Chapter Text
Dipper knew from the start that this wasn't a good idea. That this person — this man, Colton, who he barely knew — wasn't good for him. That it was inappropriate, even, for the interactions between them to happen the way they did.
He knew that the way Colton spoke to him was gross. Bad. Something far too 'grown-up' for him, a twelve-year-old, to be exposed to.
But it also— He didn't— The way Colton spoke to him was weird. Different. Good different.
Colton let him talk about whatever he wanted. Colton listened to him drone on and on about anything that came to mind — when they'd first met, even, he was there, listening to Dipper ramble about the gnomes he and Mabel had to run from.
And not only did he listen, he also believed him.
No matter how strange and unrealistic Dipper's stories sounded, Colton listened, and nodded along, and believed them to be true.
And, well, aside from Mabel, Dipper didn't really have anyone who would believe him about all this stuff.
Yeah, Colton always found a way to change the subject immediately after Dipper finished saying something. Yeah, Dipper always had to re-tell stories and remind Colton of things that he'd said hundreds of times, and yeah, maybe Colton really wasn't listening, but it felt like it. And it felt good. It felt good to be able to talk about it, even if it really did fall upon deaf ears, because it gave the illusion that someone truly wanted to hear what he had to say.
And it was all worth it, 'cause sometimes Colton really would listen, and he'd show Dipper things that reminded him of certain stories, or he'd bring up some of the creatures Dipper had shown him from the journals in casual conversation. And God, if that didn't make Dipper feel good.
It made him so happy. Colton made him so happy.
It was a different kind of happiness than what he'd get around Grunkle Stan, or Mabel, or even Wendy.
He felt — well, he wasn't sure what the feeling was called. All he knew is that it made him buzz the rest of the day.
“Dipper,” Mabel said to him, a couple days after he and Colton had met, “Did something good happen? You seem — I dunno — happier,”
Dipper tilted his head. He wasn't— he wasn't quite sure he wanted to tell Mabel everything. Colton was great, yeah, but he... He didn't want to lose Colton because he said too much.
“Um— I guess, yeah, something good did happen. I made a friend.” Dipper replied, finally, after figuring out what words to say. “He's really nice. He...” he trailed off, unsure of what else to say.
“You made a friend?” Mabel asked, immediately brightening. “Oh, I need to meet him immediately! What's his name?”
He considered lying, making up some other name, but nothing came to mind. It would— it'd be fine if he told her his name, probably.
“His name's, uh, Colton,” he said, “He lives a couple towns over, though, he was only visiting Gravity Falls for the weekend when I met him. So it might be hard. To— for you to meet him, I mean.”
A white lie. Something small. Something minor. It wasn't too far from the truth — Colton really didn't live in Gravity Falls, but he lived very close. Not nearly as far as Dipper was making it out to be.
“Oh, okay!” Mabel smiled. “I'll meet him when he visits next, then! I'm sure that won't be too far off.” Her smile then softens, just a bit, to show that she's being sincere, “I'm proud of you, bro-bro. I know you can make friends, but I also know that it's— y'know, hard. So I'm really, really proud of you.”
He smiled, but it wasn't really genuine. Not— not completely. She wouldn't really be proud of him if she knew who Colton really was. She wouldn't be proud of him if Dipper had been more... specific, or detailed, about Colton, or about their conversations.
He nodded anyway. “Thanks, Mabel.”
—
It was just a small thing. Stupid. But it dug under his skin, and now it was there, festering.
“…it was all big, and black, and furry,” Dipper had said, recalling a recent monster he'd encountered with Mabel. “Mabel and I kept getting separated in the woods trying to catch it. It wouldn’t stop running.”
“Sounds exhausting,” Colton had replied, a teasing grin on his face. “Good on you for persevering, though, what with how wimpy you are.”
“Oh, fuck off,” he’d said, laughing. It was rare that he could swear, since he was, well, twelve. But Colton always did, and he'd never faced any consequences for letting out a couple ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s here and there, even if they did feel rather unfamiliar on his tongue.
