Dipper Pines (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ghostharasser) wrote2021-05-10 06:00 am
ghostharasser) wrote2021-05-10 06:00 am
Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins
Prompt: Shedding
Content Warnings: inevitable death of NPCs, time shenanigans, duplicates of Sleepers, suggestion of alternate universes/timelines, blood, fatal injuries, grief.
You can run but you can't escape
The mist is an oppressive force. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that it's supernatural in nature. Of course it would be, it's Deerington, and like all things in Deerington, it's best to be cautious. No matter what experience Dipper has with the supernatural, Deerington always finds a way to surprise him. So, rather than test his luck, or his curious mind, he stays inside with the rest of his family. For once he is not out there, tempting fate for the sake of an unsolved mystery. Not when Great Uncle Ford has been in such duress, and when Grunkle Stan is still recovering. Not when Mabel needs the company and not when...
...Not when the dread in the pit of his gut is just so potent, that Dipper just can't ignore it.
Dipper's no stranger to anxiety or panic attacks. He's had to cope with them all his life. Despite all the bravado he carries, he frequently gets through his ordeals just a hair short of going into cardiac arrest. Sometimes he's good at hiding it, sometimes he's really not. This has never stopped Dipper from pursuing something of interest, not usually.
That he's willing to let it stop him this time, is telling.
Still, he hovers near the windows and keeps a nervous, watchful eye on the outside.
It's in one of these fidgety bouts of paranoia that Dipper catches it. A blink of movement out of the corner of his eye, just outside the window. Dread runs through him like ice water under his skin and he reaches for the Azure Pine that he's taken to keeping on him pretty consistently of late.
He barely grazes the grip of the gun before an ominous thump echos just outside the front door. Whatever it was, it was on the porch now. Cool, awesome, great. Dipper's heart is pounding so hard Ford could probably hear it in the basement. The gun is in his hands a moment later, and he creeps to the front door as quiet as he can, waiting, listening for what might be on the other side.
He ends up waiting a great deal longer than he hoped. Whatever it was, it was already gone, or it was just keeping real quiet. Knowing there was no way he'd be able to walk away from this without the question of what it was haunting his every thought for the rest of the night, he makes a decision against his better judgement. He takes a deep breath and pushes open the door.
The door swings with force and slams hard into what should have been the opposite wall. Instead it makes a very dull thump as it collides with something else. A soft groan sounds from behind him, and Dipper whirls around bringing his gun up to aim in time to find-!
A Waste.
A moment ticks by. Dipper lowers his weapon and sighs with enough relief that it damn near makes him lightheaded. The Wastes were not threats, far from it. They were worse victims in all this as far as he was concerned. Their family has been reaching out to them for as long as they've lived here. Just the other month Mabel had curated a bunch of colorful care packages for them, even. It wasn't surprising at all for them to lurk near by. They must have found their yard safe. This is however, the first time one's come up to the porch, though with the state of things, he really couldn't be that surprised.
Dipper holsters the Azure Pine and very carefully approaches. This one looked injured and he wasn't going to assume he would be completely trusting of Dipper just because he came up to the porch. Especially after he slammed the front door against him.
Ah, his clothing is familiar. Dipper's seen this one around, he thinks. Usually in the company of a young girl. Yes, okay.
"Hey, man, don't worry. You're safe here, okay? But-" Dipper swallows and the Waste turns his head just enough to indicate he was conscious enough to listen.
"I'm sorry," Dipper continues. "I really didn't mean to hit you with the door."
There's a silence that drags on longer than Dipper can put into words. Louder than any of the ominous sounds echoing from around them. Louder, until something else breaks it, something so surprising that it breaks through the silence and takes Dipper completely aback.
The Waste chuckles, quiet and weak.
The look on his face must have been incredible, because the Waste continues talking, and it's frankly, some of the most talking he's heard any of them do.
