The distinct tension that lay between Dipper Pines and John McCartner seemed palpable to all but the women of the room. The eldest male, now seated a distance off by the kitchen table, did no more than rest his heels against the bar of his wooden chair. A tactical hand bent below his chin; the soft set of his eyes, clear and pointer politely around the space of his wife's figure. There was a calmness to his persona, like the approachable comradery of childhood friends.

Miriam didn't seem to notice her son, perched a ways off near the threshold of the kitchen, clutching either elbow with paling white knuckles; purpling finger tips. Too busy admiring the light skip of her own gait when she turned prettily, bent, and determined the crisp tanning of some casserole she'd thrown in the oven. She preened from the sheer image her poise conjured. The perfect housewife, in her perfect home, filled by her perfect children. Perfect to her alone, yet offset by imperfection she couldn't quite place; couldn't reach.

All the while Miriam enjoyed herself, pulling her dainty shtick, Dipper remained just short of her glowing cast. He couldn't allow himself to join them in the kitchen. Only hugged his elbows tighter when John made a slight shift in his posture. The brunette remained a ways behind, a step from the room's entrance, looking and feeling closed off. John didn't so much as glance at the male; didn't gesture or readjust himself to peek his way. He hardly acted like anything had happened just moments before, and it might have remained as that if not for the purpling bruise of John's chin, now settled from Dipper's precise fists.

He should've done more, Dipper thought to himself. He should have kept his fists up. He pulled his elbows in, making himself small.

The blond by his side wasn't so much in his presence, as he was just left of Dipper. Not close. Not really. Some 1-2 feet apart, but farther still. Near enough to flick a brown curl of hair behind the smaller's ear with little more than a slight reach of Bill's golden hand. To note the tight clenching and unclenching of Dipper's fingers against either arm; perhaps the light bruising of his own nails cutting flesh. Maybe even close enough to catch the trail end of some silent mumble from between the brunette's subtly parted lips.

'Dirty dirty dirty.'

If so, Bill opted not to mention it.

He was far away, though. The two were separated in a form unjustified for lovers. In such a way that Bill, though dying to gather an arm full of Dipper for reasons not yet disclosed to himself, felt he could place his fingers inside the brunette's mouth- allow the jaw to clamp; his teeth to crush bone- and still be separated.

Which was very, very irritating.

Bill's hand went out, just short of clasping, simply to place the tips of his own fingers against Dipper's. And, yes. There was a distance between them, in the hurt, pained way the smaller jolted- hissed- and pulled his own hand back in shame. Like he'd been licked at the thumb by scorching heat. Like Bill might bite. The blond willed his own hand back just as quickly, suddenly confused as to why he'd reached out in the first place.

Humans required companionship, and they might need touch subconsciously, and may crave the simple brush of fingertips between lovers, simply to examine the light pulse of their heartbeat, or indulge in mild warmth, and hurt in the midst of their partner's pain- in whatever form that hurt might develop- and hope to comfort to a degree, and keep them close, and near, and not at all with the distance that separated the two.

And Bill was most-certainly barreling towards a very human transformation.

"Mason? Sweety?" Miriam's voice chimed in suddenly, her first real look at Dipper being a worrying one. Her son's ears perked up, but he did little to cloak his expression. She may have addressed him in hopes that he would try to cover it and indulge her. Though, when his features didn't brighten, and his posture didn't straighten out, Miriam looked as though her fantasy had dropped without so much as a struggle. She looked tender, rising from her seat by the table, placing a soft finger across her lips. "Are you feeling alright? You're pale."

"He's always pale." John snorted. A bit too nastily, by the way his wife scowled at him, lips prickling at his tone. It only lasted a moment before realising, shamefully, 'Oh, right. That's my husband.' Her features relaxed, if not wavering to apologise.

"Yes, but still." Miriam motioned to face her son. "Did you eat anything on the road? You're so skinny now; you should have something." The maternal, genuine expression of concern scrawled across her face was as rare as it was enchanting. She was hardly the type to nurture her children; not in an emotionally stable climate. Even then, Miriam found herself rushing for a possible solution in hopes of avoiding outright coddling.

However, the external plates had softened. Just barely. Enough for her brows to knit a bit too tightly; a bit afraid. Her hand went to reach for him before retracting itself. Dipper was all the way across the room, after all. Instead, she made quick work of turning towards the counter to snatch up an orange for him. Not coddling. Hoping not to dive into anything that might be more than hunger. Instead, wanting to lighten the boy from afar. To keep away the weak, manipulative vowels of cooing remarks brought down through affection, while still striving to humor whatever had given her son such a poor expression. She began to peel the fruit for him when Dipper's frantic, broken tone halted her.

"No." He pressed awkwardly, almost stumbling over his feet to stop her, only for a snag of John's eye to clip him in place. The tip of Dipper's right shoe had barely slid past the entrance of the kitchen before sliding outside once again. Distant. He forced his fingers to loosen their grips along his elbows. "I-I'm fine. Just a little nauseous." He admitted.

"Nauseous?" Miriam's manicured nails removed themselves from the skin of citrus. She mindlessly curled her right hand into her apron, soaking off bits of juice. The woman gave Dipper a quick scan of his features before agreeing- yes, he looked ill. "Do you need to lie down?"

"No, that's okay."

"I can get the guest room set up for you."

"I said it's okay."

"You look so pale, though." Miriam whined, cupping her cheek. It was always like her to emit care through persecution; the way his statement never quite landed, never resonated. He felt as though even a moment taken to suck in a breath- compose himself- would be met by Miriam's mouth opening, finger raised, as she countered the very air entering his lungs. Dipper sighed.

"Guess I'm not as immune to Cali's sun as I used to be." He tried, hoping she'd drop the matter altogether. Miriam only grew tight, resting her hands on the kitchen isle when she responded.