Colton huffed, his grin switching to a sly smirk. “Don't be such a brat, come on.” And maybe Colton had been teasing just a moment ago, but something about his tone, the smirk— it felt so much more... sexual.
Dipper wasn't a stranger to sexuality, especially not with Colton. But it was never directed at him before, and he couldn't even describe the feeling — some deep discomfort, squeezing his chest and making him shiver. He didn't dare voice this discomfort to Colton, however. He didn't want Colton to feel bad, not like him.
He’d let out an awkward laugh. How did one continue a conversation after that?
Luckily, Colton's phone had buzzed at that exact moment with a text that swiftly changed the topic. Dipper sighed.
—
It wasn't that he was trying to hide so much about Colton from his friends and family. It's just— whenever they'd inevitably ask questions about him, he'd clam up, and get all nervous, unsure of what to tell them. Everything that he could say would just get contact between the two barred.
And— and he knew, of course, that that wasn't good. That talking about what he and a friend got up to in their free time might get him in trouble. He knew that what went on between the two wasn't okay for someone his age to be exposed to, but at this point— at this point, he was attached, and he knew that if he told anyone, he'd lose Colton. He would lose him, and that wasn't okay, because that meant he'd lose his outlet. His friend.
And so, he'd tried to keep what went on with Colton to himself, mostly. He hadn't meant for anyone else to learn about his friend, but Mabel just wouldn't stop talking about it. She kept bringing up that Dipper had a new friend. That wouldn't be bad in any other scenario — but with this particular one, it was a lot harder for Dipper to avoid the subject.
At some point, he let slip that Colton was an adult. Nine years older than him, in fact. That got a sit-down conversation between him and Stan — one where Stan asked him to promise to tell him if Colton ever made Dipper feel uncomfortable. He asked him to tell him if Colton ever did anything inappropriate.
Dipper promised.
What a liar he's turning out to be. What an absolutely horrible person he is, for lying, for hiding this — he knew it was bad. He knew Colton was bad, and he was bad for hiding it. But Colton— he loved Colton. He'd only known him for a couple weeks, but he... he loved Colton, and he loved Dipper, and he couldn't just lose him. He couldn't.
Dipper wasn't sure what would happen if he lost Colton. If— if he told someone. If he left.
Colton's told him, every so often, just what might happen if Dipper left. It was never good things.
Dipper knew plenty of people had mental health issues. He knew depression plagued at least 10% of the world's population, including himself. He knew people killed themselves all the time because of depression. But it was— it was different, really, to see it in someone he knew.
“I've tried to kill myself before,” Colton would tell him, every so often. It would come about when conversation would lull; when it seemed that Dipper might’ve forgotten.
“I'm sorry,” Dipper would reply. He would say 'I know,' or 'You've told me,' but that would be rude. He didn't want to be rude.
“The first time was with pills,” the man would continue, “The second time I tried to hang myself, but my sister caught me,”
“I'm sorry,” Dipper would say again. He didn't know what else to say. He wasn't sure how to change the subject without being insensitive, but he didn't— he felt uncomfortable with— it made him sad.
“The third time, I—” Colton would always cut himself off at this point, and turn to look Dipper in the eye. “When will it be enough?”
“When will what be enough?” He'd ask, and it was clear in his shaking voice that he was nervous, and uncomfortable, and not okay with this conversation, but Colton would continue anyway. Like he always did.
“What will prove this to you?” Colton always made gestures towards his head as he said this, “Prove that I'm not okay? What will make you believe me?”
And Dipper would always shake his head frantically, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly, trying to soothe himself. “I do believe you! I— I just— Why do you think I don't?”
“You don't care, Dipper,” Colton would say, his voice laden with anguish, with sorrow. “No one does. Why would they? Maybe if those attempts had worked—”
“No!” He'd shout, effectively cutting off Colton from speaking. “S-Sorry. I just— I— I don't want you to die, Colton,”
The older man would laugh. He'd laugh a short, bitter laugh. “Sure, Dipper. I guess I've got someone in this world rootin' for me.”
