The shapeshifter made his move after throwing the child aside, bolting for my turned figure as Bill reflexively caught Abby, losing his focus. Moron. The shapeshifter lunged, grabbing either of my shoulders in an attempt to drag me to the floor. He clung to my sleeves, nails digging in as he shook me violently, trying to hook his feet behind mine and lead me to the floor. His efforts were successful, but not without a fight being put up.

My first instinct was a left hook aimed brutishly at his right cheek, which slipped across his face sloppily, catching at his ear and rolling along the side of his head before pushing past him to punch at air. I heard a heavy grunt, grabbing at my lower thigh before hoisting my leg up and forcing me to the ground. My arm hooked around the shapeshifter's neck, bringing him along for the ride. By the time Bill noticed the situation I was in, the shapeshifter had already shuffled himself within our partnership as an imposter.

"Damn it, kid! Are you serious?" I growled, working to keep the shapeshifter from mounting me as he tried to crain his right leg over my torso. My knee went up, creating a blockade against his attempts at dominance. I wasn't sure how long I'd be able to hold him off, and if Bill had just paid attention-. I shot him a dirty look, features smeared in the dark entryway, the only light coming from Bill's yellowed flashlight.

"Fuck you, Bill!" I summoned from my tight throat, working up the stamina to keep that imposter's ever present offenses at bay. I had to work fast and come up with something to distinguish myself from the pack, but with each struggle I made, the shapeshifter countacted it with an almost mirrored defense, forcing most of my brain power into simply staying on top. That didn't last long as he finally got his leg over me, taking the high ground with a sinister grin.

"Marco!" Bill shouted. I would've chopped him in the throat if he weren't aiming a gun.

"Polo!" We struggled on the floor relentlessly, in perhaps an effort to expose the other as an imposter. But, what would that prove? The real Dipper wasn't automatically the alpha of the two. I hoped Bill knew that. Looking up at my partner expectantly, I wished to see even a glimpse of realization against his otherwise baffled face. Bill looked down at me, lingering, only to snap his eyes up at the shapeshifter, a heavily set brow accompanying his contemplative features. He was completely lost. Needless to say, my partner was of no help.

I tried to speak; give him the help necessary to distinguish us. But, nothing really came to mind. What should I do? Curse at him? Insult him? Surely, he'd know it was me afterwards. Bill had a gun, though. I wasn't sure I felt like testing him in a high stress situation. Especially not under these circumstances. Something just pissed me off about the idea of this phony sliding into my place and doing lord knows what. That sounded even worse than getting shot. The shapeshifter knocked me on the left cheek, snapping off my thought process. I growled at him, looking up into my own eyes with a burning hatred I hadn't experienced since my Cipher days.

This bitch wanted to die.

My fist shot up, colliding heatedly with the imposter's nose, a satisfying 'pop' sounding from above. The satisfaction didn't last long as blood began to trickle across my knuckles, and the shapeshifter clutched my neck with vengeance. My hand caught his wrist, trying to lift some of the weight off my throat, but he kept squeezing. In a fit of panic, unable to breathe, think, and fight at the same time, I launched my hand at him.

My index and middle grazed him, leaving soft white marks of torn skin, while the ring finger missed him completely. It was the pink that really got him, slicing across his cheek just below his eye, forcing a beaded line of blood to surface. I began to smirk, noting the shaken hiss pushed from the imposter's throat. The victory was short lived as he made his grip impossibly tighter, cutting off my airways and forcing that stupid grin from my face.

"You little shit!" He spat, and for once, I whimpered at the transaction. I felt lightheaded, eyes slowly rolling to the back of my head, able to hear the heavy pulse of blood against my eardrums. I worked in vain to shake his fingers from my throat, closing around me in increments, but I continually lost focus as my vision started to spot. I opened my mouth like a fish out of water, noting the subtle cool of saliva trailing down my cheek as I pleaded for even a gulp of air. No such luck. God, was I going to die?