"I warned you about staying hydrated; you're never too old to catch heat stroke." She repositioned herself behind the seat she'd once occupied, now with a gentle hand placed atop one of the chair's wooden knobs. "Come on, then. I'll get you some water." Miriam's arm went out, motioning for Dipper to bring himself over and have a seat.

But, where else might she have sat herself than beside her own husband? And, who else would she expect Dipper to place himself next to than his own stepfather? The brunette kept himself in place, unmoving, hugging himself much, much closer than before. Even as Miriam emphasized him to take a seat next to John by patting the cushion, and a bit of her empathy turned into impatience. He simply put his hands up and laughed.

"I'll stand." Dipper smiled with panicked lips, shoulders bunching in protest. Miriam pet the seat more firmly.

"It looks like you're about to pass out, dear. Do you feel lightheaded?"

"No." He'd barely replied before Miriam was opening her mouth once more, mistaking his hesitance for modesty.

"You should still sit." She nodded her head towards the chair. "I don't want you knocking something over if you faint."

"I'll be careful." Dipper countered, fighting against the heavy pull of his lifted lips. His smile was weak, hands pointed palms-down, brow warding off even a slight crease of the skin. What little attention Dipper had given his mother was from eyes alone, all else trained on the seat just right of where Miriam asked him to rest. Occupied by a body clad in a tacky V-neck and tight, young jeans. Gaze set low when John hunched forward to take a sip of his cooling drink; sharp, territorial.

'This is not your seat.' An ounce of John's expression flexed before settling itself. 'This is not your home.'

"I'm not asking." She extended her arm, beckoning Dipper over. "Come here. You're making me anxious."

"Miriam." John's smooth, jazzy tone felt rigid when he spoke against the curve of his glass, forcing the last bit of pigment in Dipper's skin to drain away. His nails dug into smooth flesh, leaving bare, darkening crescent marks in their wake. "Let the kid stand."

"But, honey." Miriam shifted her gaze with a pleading expression. "Just look at him."

As though a single glance in the brunette's direction would soften John's pitifully small heart, so he might finally realize what sort of damage had been done all those years ago. Just what kind of skin he'd bundled Dipper up in; how it squirmed for release, though tightening, harder and harder to flex through. He'd fashioned Dipper with the kind of flesh that curled away from touch. The kind of skin that had once craved smooth fingers, soft holds, and light tracings, now transformed into a body of rough, unforgiving needles.

As though that would embed John with conviction.

"He's white as a ghost." Miriam continued, working herself up in a way only familiar to the obsessive nature of a mother. Her hands flew off the seat she'd hoped to coerce Dipper into, now busying themselves on the hem of her apron. She rang out a handful of cloth as though drying it, all while pursing her lips awkwardly. "Don't act tough now, Mason. I wouldn't know what to do if you collapsed. Let me get you some water."

"Mom, really-." Dipper pleaded. A bit pathetically, by the way his voice broke along the tail end of each phrase. Through it, he and Mabel made a short, parted glance. One smooth, observant eye-up from his twin, who's head had been bent as far as it would go before, having tried to shield herself from Dipper's seemingly intrusive presence. A look, close to caring. Closer to alert, by the way her ears perked.

The two were farthest apart; Dipper, by the doorway. Mabel, seated at the other end of the room.

She allowed herself a single expression of concern before retracting once more from the scene. And Dipper felt it. A push back on his part, and a push away on hers. He'd never known a man could feel so stranded in his own home.

"Speaking of water," An arm wrapped around Dipper's waist, pulling him in. Or- No. Not an arm around the waist. Not actually. Not when he looked down dumbly to express his surprise in the touch. Not when Dipper's body braced itself in the firm, delicate hold. Not when he was certain- and pleased- he'd sensed his midsection being pulled in tight by this sweet, endearing warmth. When his eyes tracked down the cloth of his shirt, he found no arm. Still, the sensation was there. The briefest snippet of contact when Bill- very smoothly- cut in on the brunette's wavering tone.

An arm around the waist.

His voice was an arm around the waist.

Dipper hoped to commit the sensation to memory.

"I couldn't help but notice you're growing a garden outside, Miriam." The blond's arm went out, waving casually towards a window above her kitchen sink. Just outside the curtained glass, was a small, shriveled patch of pailing greens and yellows; what remained of her garden would have been far more accurate. She was not, by nature, a nurturing person.

Miriam cleared her throat, releasing the cloth from between her finger tips.

"Oh, that? No. No, no, no. It's just a-." She paused to rotate her hand in hopes of prompting an excuse. It embarrassed her to no end, noting the way they'd crinkled at the leaves; even more, knowing full well what others would think if they say that she'd backtracked on her fleeting attempt at planting. It was more than she could bear. Miriam had simply decided to let them dissolve in the summer sun, and crumble at the hands of ravaged insects, so long as no one felt like pointing it out.

"-a hobby of sorts. I'm not very invested in it." Her tone was indifferent, though the downward tilt of her head gave far too much away. She refrained from clearing her throat, while shame nestled within her lungs.

"Really? Well, that's too bad. They look lovely in your front lawn."

Which was a complete lie, and everyone but Miriam seemed to catch it. It had been subtle, of course. With that witty, confident charm of his, promising absolute trustability. Bill smiled with an upright demeanor about him, hardly having to roll his sleeves up before the woman was under his spell. She let out a playful scoff- pretended to brush the comment aside. In actuality, Miriam had taken the complement and shoved it under her feet; it made her feel all the more upright.

"You think?" She tossed a look over her shoulder, despite there being no vantage point to view what had survived sweltering California heat.

"Abso-lutely." Bill assured. With that poised chirp of his tone that got under Miriam's skin in all the right ways. The woman couldn't help but preen from the praise, even being so puffed up as to slick a delicate curl from her face so her radiance was more viewable. "You've got a real green thumb."