Dipper grew to dread talking to Colton, worried that that would come up. Terrified that he'd have to soothe, to comfort, to stretch himself so thin to make sure Colton was okay, when he felt so uncomfortable and upset talking about it.
He would lay in bed some nights, unsleeping, with Mabel just across the room — he'd keep himself quiet, silent, and he would cry. Often times it would happen without warning — he'd be reading the journal, and then he'd think about Colton, and then his cheeks were wet, and then he'd be crying into his pillow, trying to muffle the sobs tearing their way out of his throat.
He worried about Colton so much. Every moment they were apart, even if there were more pressing matters at hand — he'd wonder if he was okay. He'd wonder if something had happened — if he'd finally done it. Sometimes, Colton would show up to their spot in the woods with fresh bandages and recently healed scars on his arms.
Dipper would try to be extra gentle on those days. He'd dance around the subject — letting Colton lead the conversation, but throwing in his own leading comments to swerve away from the topic. It didn't always work. Sometimes, he'd sit there, numb but crying anyway, with a grown man sat next to him on the forest floor, telling him of all the ways he planned to kill himself.
—
After Dipper had started getting to know Great Uncle Ford, he could feel a distance slowly growing between him and Colton.
It started small. Occasionally, he'd be a little late to their planned outings, after spending a little too long on a mission with Ford. Sometimes he'd forget about the plans entirely, so excited to be around The Author of the journals, his great uncle that it just slipped his mind.
He always felt bad about that. So incredibly bad. He didn't have an excuse. He knew it upset Colton, but it kept happening, and over time it just happened more and more.
It ate at him. A tiny, crawling feeling of guilt tugging at his heart — slowly, slowly expanding, a tear slowly being ripped.
He would start and end every interaction with an, 'I'm sorry,' but it still wasn't enough. He could see Colton getting angrier and angrier every time Dipper would show up late, or even just not show up — it kept getting worse. He kept getting worse.
“I know how you can make it up to me,” said Colton, after a couple weeks.
Dipper looked at him, eyes cloudy with tears. “What? What do I need to do?” he asked, “I'll do anything. I swear. Whatever you want.”
“Stop hanging out with that Ford fella,” his voice was sharp as he said his name, “I know he's family, or whatever, but you were doing fine before he came along and took up all your time, so you'll be fine without him.”
Dipper's shoulders tensed, and his lips twitched, but he nodded. “Okay,” he said, “I—I can cut down on the time we spend together.”
A noise escaped Colton's lips — something akin to a growl. Dipper might've called it animalistic a couple months ago, but after so much exposure to the creatures in Gravity Falls, it was a painful reminder of just how human Colton was, despite how Dipper thought him to be a monster.
“I said, stop hanging out with him,” Colton repeated, his eyes cold. “Not 'cut down time.' Just stop it. He doesn't deserve you anyway. He's just like Stan, isn't he? Cuts you off all the time, doesn't listen, doesn't believe you... It isn't worth it, now is it?”
Dipper swallowed.
“H-He does listen to me, though,” he said, hesitantly, “And— Grunkle Stan's gotten a lot better about that, since Great Uncle Ford came through the portal. Mabel has, too— it's... It's better now. It is worth it.”
“Sure, Dipper, sure. I just don't understand why you want to spend so much time with them when they already hurt you so much.” The older man sighed, slumping. “I haven't hurt you, have I? I haven't fucked up and made you hate me?”
“N-No, you— That would never happen,” Dipper said, “You... You haven't done anything wrong. I'm just— I got too excited about Great Uncle Ford, and all the adventures— I'll stop talking to him. I'll make sure I show up. I promise. Believe me, Colton — I love you.”
The words felt ashy on his lips. He felt sick.
“I love you too, Dipper,” Colton said. “More than anything, you know that? No one could love you as much as I do.”
“Yeah,” Dipper breathed, “Same to you.”
He’d considered the razor in the bathroom for a bit too long that night.