I began to float, eyes rolling back and snapping forward on several accounts, close to blacking out as tiny white stars twinkled in the distance. This was it. Was it? Yes. No. I wasn't sure. Maybe he'd stop once I was out cold. Not likely. Maybe Bill'd have pity on me and pull the trigger on the shapeshifter. Nothing was more humiliating than my life being in the hands of that guy. I felt a whine build up against the imposter's flexing palm, blocked and stuffed away as he pressed down on my neck. Come on, Bill. Come on! Do you really think I'd choke anyone but you to death?

The shapeshifter ripped my sleeve away, exposing that embarrassing tattoo I'd gotten my senior year. Senior year... Jesus christ. A sharp 'bang' wrestled me from my thoughts, followed by the sticky flow of red poured upon my chest. A shock went up my spine, looking to the smoking barrel aimed just above me, almost fooling me into believing I'd been shot. I short circuited right then and there. Hands, pulling at me. Sliding over me. Grabbing me. Touching me in a way far too alien to describe. And, something I reacted to like a puppet being controlled by string.

My hands moved before I did, riding their way through blurred blond, cupping onto cold skin attached to a nameless face. Curved lips, perfect in every form. Smooth. Smooth and rough and nipping when I disobeyed. I moved mindlessly, without question or protest or understanding, as I was dragged along into something I couldn't comprehend. Something deep and warm and pulsing and hot, with firm fingertips roaming; exploring. Not quite touching, but exciting. That shifted confidently just below my belly button, and almost dug into the skin where it poked. Large, clad in denim, and stimulating as all hell, whatever it was.

I contemplated exploring it. That's when I pulled away, viewing the smeared face before me. Red. Melted and warm, sliding along those perfect lips like a vampire's grin. The pungent stench of iron rawred through my nostrils, bubbling up and spilling over within the confines of my mental cup. Too much. Too much blood. On their lips. My lips. My shirt. My shoes. Seeping past the elastic of my boxers, sliding between my legs and down my thighs. I'd kissed those lips. I'd tasted them. And they tasted good-.

'No. No no no no no no no no no no no this is wrong Dipper this is wrong what is wrong with you why are you like this why are you like this this is evil not normal not normal why can't you just act like everyone else this isn't okay this isn't right why why why are you like this?'

A dark form slid up my back, perching its chin against my shoulder to whisper in my ear. A melting figure of black ink, smiling vengefully with yellowed teeth and golden eyes, telling me that the blood would never wash out. That the stain would never go. That I was screwed for all times, because there was nothing to be done against it.

'You can't wash out the stains.' My mother had said. 'You can't wash out the stains. Just throw it away.'

Because, she was a perfectionist. Everything had to go her way.

Everything.

I began to sink deeper and deeper into the floor, dark ink pooling around my ankles, the only living support the body that clung to hold me up. But, it only grew farther away as I was pulled by the cloth into an unknown shadow world. For the blood. I was filthy. And, as the darkness worked to consume me, I had but one question to ask: Would the blood wash out?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Piedmont, California. September 6th, 2014: My freshman year.

Dad caught a flight back home the week prior, having spent the last day of summer celebrating Mabel and my 15th birthday, as any parent should. California was no longer welcome to him since the divorce. Not since the yelling, the strained smiles, the sleeping on the couch, and the piping hot coffee mug lugged at his head. Because, dear God: They hated each other.

That's not to say that the house was broken. The family wasn't a mess. In fact, everyone was relatively behaved outside of their four walls, to the point of neighbouring surprise once the separation was finally announced. We were a prime example of your average family, and our parents had been a prime example of forbidden love. 'Catholics and jews don't mix.' That's what everyone on mom's side said at least. But, they had been in love. Wasn't that enough?

Probably not.

Their first marital fight happened on what should have been the happiest day of their lives: Childbirth. A baby girl, with cute little toes and soft, wet nails. Rosey cheeks, puffed up to seal away her pretty blue eyes. Most babies had them. Her mouth popped open with a toothless grin, cooing and crying with something other wordly to newly announced parents. You'd think they were cradling a million dollars. Their perfect life as parents lasted for about five minutes.

Then, I was born, and mom demanded a circumcision. Dad said 'hell no.' The argument spiraled out of control, stretching on and on for months while my mother bawled her eyes out, unable to properly savor her motherhood. Because, that's how it was done in her family. Not my dad's. There was a kind of tradition to be followed, and she'd expected him to trail behind her as she led the way. It wasn't until then that my father understood who she was. High school sweethearts always seemed to work like that.