"Well, thank you, Bill. That's very sweet of you." Miriam responded tweetishly, gracing her kind guest with a pearly smile. She'd always been one for praise. Bill surely knew, by the way he fluidly interjected himself into the scene. By his tempo of remarks and the simple, indulging casualty of phrasing. It was flowery; not in verbal bombardment, but rather in his tongue's honest agreeance. He pleased her ego as someone who'd known Miriam for years, touching on the few weak points of her person and strengthening them through admiration.

Miriam took a second to herself- picked a loose string from her shirt, taking quick, observant glances across the room to verify everyone had heard him- before reabsorbing herself into the previous issue at hand. "Anyway, Mason-." She brought her finger out, curling it in a 'come here' motion.

Dipper hadn't noticed the placement of his attention, entirely spent on examining the sharp curvature of Bill's cheekbones as he'd spoken to Miriam. It hadn't even occurred to him that he'd only seen the blond's lips move. It hadn't crossed his mind that, while Bill didn't seem to be speaking in his direction, the brunette had been completely and entirely immersed in his presence. He hadn't heard the words, or trailed more than a snippet of their short exchange. Only felt it.

An arm around the waist.

An arm around the waist.

An arm around the waist.

So that when someone finally addressed Dipper, and he was no more than a wide-eyed nobody, the sensation slipped from around him, and he instantly felt damp and distant and pale again. He crumbled under her light, touching gaze, even as Miriam's eyes persistently chanted 'compassion compassion compassion.'

Bill continued.

"I've gotta say, though." He pulled each word with an almost-pained tingle. Like the usage of his lips were stiff and in disrepair. Miriam regifted him her full attention, face still aglow atop the pedestal he'd built her. The shine of her cheeks withered at Bill's conflicted expression. "I think they could use some watering."

Her rosey smile withered.

"Yes. Yes, that's right." Miriam admitted, clearing her throat. Humbled. Far too quickly, humbled. With the smooth snag of silk from beneath her feet, sliding out and forcing her to stumble against wobbling legs. But, she'd never allow herself to crash; the way Bill had so abruptly given her his approval, only to remove it- She would never let on how it had affected her. Instead, responded with words by someone who already knew better.

Her hand returned to the wooded knob of Dipper's waiting seat when she- calmly; cooly- averted her eyes from the blond man. Miriam fought off the waning pains of tattered pride, hoping to find solace in redirecting attention towards her otherwise sickly son. That finger flexed once more, head nodding for him to move in closer.

"If you'd like, I could always-." Bill began. Miriam was too quick to interrupt.

"Oh, no. That's fine. I'll do it myself." A tad bit cold. Not by anything deep-seeded. Simply petty, as she'd always been.

Bill acted taken aback by Miriam's reply; he'd never admit just how satisfying it was to witness first-hand that woman's face pale of its own accord, only to rise crimson red. She cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed. It was unlike her to snap at a guest. It brought forth an otherwise poor twist to her gut when she tasted the tone she'd used against him.

Dampened, dampened, and down from her pedestal in seconds, Bill was swift to remold the broken pieces in his favor.

"In this heat?" He remarked, aghast. Hand placed dramatically across his chest, looking her up and down with both pity and astonishment. The unexpected choice of complaint instantly put Miriam's boiling shame to rest. Because, someone such as Bill could never take a woman's words harshly. He was sensible, afterall. Empathetic. He'd only been shocked to hear her turn his offer aware. Surely, she was a very impressive woman, then. Miriam smiled.

"You've been such a fantastic host. I'd feel guilty if you kept doing all the heavy lifting." Bill continued, persistently.

Build the pedestal.

Take it apart.

Remold.

"Well... I guess I am tired-." She sucked in a breath, once again tossing a glance over her shoulder, where her garden might be visible if exposed by a window.

"Then it's no trouble."

Smooth, loose letters, unlike his common trail of snide phrasing. Bill sounded more than happy to oblige. Miriam curled her lips in, simply mulling over her own lack of options; the pedestal set before her was not nearly as high as the last, but still offered as 2nd place to him.

"Are you sure?" She questioned finally, shields up with no more than thin, flimsy linen to protect herself.

"Definitely!" Was Bill's remark of triumph. If he'd thought Miriam would be a tough nut to crack, it didn't show on his face when he turned from the group, readying himself for the door. "We'll be right back."

He snagged Dipper by the collar of his shirt, and essentially hauled him like a dog down the corridor in one quick, smooth stride. Bill noted Miriam's muted stumble of protest, but wasn't so tempted that she'd give chase once they were outside, on the patio, sliding the screen door shut.

By then, Dipper was out of his little trance, instead hissing at the burn mark his chafing shirt collar had rubbed into vulnerable flesh. He placed a hand around his neck, massaging the abraded skin.

"Jesus. Finally, some fresh air." Bill sighed, leaning against the deck railing of Dipper's childhood home. "Talk to your mom about switching over to non-chemical cleaning supplies, will ya? That woman, I swear. I'm surprised she hasn't dunked you in a vat of Clorox yet."

Dipper said nothing.

Looking below him, Bill snorted at Miriam's pathetic excuse for a garden.

"Five bucks says she waters her peonies with Lysol. What says you?" He turned his back on the railing, leaning into it slyly. His hand slid into a pants pocket, coming out only once a compact white box was securely between his fingers. Bill was quick to slide a cigarette out and light it like nothing as perfect could ever be between his teeth. He spoke against the stick.

"And this house. Yeesh, kid. You'd think her ex never left the place, with all those family photos still hanging around. I can see why you booked it." Bill took a drag of his smoke.

He willed a peek from behind his rolled tobacco, hoping for a wisp of the brunette's amusement. But, the smaller didn't seem to hear him outdoors; didn't feel that arm around his waist. Only tried- failed- and tried again to regain his barings, despite its own elusiveness. Dipper looked puzzled. Pained, but puzzled. Discombobulated, definitely; in a way that was nearly deaf on the battlefield. Gazing out beyond the porch, into the yard, down the road, through the neighbor's lawn, and beyond the people who strolled by his home. He looked worn and tired. Dead on his feet.