—
Somewhere along the line, Colton had bought him a phone. It was rather scuffed up — probably nothing new, just whatever Colton could find in his house at the time — but Dipper felt reluctant in taking it, anyway.
It didn’t take too long to convince him, however. “I got this just for you, Dipper. It would be pretty rude to not accept it,” was all Colton needed to say, twisting the knife in his chest just enough for him to give in.
He wasn’t allowed a phone back at home yet, and that naturally carried over to his stay in Gravity Falls. Stan wasn’t strict, not in the slightest, but the man certainly wasn’t about to go behind the twins’ parents’ backs over such a trivial thing. And it wasn’t that Dipper didn’t want a phone, just…
Staring down at the little metal box in his hands made him feel worse. He was breaking another rule, now — him and Colton’s relationship being the first rule he’d broken, he bitterly thought as he stared down at the rather… suggestive wallpaper Colton had set on his phone — and maybe this one wasn’t as big of a rule to break, but it was all the more reason to not tell anyone. He really, really didn’t want to get in trouble for this— he didn’t want to lose Colton.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
colt 💜
our spot. 1am. be there
Dipper sighed from his seat behind the gift shop counter. Something fluttered in his stomach, and it took everything in him to pretend they were butterflies.
filly 💙
okay
Sneaking out of that Shack wasn’t exactly hard, per se. It took a lot of precision and light-footed steps, to perhaps make the inevitably creaky floorboards less creaky, but as Dipper left his bed around 12:30 that night, there was hardly a sound.
Grunkle Stan snored from his soft seat in front of the TV. Were this a couple weeks ago, Dipper might’ve been scared tip-toeing past his great uncle’s sleeping form, but with all his practice, his heart only skipped a beat or two.
The hardest part was over. Now he just had to get through the gift shop, and then—
“Hey, wait, kid,” called Stan, his voice low and groggy.
Dipper froze, breath hitching. Fuck.
He didn’t dare move, not as the floorboards creaked (louder than the few he’d stepped on), not as the chair shifted beneath Stan’s weight, not as the man’s footsteps approached, stopping right behind him, and not as a firm weight in the shape of a hand fell on his shoulder.
“Dipper, look at me,” Stan said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Dipper finally let himself exhale, hesitantly turning to look at Stan. “What are you doing awake?”
“I was— I was just getting some water,” he lied, and with how shaky his voice was, it was no surprise that Stan didn’t believe him.
“From the gift shop?” He said with a huff, something akin to a quiet laugh. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you back in bed, yeah?”
Dipper looked at where, distantly, Colton was waiting for him.
His phone buzzed. Stan didn’t seem to notice.
He ignored it.
—
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mabel,” he’d say, gritting his teeth. “I’m fine. I’ve been fine. I don’t know why you think something’s different.”
“You’re not okay!” Mabel replied at a volume just shy of shouting, making Dipper’s nerves spike, “Do you think I can’t tell just how much you’re hiding? Not just from me, but from yourself?”
“What is there to hide?” he asked rhetorically, “Just because I’m spending more time on my own doesn’t mean something’s wrong, Mabel. Stop trying to fix things! There isn’t anything to fix!”
Mabel went to speak, but hesitated — he took this silence and finally glanced up to look at her. Her eyes were glassy and wet, full with concern, and her hands stretched and pulled at the hem of her sweater, probably from stress. He faltered.
“Dipper…” she started, taking one of his hands in hers. “Listen to me, bro-bro. I know something’s wrong, and I know you don’t want to tell me, but… I’m worried. Grunkle Ford said you haven’t been down in the basement with him in weeks. I thought that was your favorite place to be,”
He inhaled. Slow, and methodical, and not at all an attempt to drive away a spiral (liar).
“I just… I don’t know why you won’t talk to me. Communication is, like, our thing. But you haven’t given me straight answers since before we got here, and you’ve been so… paranoid,” Mabel sighed, rubbing her thumb up and down on his hand, soft and gentle. “I want to— I want to understand. I want to help. But I— I don’t know how, Dipper, you aren’t giving me much to work with.”