"Can't do much worse than what the town's already done, kiddo," he replies, in a soft-spoken, hoarse voice. The kind that would sound young, if it didn't also sound like there was just a bit of sand caught in his throat. Either way, the Waste is expressing humor, and Dipper's struck speechless, again.
Luckily something makes a horrific sound from the mist, something deep and foreboding, that sends dread right down Dipper's spine. The Waste reacts, too, jolting up, as if to make for his feet- but whatever injury he seems to have, makes him falter just enough that he can't do it. Dipper makes the choice for him instead and swoops under him. Before any sort of protest can be croaked out of his thin, dirty frame, Dipper has all but dragged him inside, slamming the door shut behind them.
The sound grows closer, and then slowly fades away. Dipper breathes a sigh of relief for the second time in the same ten minutes, and turns to their new house guest.
The Waste is having a panic attack. Dipper recognizes it almost immediately, because he's having a panic attack in almost the exact same way he does: Curled up as small as he can manage and heaving like he's one misstep away from throwing up all over the living room. He's shaking, too, but that's not really a surprise. Without saying anything, Dipper bolts for the kitchen, passes his sister concocting horrific kitchen science on the stove, and fishes out a bottle of water from the fridge before returning to the Waste.
Gently, he moves to his side, pushes the bottle into his hands and urges him to sit up against the couch. With something solid at his back, Dipper keeps a hand on his shoulder and lets him ride it out. It seems to have worked, at least, until he starts to choke and gasp for air, only to cough so hard Dipper can practically feel his own lungs rattling from the force. Whatever's going on, this guy really wasn't in good shape.
And that was before he noticed the trail of smeared blood on the floor, leading to where they were sitting.
"Hey- you. you don't sound good. Listen, I know the mask is a Thing for you guys, but I really don't think it's helping right now. If anything it's obstructing your-" His words die in his throat as he reaches up to gently try and nudge his mask off. The Waste reacts by snatching his wrist lightning quick, like a snake, though his grip is weak and shaky. Even so, he doesn't look willing to budge at first.
The seconds tick by with his heart racing. After a moment the Waste lets out a haggard, defeated sigh. His shoulders sag with an unknowable weight.
"You," He says finally. "are one who drives himself ceaselessly towards the truth, no matter how harsh. Isn't that right?"
The words strike him in a way he's not sure how to feel. Sure, that was ...definitely true, or rather. He likes to think that's true, it's always his goal, in the end. To find the truth, to uncover mysteries, to bring light to that which isn't understood. It's just such a surprising thing for this Waste to say it with such confidence, like he knew him. He isn't sure what to say.
"Y-yeah. Yeah, sure but how did you know that? Have you been, I dunno, watching me, or something?"
Before Dipper can dive into theories or explanations, or begin to properly accuse or sus The Waste, he releases his wrist. It falls at his side with a soft thud, lacking the strength to keep it up any longer.
With apprehension, Dipper once more regards the mask, and slowly begins to pull it up and over the Waste's head. The Waste makes no move to stop him this time, strangely resigned. What was under the mask all this time? Dipper had always wondered, of course. Were their faces marred? Were they undead? Or monsters? or maybe the masks were just part of their bodies. He'd always theorized to no real conclusion.
He's almost disappointed to find the face underneath mostly normal, if gaunt with the clear indication of living a harsh life outside. Tired, dark eyes regard him quietly, with a mean scar going across his face that's been long healed. No, he seems like a normal guy, maybe in his late teens or early 20's. Or rather Dipper thinks that until he sees something that makes his heart stop: The Big Dipper smattered across his forehead.
The Waste seems to understand the moment he's caught on, and closes his eyes, the rest of his energy draining out of him. He leans against the couch, resting his head against the cushion so that he can gaze up at the ceiling. He says nothing for a long time and Dipper spends that intolerable silence wondering how he didn't see it from the start. The memories are further away now, but they're far from faded. Not so long ago he wore a face nearly identical to his.