Bill groaned, waving a hand in front of his face. It made Dipper blink; enough proof that something was in that head of his.

"You're welcome, by the way." He ground out. The cigarette in his hand, hardly burnt ⅔ of the way, was flicked into the garden, seamlessly catching fire to a poor, wilted marigold. A tiny flame bloomed where greenery had died, before burning out once the flower turned to ash. "I didn't have to bring you along."

Dipper stared out a bit longer, features stoick. A beat; his lips criss-crossed each other before pressing, curling and coming loose. He refused to look at Bill when he spoke.

"Thank you." It didn't sound like he meant anything, nor did it feel like he'd spoken. The taller groaned, rolling his head around in his hands.

"You know how nice it would've been to hear you say that a month ago?" Bill whined. "Come on. Don't be like that." He threw his hand out, waving at the outdoors like some brilliant spectacle of life. "You're outside, see? Who's gonna bully you here?" He waited a beat before adding on. "Besides me, of course."

Dipper shrugged, keeping himself outside of Bill's scope of expertise. Words. He was fantastic with words. Not fantastic with feelings. It made him itch in all kinds of unreachable places.

"No one." Dipper replied plainly. Bill tossed his head back.

"You're sulking. Christ, Dipper Pines is sulking again."

"Sorry."

The day was cool, sun peeking out only a quarter of the way, but sinking as surely as the Titanic. Crimson red. Tingles of orange. A smear of purple. Bill might've found it impressive at some point, if he hadn't seen it all. Dipper too, if he didn't hate how the colors contrasted his mood.

It was quiet then, with Dipper looking out ahead. To where? To nowhere. Only tracing over something that didn't exist, far, far away.

An arm around the waist.

An actual arm around the waist. Bill was warm to the touch; warmer still when he rested his chin against Dipper's shoulder.

"The world doesn't revolve around your problems, pinetree." Bill's tone was lame; unimpressed. He placed a chaste kiss against his neck. "I don't know why you keep dragging me into this shit. It's annoying, you know that?" A second kiss at the base of Dipper's chin. He didn't seem to feel it. Still, his hand went up reflexively to cradle the curve of Bill's cheek in his palm; hold him there.

"Yeah." A flock of geese flew in a crooked 'V' just east of them. Dipper didn't turn to observe. He didn't seem interested in the night sky, or the animals, or the people. His gaze was fixated on something completely disconnected from Piedmont. It was beyond anything he could ever hope to gain.

A moment away from this place.

A moment away from this home.

"Are you gonna water the flowers?" Dipper hummed out, finally breaking his stare to gaze down at the hunched backs of shrivelled nothings. Bill let out a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Sure. Kerosene?"

"No." Was Dipper's reply. His love snorted, pulling him in a bit closer.

"Nevermind, then."

They stayed like that for what could've been hours. Wasn't, of course. More so a good five minutes. A good, good five minutes, even with the brunette's eyes still glazed over in a distant daze, and the blond hating his own skin, which caved relentlessly at every opportunity to feel close. A moment more, Dipper began to squirm. Bill released his hold.

"How much longer?" The brunette asked. Timid in some twisted light that was otherwise resolved. His features remained indifferent, though the set of his mouth let on involuntary trembling.

"For what?" Bill questioned. Dipper said nothing; only weighed him with a look of deathly consequences. He gestured to the blond's right pocket, to which the other's hand flew to pat down. He felt the smooth exterior of a glass vial, and a lightbulb came on. Bill laughed. "Aren't you thrilled?"

Dipper's brows furrowed, giving a stern expression that would've worked on anyone but Bill. He crossed his arms with a stubbornness not unlike Miriam's, though with a consciousness of control far less abstract.

"How much longer?" Dipper persisted.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, birthday boy! It's not my party." Bill pet the outlining of the glass veil in his pocket with a bold smirk. He placed a hand against the brunette's cheek, far more reflexively than he'd ever admit, gifting him with a soft pinch of his skin. "I'll let you be the one in charge, ey? Consider it my gift to you; just gimme the signal."

Which made Dipper's healing skin drain of all blood far too soon. He wobbled half a second before regaining himself against the deck railing.

"Don't." Dipper ground out, shaking his head. "I'm not-. A part of this." He paused, doubting his own words with every fiber of his being. That was a lie. That was a lie. That was a lie. It pinched at his gut, hard. It made him see stars, the way he had John's very life in his hands. And, it'd been a dream up till that point to have the roles reversed so dramatically.

But, he couldn't.

Dipper wasn't that kind of man.

He didn't want to be that kind of man.

"You just- do it. Okay? Don't tell me when. Just-." He rolled his hands at Bill, imploring him. "-Figure it out. I don't know. I don't wanna know." Dipper lowered his head, shoulders up.

In that moment, even an hour within their plan's time slot, he could no longer invision this house without some kind of monster lurking around the corner. He couldn't imagine truly purging it of filth. Not anymore. Dipper had left when it all started. And now, being back after so many nights, he found his childhood home no longer stood where it once had.

It was new; refurbished. Dipper wasn't sure a spot still existed for him to fit into everything. Not with John in the house. Not with John as the house. In the new way Miriam chose her color pallets, and cooked his favorite dishes, and parked her car just left of his. Or, the young child now in her care, who would surely grow up to resemble his father, as fleeting as the connection may be. All of this made Dipper feel very odd about the situation. He was an intruder in his own home. An intruder, nonetheless.

"You sure? I'd be doing all the fun parts-."

"Yes." Dipper bit his lip at that; bunched his fists into his shirt. He took a deep breath, willing himself to meet Bill's playful gaze when he spoke. "Yes. I'm sure."