My mother wanted me to grow up, go to college, get a high paying job, and marry a beautiful house wife, as every man in her family did. My father... My father didn't really care. But, no way was he letting some stranger snip my tip. That was that. They'd been arguing ever since. About churches and synagogues. Crosses and the Star of David. The torah and the Bible. All while I stood there, wondering who in the fuck cared whether or not we celebrated Christmas or Hanukkah this year.

And one day when they'd decided Mabel and I needed some 'fresh air,' they shooed us from of the house to get things in order. The divorce papers. Because, and I quote, 'We didn't want you two feeling the weight of it all.' Believe it or not, coming home after risking your life to save the world only to discover your parents are splitting up is kind of a slap in the face. Would've been nice to know in advance. I might have been able to come to terms with it over the summer during some mythical journey about life, embedded with a cryptic lesson on accepting change and learning to roll with the punches. But, this? It was like dropping an anvil.

It all happened so fast. Everything was already in order by the time we returned. Dad had a place set up in New York; a new job as a literature teacher in Buffalo. Mom boxed his belongings up herself, even being so cold as to throw away their wedding photos. Oh, Mabel had been a sobbing mess, and I was officially an atheist. In short, our birthday this year was awkward. Especially with him around. He stood at mom's side, arm draped over her shoulder, watching with expectant eyes as Mabel unwrapped her gift. A new bedazzle gun. The self satisfied grin he shot her was all the fuel I needed to roll my eyes.

John did that a lot. He liked to pamper us. Pet us on the head. Really show us how 'cool' and 'hip' he was for buying our affection. Mom never let us turn the offers away. She never let us return the gifts or say, 'Thank you, but I can't accept this.' Because, she was on his side. She needed him to prove to us that we preferred her live in boyfriend to our own father. Which was complete bullshit. And, not to go spreading rumors, but John didn't make me feel comfortable at all.

He wasn't exactly a respectable man. At least from what I saw. John liked to lounge around the house when mom wasn't home, and only really did anything when in her immediate line of vision. He had a job that paid well, but he was reckless with his money. He never really spent it with a reasonable cause in mind, and I knew it made mom secretly antsy. But, she never said anything. How could she without scaring him away? This was her revenge on dad, searching for a younger, handsomer upgrade from what she'd originally been sleeping with. Because, she and John did sleep together. A lot.

John told me himself.

He always looked at me a certain way when he did, first pulling a relished grin, followed by a more calculated expression, giving my open disgust a once over. I never understood his motives for telling me such personal information, and I was very direct about ordering him to stop. He never did. John just smiled, leaning back in his chair, lifting a black coffee to his lips before blowing at it smuggly. On one particular day I heard John tell me about it, it was a Wednesday. Just a week into the school year. My first year in high school, and I was anxious as all hell.

Mabel and I only had two class periods together, and they were both electives. Meaning they weren't as serious. Meaning the teachers would let you sit wherever you wanted. Meaning students would start talking and making friends and cliques and groups. Meaning Mabel would be snatched up no problem, and I'd be-. I tried my best to ignore him, but for some reason, John was especially set on glorifying the whole situation.

"-And her skin was so soft-."

"Oh, gross, man! I'm eating." I gobbled down a mouthful of cereal, tugging shakely at my hair. My eyes remained fixated on the makeshift pages of my journal, a cheap adaptation of the original but still charming within its own league, trying to block his words from my brain. He always did this when it was just us two, and John knew damn well I was too awkward to address either of the women of the house on the matter. I still got sweaty even thinking about it. No way was I verbalizing it.

"Oh, come on, sport. I won't judge-!"

"I'm not listening." I bunched up, blocking either of my ears with the skin of my shoulders as he blabbed on. It didn't do anything to keep him quiet, but at least it meant I'd tried something.

