̜͙̣͕͚̥́h̢̠̱͚ḙ̴̲͔̜͚m̦̬̥̘̳̞̯͠.

They were his and they were his and he ate them all in front of his sister’s eyes, ungraceful shovels of chips into his mouth, one, two, three handfuls and they were gone.

They were the most utterly disappointing things he had ever eaten. They didn’t live up to the day long hype in his mind... but they weren’t rotten or gross either.

They were just potato chips, and looking at his sister’s face, they tasted like ashes in his mouth.

#transcendence au #seiya writes!

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