"Your loss." Bill shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "My win. The bitch had it coming." He smirked, nudging his shoulder against Dipper's, though unable to rouse more than a shaken glare.

"Please, stop talking."

The barest wisp of conversation could be heard through the kitchen window placed a short distance off; not close enough to make out anything in particular. Still, Dipper's ears perked up at the tune of Mabel's occasional commentary, and Miriam's contradictions, and John's-. Whatever it was John had. Nothing good, by the way the brunette's spine tingled sharply. If all else was for not, he could at least attest to this one truth.

That voice.

Dipper couldn't stand that voice.

"Does it make you happy?" The sun was down now. It was dark. The streetlights were on, as were the crickets alive in the backdrop of his tone. Bill leaned in, though refraining from skin to skin contact. He wasn't sure he enjoyed how his body got drunk off the heat. "Say it makes you happy."

The younger said nothing. Only blinked, looked his way, before looking back. Felt frost against his shoulders, and remembered how cold the nights could be. Colder still, dropping and dropping again. He caught vague lines of speech from inside the house. Unclear babble, seamed by volume and timing; what words could not describe.

Dirty, dirty, dirty.

He leaned in, lacing his fingers between Bill's.

"I'm happy." He lied, only to place a tactical kiss across the blond's lips- short, sweet, virgin- to keep Bill from latching onto his statement and ruining even an instance of that domestic moment.

A car pulled into the driveway just then, blinding them both against boiling white headlights. They were quick to step apart, hissing and cursing as their corneas burned in the abrupt brightness. Dipper, shielding his eyes. Bill, squinting, tilting away, while an odd part of him found pleasure in the stabbing sensation. They retreated farther up the patio, near the home entrance, taking refuge from the shine.

The windows rolled down, lights snapped off, a hand sliding out the driver's side to wave at them. Dipper's eyes were down, rubbing themselves raw against his fists in an attempt to dispel the white spots dancing over his vision. He groaned, squeezing them shut, before opening again, trying to readjust to the darkness. It only took a second for him to identify the mysterious car's driver. Dipper's face brightened questionably, with a spirit of disbelief not common among his features. He broke out in a grin, placing himself on the top step of the patio.

"Dad?" Dipper called out to the dark figure, currently dusting his pant legs of clinging crumbs. The man's head went up, a smile the brunette hadn't encountered face-to-face in over a year, to expose the aged, yet youthful glow of fair hair, stubble and intelligent spectacles perched atop the bridge of his nose.

He was a tall man, though slouched to a degree that cost him an inch. Curls of hair along either arm, glowing gold against the spray of light from Miriam's home. A wide, propper chest, though shrunken in comparison to the long tradition of Pines and their otherwise broad frames among males; traits which neither he nor his son shared to their fullest potential.

Daniel Pines smiled, bridging the distance from car to son.

"Who else?" The grown man laughed, bright as he was, with the untainted mirth of a child. He stopped just short of the deck's staircase, easing a shoulder into its post. "Santa Clause?" Dipper's smile stretched.

"I didn't know you'd be coming." The brunette mimicked his father's pose, propping himself against a sturdy rod of painted white maple. "Nobody told me."

Daniel spread his fingers then, shoulders shrugged, lips pulled tight across his features with a goofy expression that said nothing short of 'surprise!'

"Mabel called, saying you two'd actually be in the same state to celebrate this year; had to see it for myself." His father joked, tossing a hand up to gesture Dipper's way. "And, here you are, in the flesh." Daniel mused with a grin.

Dipper's own smile dampened, as his father's good-natured heart reached out and lathered him with sudden shame.

"In the flesh." He agreed, looking at his feet. He coughed into his hand, a sudden heat breaking out across his skin. The collar of Dipper's shirt felt oddly constricting, so he tugged at its fabric, only to realize how uncomfortable that made him look. "Was the drive over okay?"

"As always." Daniel shrugged in disinterest. He placed his left leg on the first step, angling himself to approach the bodies ahead of him. "You've got a stowaway, Mason." Is what Daniel follows up with, instead of whatever smalltalk Dipper had been trying to nudge him towards. He nodded his head at the blond behind him, who had a hand placed against the banister, just short of brushing fingers with the brunette.

"I prefer 'partner.'" Bill quipped half-heartedly.

It gave Daniel pause; he stared at the man, off kilter, disconnected, trying to make sense of it all with a slight twitch of his nose. His expression was hesitant; defensive. The moment passed, and his features became compliant.

"Mabel didn't say anything about extra guests." His father commented, to which Dipper reflected the man's 'surprise!'

"He wouldn't have let me leave, otherwise."

Bill elbowed his side. "You wouldn't have lasted two seconds without me."

"Maybe." Dipper shrugged, honestly. The smile across his lips was playful, if not an ounce numbing. Nonetheless, Daniel laughed at his son's tone before passing his attention off to Bill once again.

"He's not usually so agreeable." His father mused with a wide grin, to which the blond snickered.

"Trust me, I know." Bill placed a tactical hand over Dipper's shoulder, almost petting. It was demeaning in an oddly pleasant way. "Give it time. He'll be back to chewing me out within the hour." He gave the smaller's shoulder a sturdy pat before stepping back, and Dipper allowed it. He kept his distance, as much as he would have loved forcing that hand around the curve of his hip.

"You say it like I'm looking forward to it." Dipper snorted. He pulled away from the deck's post, moving instead to press his entire back against the collumb of wood opposite. A bit of life swirled beyond the vacancy in his eyes, though vacant still. He flexed his foot, lifting it to tap Bill's shin with just enough force to emulate affection. Perhaps something just short of it, but there. Daniel trailed the motion- noted the way Bill's features shined- without saying a word.

"Aren't you?" He addressed Daniel. "Isn't he?"

"Definitely." Dipper's father pressed with a casual lift of his shoulders.