"Just thought it'd be a nice bonding experience, talking about relationships and stuff. You know, like father and son." I stopped myself from correcting him in that instance; from slamming down my book and saying 'You're not my dad.' That was too cruel, even for him. And, again: Awkward. I said nothing, tilting my bowl back before draining away the last drops of milk that pooled at the bottom. When I pulled away, I could feel a single trail of 2% slide over my lips, down my chin, and hang there for my to wipe away. John leaned forward to flick it away before I could, brushing the base of his thumb against the lingering drop.

"You saving that for later?" John laughed, pulling his hand back.

"Thanks." I responded simply, drawing my eyes away from his. John had a poor understanding of this wonderful thing called 'personal space,' which he openly flaunted daily. Standing a bit too close. Breathing down people's necks. Hands resting on knees. Ankles brushing against others. John was the king of it. Though, it was odd. Mabel said she hadn't noticed.

"No, but for real. You don't have anyone in your life? A high school sweetheart? You?"

"What do you mean, 'me?'" It was a hostile accusation, one followed by two hands placed firmly on my hips. Naturally, I was the nerdy twin. The lesser of the two. In looks, that is. Ever since elementary, I'd been bullied for being lanky and big headed. Every class I went to, every new school, every state visited, I was the awkward sweaty kid in shorts. And, that was something I had to live with. It made sense over time that I would always be, and it was best to just accept it.

But, things were changing. Things changed slowly, at such a pace that those closest to me couldn't see it. I was getting taller. Inch by inch, I grew at night and woke closer to the ceiling than before. My hair began to curl at the tips, like old paint peeling from the walls, looping and bouncing when shook. The lasting baby fat was finally shrinking away, leaving a slimmer, more pointed chin in its wake. Not that I noticed. Not that anyone I knew noticed. But, John. John noticed.

"What do you mean 'what?' I'm sure you've got women falling left and right at your feet, champ."

"Um... No." I slung my book bag over my shoulder, aiming for the kitchen door. The school bus wasn't scheduled for another ten minutes, but I could wait. Hell, I would wait if it meant getting out of here.

"Oh, bullshit! You're a stud!" I winced at his foul tongue, writing his language off as a sign of lacking intelligence. But, of course. I'd never cursed a day in my life.

"I need to get going." I made my way to the door, hoping to escape this stupid conversation as soon as possible, only to feel a hand wrap around my waist.

"Whoa, whoa, hey. What's the rush? I can drive you if you need-."

"I'm fine. I don't need a lift. The bus is coming soon."

"How soon?"

"Soon." I managed, trying to scoot out of his touch without letting on how badly I wanted to get away from him. No need to act hostile. John was mom's boyfriend. I was sure she knew what she was doing. At least, I used to be.

"Sit down, Dipper. Relax! You've always got your nose in a book. I'm sure whatever it is they're teaching you over there, you already know it."

"I'm gonna miss the bus, John. I need to head out." This time, I made the first move, putting my hand over the one wrapped around my waist. His pinky finger was starting to slip up my shirt. I lightly tapped away at his hand, signalling for him to release me. He did, sliding away with something between hesitation and haste. John cleared his throat, looking behind him where the living room was.

"Is Mabel up yet? Where is she?"

"Probably catching a ride with one of her friends."

"Oh, so she's got friends at school then?"

"Uh, yeah. She's Mabel." I almost laughed at my own comment, but it was such an obvious thing, who wouldn't know?

"'She's Mabel.'" John mocked, putting his fingers up to quote me. "So what? You're Dipper. That's gotta mean something to you." I shrugged at him.

"Sure. Yeah." But, I wasn't a social butterfly. That was my point. I wasn't putting myself down. I was just being honest. People liked Mabel. Everyone liked Mabel. It was just one of those things I had to live with. "It does."

"What does it mean to you, champ?" John was really getting on my nerves now. He wanted so badly to make a connection with me, he had the gall to try using my insecurities as fuel. I paused, whipping out my phone to check the time. I had about eight minutes left. Not that I'd tell John that.

"A lot. Listen, John. I've really gotta go now. I'm gonna be late today."

"I can drive-."

"I've got a bike just in case." John laughed at me.