The questions rush up to him next, hurling across his thoughts at lightning speeds. He can barely sort them out, put them in a list, there's just so much he wants to know and so much he actually doesn't, where does he begin?
The Waste- no- The other him speaks up, instead.
"It looks like I thought it would," He says, gaze still trained on the ceiling. After a moment he slides his eyes towards Dipper. "The inside, I mean. I've always wondered."
It gives him something to latch onto, at least. A question he can put into words.
"Then why didn't you just knock? We would have let you in! We have a spare bedroom- I-It's kind of cursed but- We could have made space for you and for--" the girl that's always with him, he nearly says but Dipper cuts off before he does, seeing the way the expression in the other him suddenly changes. From wistful resignation to something deeply sorrowful.
A knot tightens in his throat, and Dipper knows to drop the subject.
"Why?" Dipper says after a moment, his voice much smaller than it was a moment ago. "Why didn't you say something? I-I've seen you, like, a dozen times. You've always been near, so why didn't you just tell us?"
His expression is ...mournful, apologetic, as he looks at Dipper.
"We've spent ...so long being afraid. Decades of fear makes bad habits hard to break, you know? But I guess I've always wanted to, deep down. I wish-" He cuts off with a harsh coughing fit, doubling over. Blood sprays across the ground this time, and Dipper remembers with startling terror just how bad off the other him is.
"H-Hey, don't- Don't talk, I'm gonna get you a first aid kit and-" Dipper moves to pull away and instead the other him grabs him by the arm, holding him still. He goes still with surprise and the other him looks up, eyes imploring, desperate almost.
"No. Listen, I need- I need to tell you something. I need you to listen, please."
Wordlessly, Dipper nods. The other him settles back down again
"The layers," He begins. "They're not breaking. That's not ...what it is. They're shedding. Shedding away the old into something new, something better."
"...like a snake?"
"Yes, exactly like a snake. The Snake. She's waiting for us, I've seen her."
Dipper frowns, not exactly sure he's parsing him, correctly. He's babbling on the verge of hysteria, he can tell that much. He doesn't think he's lying though, maybe just stirred up. Eventually curiosity wins out over concern or suspicion.
"Who's 'The Snake'"?
A soft, hopeful grin suddenly catches the other him's face. Something knowing and amused. Something proud, almost.
"That's for you to learn, you who seeks the truth. That-" He clears his throat, finding his voice again. He's firm as he speaks, the hysteria gone, but he's no less adamant. "Never let go of that part of yourself. The one that's hungry for answers, the one that'll unravel the darkness for the truth. Promise me you won't make my mistakes, Dipper."
"...Your mistakes?"
"We've wondered lost in this hellscape for so long, we clung to only one thing, and lost sight of all else," He answers, bitterly.
"What?"
"Survival. And what good is that, if you've got nothing to survive for. K-Keep seeking the truth. It's your turn now to step through the door. I've seen you, I've seen all of you, I know you can do better. Promise me."
"I-I promise."
Silence falls between them, and finally a smile, genuine, though tired, spreads across his face. It's like watching the years lift off of him with just one sentence. He settles back against the couch again, a deep, bone tired sigh of relief escaping him. Dipper feel like ...maybe he passed some kind of test.
"Thank you. I think... I'd like a minute to rest. I'm really tired, do you think that would be okay?"
"Y-Yeah, of course. I can get you some water? Or blankets? Or- Hey!" Dipper rushes to his side in time to catch him, The other him suddenly just slumping over as if he'd fallen asleep mid-sentence. He struggles to hold up his weight a second time, and starts to shake him, fear lacing his words.
"H-Hey! Hey! Wake up, I can't- I can't hold you up for ..." Dipper swallows, dread building in his heart. He moves him to the floor and tries again to rouse him, but by then he knows that it's no use. That in all that effort he must have expelled every little bit he had left, to give Dipper his message.
And now he was gone, just like that.
Grief grabs hold of him in a way that's violent and unbidden, and it's all he can do to keep from wailing for the person he barely got the chance to know. Who's story would die with him in a void of questions, despite his promise, he wasn't sure he could find answers for.