He was friendly, Bill decided then. And good company. A bit purseptive, though. He couldn't help but notice how Daniel watched them a bit too closely. It would be bad for business if the grown man caught onto their little evening plans. Even more so if he threatened legal action. Prison time for attempted murder wasn't on Bill's list of things to do; Dipper's either, though he could stand the idea of his pinetree in a pair of cuffs from time to time.

"Like father, like son?" The blond offered jokingly, with a quirked eyebrow that still prompted an answer. Daniel shrugged smuggly.

"I like a good debate. Arguing keeps it interesting." Which was fairly ironic, coming from the divorced man. Still, it came out happily, and in such a way the activating sounded borderline encouraging. Bill slid Dipper an inquisitive glance of his own, to which the younger could only smile back. He tilted his head, averting his gaze, and that seemed answer enough.

'Like father, like son.'

"You'll have to show me sometime."

"You're that smart?" Daniel joked. Bill crossed his arms cheekily.

"Are you?"

Again, Daniel paused, simply to look at the blond before him. His lips snagged in a lopsided smirk, though his eyes retained every last ounce of observant intrigue. A hand on his hip; squinted with heavy pupils. A chuckle caught in his throat when he viewed Bill like some complex puzzle. He seemed to be rolling something around in his head when finally- appeased to some extent- Daniel ascended the stairs, reaching a hand out for the blond to grab.

"I like to think so." He replied laxly, fingers extended out to the blond. "Daniel Pines. Nice to meet you." Bill was quick to reciprocate.

"Bill Angle. I'm your son's-."

"I've got a pretty good idea of who you are." Which seemed to shut Bill up in more ways than one. A silence fell over him as he, very cautiously, took the human's hand in his own. Shook; gripped like he was handling a live grenade. Examined the texture and tight stitching of human flesh. Very curious. Very strange. He was too quick about releasing him.

"Psychic, are we?" Bill asked, half-serious. That made Daniel snort.

"I've been called worse."

"Like?"

"Divorced." It got a pretty unflattering cackle out of the one-eyed man. All worth it, by the way Daniel preened in approval, shoving either hand into his pockets before propping himself against painted-white railing. His face was self-satisfied, though Dipper grew pale and paler still from his father's deprecating humor. The youngest said nothing, opting instead to stand silently and hope to sink far enough away that he wouldn't be able to hear anything else.

"I'd expect nothing less." Bill nodded finally, wiping away a tear of mirth. His head tilted, angling itself to peek at Dipper, who looked amazingly stiff in their presence, even as Daniel made light of his failed marriage.

Here, father and son diverged.

By both methods of coping, and will to accept life's undonting defeat. Dipper's unwillingness to look disaster in the face and remark- absolutely. Without a doubt- that these things did happen, and they would continue to happen despite varying strategies, and life was specifically designed as a struggle of trial, was a flaw known to him since forever. And although coming to terms with many different inconveniences within the last month, he still found himself trapped to some extent.

Unlike his father, who thrived on hope, and thrived on community, and thrived on allowing the pain to seep away into a transitional period, Dipper found his main fuel came from bits of glass still on the floor of his unfortunate history; not properly swept away. The larger chunks, disposed of. Still, small, microscopic bits nipping vulnerable skin, which had been unswept and unseen for him to eventually come across and cry out from. So he might break skin, transport glass into his person, and carry it around.

Dipper cleared his throat pointedly.

"Mom's probably waiting for us inside." He threw a thumb behind him for emphasis. Bill, who despite being an unagreeable bastard, couldn't help but nod and confirm. They'd been outside a bit too long for flowers; anyone with an ounce less ego might think nothing of it. But, Miriam was punctual. She could- and would- take it personally if her guests slipped out of her charming presence, and spent it cultivated amongst themselves. Bill couldn't risk offending her; not when he'd put effort in to gain her respect. It would be a stab at his own ego.

"Are we boring you, pinetree?" The blond countered, poking fun at the human, even as his own body made a slow turn for the door. He took his recommended steps to reach the entrance, hand placed against the knob. "We're boring him, Daniel."

"Don't take it too hard. It's not science. It's not mystery; If he has to listen to whatever this is, he'd rather do it on a couch." Dipper's father answered before the brunette could open his own mouth in protest.

It was an old habit of Daniel Pines'; talking for others. He was fantastic at reading people, after all. Fantastic at talking, which his son was not. Though, that may have had to do heavily with the fact that Dipper's father never gave him the opportunity to. For, every time the younger was about to speak, Daniel seemed to sense the hesitation and pounce for it before words could properly form. So much so, that even as he grew older, Dipper found himself stuck on vowels of stammering nonsense, and bits of speech that just wouldn't connect right. Though, Daniel never noticed. Dipper spoke just fine around Daniel.

"Now, that's just hurtful." Bill sighed, twisting the door knob. He pulled it open, stepping aside for Dipper. "After I've given you my undivided attention, too." His head lowered, tutting at the brunette as he pushed himself off the wooden panelling, hands in his pockets, ready to go back inside. "Come on then, you snob. Let's find you a couch to die on." Bill's hand wound up in a circle, trying to herd Dipper in like a child. Though sulking, he followed directions and began approaching the entrance.

"Oh, but hey." Daniel's arm stretched out in front of him- a long, gentle appendage- to block his son's path. "You and I haven't talked yet." His arm went around the juncture of Dipper's neck, just short of squeezing. A lazy, limp hand slung over his shoulder like a backpack strap, fingers snapping at the side of his face for attention.

"Yeah, we did." Dipper snorted, trying to push the man off. Daniel only got closer.

"I talked to your partner." His father corrected, nodding towards said blond. "I haven't gotten any real conversation out of you."

"So, ground me."

"That's exactly what I'd like to do." He pet his shoulder before releasing Dipper.