“It’s not something you can help with,” he choked out, finally, averting his gaze. One of her hands grasped his cheek, guiding his gaze to hers. “It’s not something anyone can help with. I’m not going to get better. I can’t get better.”
“Yes you can,” she cried, soft and desperate, “Why haven’t you been talking to anyone? Did… did someone hurt you? Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he whimpered, “No, no, you— There’s— no. It— You didn’t—,” Dipper huffed, the words getting caught in his throat — he felt like he should be crying. He wasn’t, but his head ached anyway, and his vision was blurred, unfocused.
For a moment, it was as if he couldn’t breathe — Mabel inched closer, reaching out to him, and he nearly wailed, pushing himself back against the wall. He thrashed his arms, feeling his fists banging against the wall (and himself, the thought numbly) as he slid onto the floor, curling up.
Distantly, he could hear the thumping of loud footsteps, and a gruff voice trying to reach him — an arm coming into the fog trying to reach him — and the faint buzz of his phone in his pocket.
—
“I don’t want this,” he said, “I don’t want you.”
The man’s eyes were on him instantly.
“How can you say that?” Colton growled, “I thought you loved me.”
A hand caressed his cheek. Pulled him close. He couldn’t breathe.
He swallowed down whatever sound was trying to slip from his quivering lips. He leaned into the touch.
“Sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry. I do love you. I’m sorry.”
He had half the mind to wipe away the tears before they dared roll down his cheeks.
—
Dipper doesn’t remember how he got to the basement. He was— he was writing, just a second ago, and now he’s here, and Great Uncle Ford is so buried in his work that he doesn’t hear the elevator opening as Dipper steps out.
He had the journal. He doesn’t remember Ford ever giving it back to him, but he’d been writing in it.
It was open, in fact. Dipper stared down at the pages, where he’d roughly sketched the face of… of someone. His handwriting was messy, messier than usual, resulting in frantic scrawls and scribbles taking up lots of space on the pages.
“Great Uncle Ford?” he murmured, quiet, but just loud enough for Ford to startle, his chair swiveling to see where the sound came from.
Once he realized Dipper was there, Ford gaped, for just a moment — then quickly covered it up with a smile. “Oh, Dipper, my boy,” he said, “You startled me. Is everything all right?”
Dipper hummed, shrugging. He wanted to speak, but what could he say?
Silently, he lifted the journal, handing it to Ford.
“Oh… did you write something?” he asked, gently taking it from Dipper. His eyes scanned the page, and Dipper tried not to cringe when he saw how his uncle’s expression dropped to one of abject horror. “Colton… touched… phone… had sex…?” Ford muttered as he read, a hand slowly rising to cover his lips in shock.
Dipper sat on the floor next to Ford’s desk, still as quiet as can be.
“…want to kill myself? Dipper… oh my God…” Ford’s words were breathy and hushed, a quiet kind of shock. He set the journal down.
Large arms wrapped around him. The grip was firm, but loose — if he didn’t want it, he could shrug it off.
He didn’t. He whimpered, his little hands (they were so small, he’s so small, he’s just a kid) gripping onto Ford’s coat like a vice. The embrace was everything he’d needed for months — Dipper buried his face into the crook of Ford’s neck, succumbing to the tears. Sobs wracked his body.
“Shh… shh, it’s okay, breathe,” Ford whispered, his six-fingered hand carding through the boy’s hair, unbelievably gentle (something Colton never was). “I’m here, Dipper. I’m here. It’s okay. He can’t— he can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him.”
—
colt 💜
where are you?
why haven’t you been showing up?
i miss you
—
Dipper slowly came back to himself as Ford guided him through a breathing exercise, the spike of emotion being soothed by his comforting embrace.
He wasn’t better. He wouldn’t be for a while — he knew that. It takes a lot to heal, and just one extremely emotionally driven hug was nothing near a magic wand, despite how much he wished it was. But he wanted— he needed to be okay.