"You're not gonna swoon the ladies showing up on that hunk of junk." Even though it was the bike dad had gotten me for my birthday. John still said it. Something sharp curved down my spine, only to shoot back up in a hot flare of disdain. My fingers tightened around the rough fabric of the backpack strap slung thoughtlessly over my right shoulder, forcing a sort of heat into it. The silence should've been cue enough that I didn't appreciate him badmouthing my father's gift. But, he just sat there, smiling and shaking his head, like he'd said something obvious and enlightening and oh so intelligent. Yes, wise sensei. You're just so fucking smart, aren't you?

"I guess not." I laughed back, my teeth snapped shut in a grizzly smile, holding back the urge to left hook his stupid face.

"But, really. Hows about I drop you off today? I've got a really nice car, you know."

"I know. Thank you, but I'm good. Really. If I leave now, I can still catch the bus."

"You sure?" John really stressed it, leaning on his elbow to give me a strained expression. Like, 'you're making a big mistake kid don't pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity.' It would've been great to inform him how unwilling I was to get in any confined space with him. John absolutely reeked of cologne.

"I'm sure. See ya." For the third time, I made my way to the door. And once again, I was stopped. Not by his hands this time, but his voice.

"God damn, Dipper!" John whistled, tilting his head jokingly. He snorted, giving me a once over before slapping his hand against the table in good humor.

'Don't pay him any mind Dipper don't ask he's nothing but a jerk whatever it is he's gonna say it's not worth hearing trust me he's just gonna make fun of you they always do just keep walking.' I turned around to face him.

"What?" I asked, cursing myself as I did so. He only whistled again, savoring my slow turn as I faced him.

"You been doing squats or something?" John leaned forward, propping his head in his hand as he continued to smirk, a lazy look of gratitude slicing his face. Like an idiot, I took the bait and responded.

"No... Why?" John's face lit up like I'd offered him a million dollars, and I was left with the overwhelming tingle of falling into someone's trap. I braced myself for his response; a reticule of my poorly kept physique. A recommendation to exercise more. A reminded to eat healthy. Wouldn't be the first time some big shot strolled up to me and graciously enlightened me on how fucking pathetic I was. But, it was whatever. I hardly considered them anymore, and whatever expectations he had set for me, I already knew I couldn't reach it. Why bother? John just laughed.

"Well, you're definitely putting your genes to good use." He paused, looking me in the eyes with a smirk, checking for signs of understanding. I just stood there, confused, readjusting my backpack strap, hoping to be done with this. With a sly tilt forward, John pursed his lips, winking at me. "You've got a nice ass, man."

I blinked rapidly at him, waiting for some kind of follow up; an add on to fix whatever slip he had just made, saying something that was definitely not true. Of course not. He was just picking fun. Before I had a chance to question him, John started chuckling. Not out right laughing, but more patting himself for his odd comment. And, I was too awkward to leave him laughing alone. I laughed along, awkwardly of course, rubbing my shoulder and looking away from John. He made me feel all kinds of uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well. You should probably head out now, ay?" John seemed a bit more relaxed than before, leaning back in his chair, a content sigh passing his lips where he sat. Again, he gave me a once over, and I could've sworn I heard him say something.

Jesus, you look just like your mom...

I tried not to linger on it. I said nothing, staring blankly for a moment, only to turn away. And, as I did, I caught from the corner of my eye a slight movement from him. John lifted his thumb to his lips, tongue flicking out over it, only to pull the digit in and savor the taste. The same thumb he'd used to flick away the milk on my chin.

"See you after school, sport."

"Bye." I was quick about finally escaping him, making great progress as I speed walked to the bus stop, clutching my journal and making period glances behind me. Is he following me?

Highschool wasn't as cruel as middle school had been, but it was certainly different. In more ways than one. The entire building absolutely wrecked of hormonal imbalances and sexual repression. Students didn't have the same reserve about making out in front of lockers or stairwells or lunch lines the way they did in middle school. And, people seemed so used to it, no one really paid them any mind. Or, they tried not to.

I absolutely hated walking the halls of my high school. The place was swarming with students and faculty, cutting within my line of vision, shoving, grabbing, and being otherwise unorthodox as they pushed beyond me. I almost missed the embarrassing years of lining up in the hallways, single file, from A to Z. At least it was organized. But, there were benefits to being so clustered. No one really saw the little guy crouched over his pine tree journal, sketching up aqua dragons and fairy-ghoul hybrids, mumbling and scratching his head, being otherwise nerdy.