Daniel was a direct man. Some would argue too direct. He didn't like beating around the bush, unlike his ex, who never could bear the possibility of saying something upfront, in fear of offending. No, he was very forward with his feelings; his expectations; his curiosity. When he asked to talk with his son, it was done in a way that even the most socially inept souls would understand; he meant talking alone. For whatever reason, alone. Bill was no exception it seemed, for once he diagnosed the tone- the posture of Daniel's back, the odd flex of his index- he was too quick about leaving them be. A friendly 'see ya inside, slick' and the blond was excusing himself easily. Probably off to feed Miriam's ego.

The silence that followed felt anything but awkward between the two. If at all, it was a familiar kind of silence that Dipper could navigate. There was structure in the way Daniel refused to open first. Instead, loaned his son the key. A cheeky smile; a bit offset by the slightly washed out white of his cheeks. Daniel's hands, a tad clammy. And, if Dipper weren't any smarter, he might have mistaken his gaze as one of disappointment.

The silence's welcome wore itself thin, and Dipper finally forced himself to take the key, and unlock conversation.

"How much of that did you see?" Was his opening line. By the way his father hummed, but did not laugh, it was apparent he already knew what the younger was referring to.

"Depends; how much do you plan on telling me?" Daniel countered. He clasped a hand around the cuff of his own sleeve, rolling it up to the elbow. "Am I in on the secret? Is there a secret, or did I just not get the memo you like lip-locking boys on your mother's patio?"

Dipper hissed. Then groaned. Then threw his head back and croaked into his cupped hands before snapping forward with a tight sigh. It was just his luck to kiss a guy at his mom's house where people could drive by and see. That explained Daniel's weirdly weighted look at Bill the entire time; not suspicious of anything. More confused. In the only way a father who'd seen his son introduce him to several girls in high school could be.

Maddy Becks; hadn't she been a nice one? A bit rough and tumble, but polite. Might've made a nice summer romance.

Cynthia Gronds; pretty poor manors, and maybe too wild for taiming, though there was a good heart underneath. Mason seemed to like her a lot. She liked getting her hands dirty.

Rosey Wendell; a big, brawny girl. Tall and bulky, but strangely slender in dresses. Long, pretty hair, but with a face unfortunately square. Handsome. Not that any girl would want to hear 'handsome.'

"God, dad. Don't say it like that." Dipper begged, pinching the bridge of his nose. He averted his gaze. "We're being discreet, alright?"

"You were kissing on the porch-."

"Trying to be discreet. Trying, dad. Jesus fuck."

"Don't curse, Mason." Daniel warned cooly, forcing the other to groan in annoyance.

"Okay. Alright." Dipper combed a hand through his hair; propped his elbows over the house's railing. "Sorry."

Looking out over the patio's hooding, he could make out a few dark, curved clouds. He wondered if it might rain. And if it did, whether or not that would nourish Miriam's garden. He doubted the water was enough.

"How'd Miriam take the news?"

"She didn't take it. I don't plan on telling her." Dipper sighed, leaning more heavily against the railing. His ears picked up distant, greedy thunder, and an odd kind of dread overcame him. "You know mom. She's-." He rolled his hand through the air. "-Religious. And a perfectionist. She's been expecting grandkids since Wendy."

Daniel's curious face softened to a degree, forcing a wall of uncertainty to build between them. The older man cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck, and mused to the open air.

"I'm guessing you and her are a no-go now."

Dipper shrugged sadly, busying himself with the skin of his nails. "It wouldn't have worked out, anyway. She felt awkward about the age gap."

"What? Two years?" His father laughed. Dipper shot him a dirty look.

"Three years." He corrected. Daniel just chuckled.

"Ah, I see. I see. You were in middle school when she was in high school. You were in high school when she was in college." He said it like the numbers meant nothing. And, perhaps that was true. But it meant something to her, and it meant a lot throughout their entire relationship, beginning to end.

Dipper readied himself to reprimand his tone, when Daniel cut in quickly.

"So... Men, then?" His expression remained playful, if not a bit stiff. It wasn't so much in pain that the features hardened. Instead, in hopes of starving off whatever surprise tried to expose itself. Daniel hadn't planned on it. His reaction wasn't ideal. He wasn't prepared to find out about this, or see his son love another man, or even know it was a possibility. Nonetheless, he hoped to deliver his support as well as he could. "Dating women twice your age just didn't do it for you, huh?"

"She was only three years older than me!" Dipper's cheeks prickled crimson as he turned on the man, giving him a rough shove away.

"Oh, so it's 'only' three years now?" His father laughed, moving in to slide next to Dipper. His son scooted away.

"No, it's-. She's-. Age wasn't the problem. Age was never the problem."

"Well, I can see that now." The smile across Daniel's face was humorous. In part because, again, he used every one of life's curveballs as fuel for happiness. Now was no exception. He grinned, snickering, even as Dipper rolled his eyes, mumbling something that resembled a vulgar term, but couldn't have been.

The wind picked up, and the hot, wet feel of precipitation dotted their skin.

"Yeah." The younger huffed with dreary eyes. "Guess it's kinda obvious."

"But, really. When were you gonna tell me? I'd already gotten my tux all pressed for when you and Wendy-." Dipper threw his arms up all of a sudden, before slamming his hands down, palms-first, to look at Daniel in distaste.

"Okay, could you not keep bringing her up? Please?" The desperate, strained look scrawled on his face seemed to give more than enough insight to how much the whole situation tore him apart. Dipper's head went down then, hand raised to rub circles along his cranium. Daniel's smirking lips fell apart when he cleared his throat and decidedly backed away. He checked his watch with quirking lips.

"I just wanna-." Dipper's hands flew out. "I don't know. I wanna take that whole relationship back. It was such a mess, and I was stupid." He paused, shaking his head. "I was really stupid."

"You're not stupid."

"Thanks."