“Okay,” Ford murmured, “…okay. Dipper, I… It’s okay if now isn’t the right time. Believe me. It’s okay. But… if you can, I’d like to… ask you some questions, if that’s all right?”
Dipper hummed, pulling his head from Ford’s shoulder (he didn’t whine when Ford stopped hugging him. He didn’t. He didn’t.) to look up at him, eyes red from his tears. “Yeah, I think I can.” He nodded as he spoke, voice hoarse and dry.
Ford’s brow furrowed, but he continued speaking anyway. “Okay. Ah… when did this start?”
“About a week into summer,” he replied, surprising himself by just how little it hurt to think about. He just— He had just cried into Ford’s shoulder about it, and now he doesn’t even feel a damn thing? He shook his thoughts away. “Maybe a day or two after the gnome situation. He was… the only one who believed me. Aside from Mabel, I mean.”
“And he was… ah… sexual since the very start, correct?” Ford asked, frowning at Dipper’s quick nod. “Did you not tell anyone? Surely you’d—,”
Dipper shook his head. “I didn’t tell anyone. I thought about it a lot. I hated myself for not telling anyone. I knew that I was breaking the rules— that I was doing something wrong by just letting him be gross to me,” he explained, “But as I said… he was the only person who believed me. And he had some wild stories of his own. I knew if I told someone, I’d— I’d lose him,”
Ford opened his mouth to respond, but Dipper cut him off. “I really, really didn’t want to lose him. He talked constantly about all his suicide attempts, and how no one understood him like I did. I knew that if I took one wrong step — by telling someone about us or by saying the wrong thing to him — everything would come crashing down.
“I knew from the start he was an awful person. But I… I wanted to be liked so bad. I wanted someone to want me. And he wanted me,” he took in a breath, “in all the wrong ways.”
—
colt 💜
for whatever it’s worth i’m sorry
i just wanted to be loved
you love me, don’t you?
—
“And— And it was fine, for a while. I could deal with how gross he was.” He scraped his fingernails over his palms, itchy in ways he couldn’t remedy. “Mabel asked me about him a lot. I got away with the white lie that he didn’t live in town, but… I don’t think she really believed me. At some point I let slip to her and Stan that he was an adult, and Stan made me promise to tell him if, um… if anything ever happened.”
Ford rubbed a firm hand up and down his back, a comforting pressure. “And… you didn’t tell him, did you?” he asked, and were Ford any different of a person, Dipper would be petrified, convinced this question was made of judgment. But… this was Great Uncle Ford. The Author. If anyone wouldn’t judge him, it’d be him.
“I didn’t tell him, no,” he said, finally. “I lied to him. ‘Said I’d tell him if I was ever uncomfortable, or if… yeah. I don’t know. Then all the stuff with Gideon happened and I was a bit less sure Stan would do anything if I told him what was going on. And in a way, that was comforting, because it meant I might not lose Colton outright, but in another… I knew what was happening was wrong. And seeing how Grunkle Stan handled Mabel’s unwillingness to date Gideon… I was scared that if something did happen, if I did want to get away from Colton, I wouldn’t get the help I’d need.”
—
colt 💜
i’m sorry i wasn’t enough for you
i should’ve done more
i should’ve been better
do you really hate me this much?
i thought we had a connection
—
A hand caressed his cheek. Pulled him close. He couldn’t breathe.
He jerked back, flailing his arms around wildly. For a moment, he was back with Colton — the next, Ford was whispering apologies to him, swearing he’d never touch him like that again.
It was easier to regain his breath this time. Dipper sighed, slumping onto Ford’s lap. “Sorry, Grunkle Ford,” he murmured, pressing his face into the older man’s chest. “I… I really do like when you… um… hold me, and t-touch me.” He clenched his hands into fists, tightening his grip on Ford’s coat. “…I just don’t like that touch. It’s— It’s bad. Bad touch.”
“No need to apologize, Dipper,” his uncle said, rubbing a hand on his back once more. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You were just telling me about the man who— who groomed you, and then just— ah— assaulted you… and I tried to touch you in a rather… sensual spot, even if my intentions were not that of your assailant.”