Content Warnings: inevitable death of NPCs, time shenanigans, duplicates of Sleepers, suggestion of alternate universes/timelines, blood, fatal injuries, grief.
The mist is an oppressive force. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that it's supernatural in nature. Of course it would be, it's Deerington, and like all things in Deerington, it's best to be cautious. No matter what experience Dipper has with the supernatural, Deerington always finds a way to surprise him. So, rather than test his luck, or his curious mind, he stays inside with the rest of his family. For once he is not out there, tempting fate for the sake of an unsolved mystery. Not when Great Uncle Ford has been in such duress, and when Grunkle Stan is still recovering. Not when Mabel needs the company and not when...
...Not when the dread in the pit of his gut is just so potent, that Dipper just can't ignore it.
Dipper's no stranger to anxiety or panic attacks. He's had to cope with them all his life. Despite all the bravado he carries, he frequently gets through his ordeals just a hair short of going into cardiac arrest. Sometimes he's good at hiding it, sometimes he's really not. This has never stopped Dipper from pursuing something of interest, not usually.
That he's willing to let it stop him this time, is telling.
Still, he hovers near the windows and keeps a nervous, watchful eye on the outside.
It's in one of these fidgety bouts of paranoia that Dipper catches it. A blink of movement out of the corner of his eye, just outside the window. Dread runs through him like ice water under his skin and he reaches for the Azure Pine that he's taken to keeping on him pretty consistently of late.
He barely grazes the grip of the gun before an ominous thump echos just outside the front door. Whatever it was, it was on the porch now. Cool, awesome, great. Dipper's heart is pounding so hard Ford could probably hear it in the basement. The gun is in his hands a moment later, and he creeps to the front door as quiet as he can, waiting, listening for what might be on the other side.
He ends up waiting a great deal longer than he hoped. Whatever it was, it was already gone, or it was just keeping real quiet. Knowing there was no way he'd be able to walk away from this without the question of what it was haunting his every thought for the rest of the night, he makes a decision against his better judgement. He takes a deep breath and pushes open the door.
The door swings with force and slams hard into what should have been the opposite wall. Instead it makes a very dull thump as it collides with something else. A soft groan sounds from behind him, and Dipper whirls around bringing his gun up to aim in time to find-!
A Waste.
A moment ticks by. Dipper lowers his weapon and sighs with enough relief that it damn near makes him lightheaded. The Wastes were not threats, far from it. They were worse victims in all this as far as he was concerned. Their family has been reaching out to them for as long as they've lived here. Just the other month Mabel had curated a bunch of colorful care packages for them, even. It wasn't surprising at all for them to lurk near by. They must have found their yard safe. This is however, the first time one's come up to the porch, though with the state of things, he really couldn't be that surprised.
Dipper holsters the Azure Pine and very carefully approaches. This one looked injured and he wasn't going to assume he would be completely trusting of Dipper just because he came up to the porch. Especially after he slammed the front door against him.
Ah, his clothing is familiar. Dipper's seen this one around, he thinks. Usually in the company of a young girl. Yes, okay.
"Hey, man, don't worry. You're safe here, okay? But-" Dipper swallows and the Waste turns his head just enough to indicate he was conscious enough to listen.
"I'm sorry," Dipper continues. "I really didn't mean to hit you with the door."
There's a silence that drags on longer than Dipper can put into words. Louder than any of the ominous sounds echoing from around them. Louder, until something else breaks it, something so surprising that it breaks through the silence and takes Dipper completely aback.
The Waste chuckles, quiet and weak.
The look on his face must have been incredible, because the Waste continues talking, and it's frankly, some of the most talking he's heard any of them do.
"Can't do much worse than what the town's already done, kiddo," he replies, in a soft-spoken, hoarse voice. The kind that would sound young, if it didn't also sound like there was just a bit of sand caught in his throat. Either way, the Waste is expressing humor, and Dipper's struck speechless, again.