A flash of light from afar; the jagged, crooked line of light zigzagging its way through the clouds. Daniel cleared his throat.

"And that Bill guy. He seems pretty smart. You've got good taste." The father waited a beat, shifting from one foot to the other. He rocked back on his heels, catching fist in palm like a baseball. "Does he make you happy?"

Dipper laughed.

"He makes me wanna rip my hair out; I don't think I could've found a worse partner."

"I guess he's just lucky you gave him the time of day, then."

It gave the brunette pause when his eyes- very sad. Very foggy- gazed down at Miriam's wilted garden and couldn't help but parallel their relationship to it; some dried, shrivelled seed. It had been a bad idea to plant. It was a bad idea trying to keep things up.

"We're not gonna last, dad. You don't have to like him."

"But, I do." He knocked Dipper on the shoulder. "He's friendly."

"He's a pain."

"That just makes it obvious you're crazy about him." Daniel shrugged truthfully.

Dipper startled.

Then sputtered.

Tried to object.

Fell flat.

Fell silent.

He sighed, lowering his head into the folds of his arms.

"I'm not trying to feel like this." Dipper spoke through the muffling fabric of his sleeves. He lifted his head, chin rested in the bend of his elbows. "I'm not trying to like guys."

"Which only solidifies it." The sky let on a tinted purple shade, followed by a handful of raindrops. Neither of the two men stepped back from the wetness.

"Does it bother you?"

There was that silence again. The pitter-patter of rain. The distant rumble of lightning strikes. The low squeak of Daniel who couldn't keep his feet still; had to shuffle from side to side, fiddle with the dial of his watch, scratch his neck. All of a sudden, they were the same, unsure person. His father took a moment to himself, mulled over each word, before rolling his sleeves down and rebuttoning them to either wrist.

"If I'm being honest?" He drew out slowly; painfully. His chest heaved, face a shade whiter than before. He tried wetting his tongue, despite the deepening dry of his mouth. "I would have never guessed. I never thought-." Daniel tilted his head. "I mean, you were never crazy about girls-." His fingers flexed against hardwood. "And maybe your BABBA phase should've tipped me off, but it didn't." He smiled jokingly, facing his son with a tease in hand. When Dipper did no more than stare back- a distinct expression of hurt- Daniel straightened out.

"I always just assumed-. You know. You'd be-." He rolled his hand, hoping for input from the other. His son offered a meek 'normal?' to which Daniel was avid about denying. "Straight. I just thought you'd be straight."

Dipper held his gaze for a second before lowering his head, but his father was quick to chase.

"Everyone I know's straight, Mason. It's nothing about you. There's nothing wrong with you. I'm just-. The next generation's always a little different, right? You kids have your weird interwebs and com-pu-tors. I grew up on encyclopedias, alright? Don't cancel an old geezer for getting it wrong."

The wind picked up, whistling through a patch of maples. It taught on the tail of fresh green leaves, forcing them from their branches. In it, they flew to the ground, the roof, the streets. From the fresh, damp comfort of aged branches. Sturdy, but aged.

"So, it bothers you then. A little." Dipper stated passively. He felt the cool breath of air passing through his clothes, and simply let it. His chest heaved, hardened, and released itself with a creaking pain not previously explored by him. Not rejection, but something similar. An oldened push back that seemed to separate the two men by trench. Distanced not by empathy, but time.

"You're my son, Mason." Daniel combatted. A sturn, steady tone then that might fight off even the smallest of doubts in it. Not just 'you're my son.'

'You're my pride.'

'You're my blood.'

'You're my breath.'

He tested a firm hand on Dipper's shoulder, forcing his face up from its lowered position.

"That hasn't changed. Me caring about you hasn't changed." The hand used to grip his son tightened, giving his body a motivated shake. He looked more intensely at the brunette, fighting hopelessly against his own misconceptions.

This is my son, and he is gay. This is my son, and he is gay. This is my son, and he is gay.

"And- I trust your judgement, Mason. You and him? Maybe it won't work." He gave the statement a shrug, like either scenario was indifferent to him. For whatever reason, that simple pinch- the way he treated it as something ordinary. Something casual- had Dipper shining on a level not before existent. He watched on, suddenly broken by a tiny grin.

"But you'll work. Just you being you." Daniel insisted, wagging a finger at the boy. "You're a mess, but you're a smart mess, you got that?"

Dipper snorted. Smiled ear to ear with tinged cheeks. Lowered his head to twiddle his thumbs and appear downright bashful. The hand on his shoulder clapped him once before sliding away.

"Yeah, I got it." Dipper spoke through flexed cheeks, the twinkle of a laugh sawing his words. Daniel blinked once. Ruffled the younger's hair and patted his cheek.

"You'd better."

The heavy drizzle of rain picked up, quickly building into a full-blown storm. Lightning, closer now. But, not at all intimidating from under the patio. Two men, bone dry below their roof, but growing spotted and damp along their collared shirts.

Dipper looked at Daniel. Daniel looked at Dipper. A connection was there. A snug, reassuring pump of something that wasn't the complete bending of will- wasn't the forced conversion of an older, conservative generation. Instead, simple, compliant love for differences. The way one's dimples smoothed in, and another's nose poked out, and their ears were a bit too big or a bit too small, their hands a tinge pinker than the rest on the palms. But, still loved the look, and loved the feel, and couldn't help but gather up all those strange differences and admire them in a way not-at-all conventional; not at all expected.

The first to break was Dipper, who was swift about wrapping his arms around Daniel's neck. His father complied effortlessly.

"You're smart, Mason." Daniel assured, giving his back a firm pat-pat. "I know you know what's best for yourself, and I trust that. I trust you to be good." The words felt heavy, nestling deep within Dipper's gut. A weighty, haunting phrase when his father, sure of the goodness of his own son, confirmed the very thing Dipper couldn't. "I trust you to make the right choices."

Dipper began to feel pale again.