Dipper hummed in response. He was… hesitant to call Colton his assailant, of all things. Or to even say he was groomed. Ford was probably right, all things considered, but it… it felt bad. If Colton heard those words, who knows what would happen? Who knows how he would take them, how much they’d affect him?
“He talked about suicide a lot,” he said, after a long silence. “I know I already mentioned that, but… he specifically talked about his own attempts. He… I don’t think he meant to hold it over me, but I felt so… so trapped. If I did one wrong thing… who knows what he’d do? What’s he gonna do when he finds out I told you? I’m already skipping our meetup today just to— just to sit here and cry. I’ve missed so many. I’ve ignored all his texts for a week. Gr— Great Uncle Ford, what if he kills himself?”
Dipper looked up at Ford as he spoke, his eyes desperate and tear-filled. Ford opened his mouth to respond, but Dipper was too fast to continue,
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” he whimpered, “I know he’s a bad person. I— I should hate him. But I— I love him so much, Grunkle Ford. And— And I don’t know what to do. He would— he would text me, right? If he was gonna do anything? And I could convince him not to— I could— I—”
“Dipper,” Ford said, softly, quietly, but just loud enough for Dipper to startle out of his spiral. He took a breath in, just to lose it as he broke down into sobs once more. “Shh… come here, I’ve got you,”
—
colt 💜
you can talk to me if you want
or don’t
you can ignore this. it would be better that way anyway
i’m sorry
i’m a horrible person aren’t i
—
“It’s getting late, my boy,” Ford murmured, running his fingers through the boy’s soft hair. “You must be getting tired. We can talk about this more later, yes?”
Dipper didn’t respond, just pressed his face further into Ford’s sweater. He didn’t want to let go— not yet, at least. What if…?
He couldn’t even think of something specific to be worried about. It was just— Something was going to happen, and he was scared.
Ford didn’t seem to like his lack of response, however, and just lifted Dipper up off the floor with him, carrying the boy in his arms. Once more, Dipper was reminded of how small he was. How young. And this realization must’ve carried over to Ford, as well, what with the horror painted on his usually stern face.
“You’ve got to get some rest, Dipper,” Ford muttered, making his way over to the elevator. “I know you don’t want to, but it’s going to be okay. Mabel will be right up there with you, and Stan and I will be just downstairs. You’ll be safe. I promise you.”
“Okay,” he said. He held onto Ford while he still could, letting his great uncle carry him through the house. His head felt— fuzzy. Foggy. Like a swamp. It felt like a lot of things — but he didn’t feel like himself.
Maybe if he’d been a bit more aware of his surroundings, he’d have to go through the effort of ignoring just how embarrassing this was— but everything just felt so slow. So… distant. He huffed, wishing he could latch onto something— anything.
As Ford lay him down in his bed, he managed to grab something. It was hardly anything at all, and he felt it slip from his grasp within seconds, but it was enough to tug Ford back slightly. His great uncle glanced back at him, his brow furrowed in concern.
Distantly, he could feel Mabel watching from across the room with just as much, if not more concern.
“Dipper?” asked Ford, his voice clear, cutting cleanly through the fog. “What do you need?”
It took him embarrassingly long to process the question, but finally, he asked, “Stay?”
—
colt 💜
i wish those attempts had worked
maybe i should try again
you clearly don’t want me around
why would anyone else?
—
Ford stared at him for a moment. Then smiled, and — were those tears? — sat down beside his bed, taking Dipper’s hand in his. “Of course, my boy.”
With Ford’s hand wrapped around his, Dipper could feel himself finally relaxing, his own tears pooling in his eyes, even as they closed. He pressed his face into his pillow, staying as close to the side of the bed Ford was on as he could without falling off.
His sleep was dreamless, but troubled all the same.
—
colt 💜
you were always so good to me
i’m sorry i couldn’t be good to you
i’m sorry i scared you so much
i hate myself
goodbye
i love you