Luckily something makes a horrific sound from the mist, something deep and foreboding, that sends dread right down Dipper's spine. The Waste reacts, too, jolting up, as if to make for his feet- but whatever injury he seems to have, makes him falter just enough that he can't do it. Dipper makes the choice for him instead and swoops under him. Before any sort of protest can be croaked out of his thin, dirty frame, Dipper has all but dragged him inside, slamming the door shut behind them.
The sound grows closer, and then slowly fades away. Dipper breathes a sigh of relief for the second time in the same ten minutes, and turns to their new house guest.
The Waste is having a panic attack. Dipper recognizes it almost immediately, because he's having a panic attack in almost the exact same way he does: Curled up as small as he can manage and heaving like he's one misstep away from throwing up all over the living room. He's shaking, too, but that's not really a surprise. Without saying anything, Dipper bolts for the kitchen, passes his sister concocting horrific kitchen science on the stove, and fishes out a bottle of water from the fridge before returning to the Waste.
Gently, he moves to his side, pushes the bottle into his hands and urges him to sit up against the couch. With something solid at his back, Dipper keeps a hand on his shoulder and lets him ride it out. It seems to have worked, at least, until he starts to choke and gasp for air, only to cough so hard Dipper can practically feel his own lungs rattling from the force. Whatever's going on, this guy really wasn't in good shape.
And that was before he noticed the trail of smeared blood on the floor, leading to where they were sitting.
"Hey- you. you don't sound good. Listen, I know the mask is a Thing for you guys, but I really don't think it's helping right now. If anything it's obstructing your-" His words die in his throat as he reaches up to gently try and nudge his mask off. The Waste reacts by snatching his wrist lightning quick, like a snake, though his grip is weak and shaky. Even so, he doesn't look willing to budge at first.
The seconds tick by with his heart racing. After a moment the Waste lets out a haggard, defeated sigh. His shoulders sag with an unknowable weight.
"You," He says finally. "are one who drives himself ceaselessly towards the truth, no matter how harsh. Isn't that right?"
The words strike him in a way he's not sure how to feel. Sure, that was ...definitely true, or rather. He likes to think that's true, it's always his goal, in the end. To find the truth, to uncover mysteries, to bring light to that which isn't understood. It's just such a surprising thing for this Waste to say it with such confidence, like he knew him. He isn't sure what to say.
"Y-yeah. Yeah, sure but how did you know that? Have you been, I dunno, watching me, or something?"
Before Dipper can dive into theories or explanations, or begin to properly accuse or sus The Waste, he releases his wrist. It falls at his side with a soft thud, lacking the strength to keep it up any longer.
With apprehension, Dipper once more regards the mask, and slowly begins to pull it up and over the Waste's head. The Waste makes no move to stop him this time, strangely resigned. What was under the mask all this time? Dipper had always wondered, of course. Were their faces marred? Were they undead? Or monsters? or maybe the masks were just part of their bodies. He'd always theorized to no real conclusion.
He's almost disappointed to find the face underneath mostly normal, if gaunt with the clear indication of living a harsh life outside. Tired, dark eyes regard him quietly, with a mean scar going across his face that's been long healed. No, he seems like a normal guy, maybe in his late teens or early 20's. Or rather Dipper thinks that until he sees something that makes his heart stop: The Big Dipper smattered across his forehead.
The Waste seems to understand the moment he's caught on, and closes his eyes, the rest of his energy draining out of him. He leans against the couch, resting his head against the cushion so that he can gaze up at the ceiling. He says nothing for a long time and Dipper spends that intolerable silence wondering how he didn't see it from the start. The memories are further away now, but they're far from faded. Not so long ago he wore a face nearly identical to his.
The questions rush up to him next, hurling across his thoughts at lightning speeds. He can barely sort them out, put them in a list, there's just so much he wants to know and so much he actually doesn't, where does he begin?
The Waste- no- The other him speaks up, instead.
"It looks like I thought it would," He says, gaze still trained on the ceiling. After a moment he slides his eyes towards Dipper. "The inside, I mean. I've always wondered."
It gives him something to latch onto, at least. A question he can put into words.
"Then why didn't you just knock? We would have let you in! We have a spare bedroom- I-It's kind of cursed but- We could have made space for you and for--" the girl that's always with him, he nearly says but Dipper cuts off before he does, seeing the way the expression in the other him suddenly changes. From wistful resignation to something deeply sorrowful.
A knot tightens in his throat, and Dipper knows to drop the subject.
"Why?" Dipper says after a moment, his voice much smaller than it was a moment ago. "Why didn't you say something? I-I've seen you, like, a dozen times. You've always been near, so why didn't you just tell us?"
His expression is ...mournful, apologetic, as he looks at Dipper.
"We've spent ...so long being afraid. Decades of fear makes bad habits hard to break, you know? But I guess I've always wanted to, deep down. I wish-" He cuts off with a harsh coughing fit, doubling over. Blood sprays across the ground this time, and Dipper remembers with startling terror just how bad off the other him is.
"H-Hey, don't- Don't talk, I'm gonna get you a first aid kit and-" Dipper moves to pull away and instead the other him grabs him by the arm, holding him still. He goes still with surprise and the other him looks up, eyes imploring, desperate almost.
"No. Listen, I need- I need to tell you something. I need you to listen, please."
Wordlessly, Dipper nods. The other him settles back down again
"The layers," He begins. "They're not breaking. That's not ...what it is. They're shedding. Shedding away the old into something new, something better."
"...like a snake?"
"Yes, exactly like a snake. The Snake. She's waiting for us, I've seen her."
Dipper frowns, not exactly sure he's parsing him, correctly. He's babbling on the verge of hysteria, he can tell that much. He doesn't think he's lying though, maybe just stirred up. Eventually curiosity wins out over concern or suspicion.
"Who's 'The Snake'"?
A soft, hopeful grin suddenly catches the other him's face. Something knowing and amused. Something proud, almost.
"That's for you to learn, you who seeks the truth. That-" He clears his throat, finding his voice again. He's firm as he speaks, the hysteria gone, but he's no less adamant. "Never let go of that part of yourself. The one that's hungry for answers, the one that'll unravel the darkness for the truth. Promise me you won't make my mistakes, Dipper."
"...Your mistakes?"
"We've wondered lost in this hellscape for so long, we clung to only one thing, and lost sight of all else," He answers, bitterly.
"What?"
"Survival. And what good is that, if you've got nothing to survive for. K-Keep seeking the truth. It's your turn now to step through the door. I've seen you, I've seen all of you, I know you can do better. Promise me."
"I-I promise."
Silence falls between them, and finally a smile, genuine, though tired, spreads across his face. It's like watching the years lift off of him with just one sentence. He settles back against the couch again, a deep, bone tired sigh of relief escaping him. Dipper feel like ...maybe he passed some kind of test.
"Thank you. I think... I'd like a minute to rest. I'm really tired, do you think that would be okay?"
"Y-Yeah, of course. I can get you some water? Or blankets? Or- Hey!" Dipper rushes to his side in time to catch him, The other him suddenly just slumping over as if he'd fallen asleep mid-sentence. He struggles to hold up his weight a second time, and starts to shake him, fear lacing his words.
"H-Hey! Hey! Wake up, I can't- I can't hold you up for ..." Dipper swallows, dread building in his heart. He moves him to the floor and tries again to rouse him, but by then he knows that it's no use. That in all that effort he must have expelled every little bit he had left, to give Dipper his message.
And now he was gone, just like that.
Grief grabs hold of him in a way that's violent and unbidden, and it's all he can do to keep from wailing for the person he barely got the chance to know. Who's story would die with him in a void of questions, despite his promise, he wasn't sure he could find answers for.