Nah. Everyone was too focused on Ashley Kimbra, who's just been knocked up by the school's history teacher Mr. Taylor. Or Josh Becker, our best quarterback, caught barebacking the mascot behind the gym at homecoming. They never noticed me. As long as I wasn't stupid and wasn't sexual, people stayed out of my face. It was great, finally having that option. I spent most of my freshman year studying. And, when I wasn't doing that, I was exploring California's back yard, searching for my next mystery, observing the environment, and discovering something new.

All I really discovered was how abnormally normal Piedmont was. It was more fantasy than reality scanning the streets for a beast of unimaginable horror, but I was smart enough now not to go asking people for advice on it. Not in Cali, that is. They'd just look at me funny. My academic achievements weren't anything to sniff at, from what my mom told me. She was already looking into college programs, academic scholarships, and elite fraternities for me to join once it was time. Not to mention my outside activities.

I joined robotics, along with journalism during lunch and the mathletes over the weekends, just to put some extra weight under my belt for the college I actually wanted to go to. My mom seemed proud of me, saying I'd be a great 'doctor' or 'pharmacist' one day. As for Mabel...

Well, mom never expected her to leave the house, anyways.

But, Mabel was alright with that. She had her crown at school, as the cute bubbly sweater princess that liked sneaking her pig into class. With straight white teeth and soft brown curls that rolled over her shoulders, she almost looked too pure to even date. That never stopped her, though. By the end of the year, she'd already dated eight different freshmen, three sophomores, four juniors, and a senior. Needless to say, she was a common topic of gossip. Which she loved.

My crown was at home, where mom hung my report card on the fridge and cooked my favorite meal to celebrate, and dad would call me on the phone to congratulate me, and we'd eventually get off topic and catch up with one another. What was school like? How was the new job? Did you hear about the next installation of 'Space Battles?' Was it any good? How is the Misses? Is she doing okay? And, her boyfriend. What's he like? What's his job like? Does mom like him that much? How tall is he, again? Tell me everything you know about him, now-. You know what? Never mind. Sorry I asked. Then, the phone would go silent, and neither of us would speak. Simply hearing the other breathe, trying to pick out background noises and alien tones. The honking of taxis, paralleling the soft beep of suburban minivans. Was he at a payphone? How was he doing, moneywise? What was he eating, now that mom refused to make him a home cooked meal? Was he doing okay? Did he miss us? Did he miss home?

I refused to ask.

The call always ended with one or the other coughing, sighing, or sniffing.

I love you.

I love you, too.

It was kind of numbing.

The end of the year pulled up out of nowhere, and it was impossible to stop. Every one of my classes were revving up for finals, piling on study guides and extra credit, linking Smash Course videos, setting up study groups.

Not to mention clubs. My robotics team was preparing for their scrimmage against North Himen, our school's main rival. I had an article due thursday for journalism on last night's big game, and everyone knew damn well I had no idea what was going on the whole time. The mathletes weren't really doing anything serious since finals were around the corner, but one of the members came out as a Shrekkie and a whole bunch of drama started blowing up in everyone's faces. I didn't have the stamina for extra shit.

And yet, I got some.

I missed the bus home. On the worst of all days, because it was raining cats and dogs outside, so no way I was riding my bike back. She'd give me hell if I tracked mud on her new carpeting. When I tried calling my mom to have me picked up, her phone went to voicemail. When I texted Mabel to ask if mom was home, she said she'd check and never got back to me. Probably reeling in another head quarterback or edgy goth to fon over for a week or two. I couldn't blame her, though. Getting that kind of attention did things to people.

I sighed, sliding my phone back in my pocket as I sat inside the school, watching the janitor grumble lowly about dirty teenagers as he pushed his bristle broom along the teal flooring. I worried my lip, looking to the round white clock over head, ticking second by second. 3:47 The rain didn't stop. If anything, it got heavier with every minute snatched from my belt. Every moment I could be using, spent on video games or books or actually getting shit done. Nope. I was here, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for a dry spell. I didn't have time for this.

'John has a car.'

'Yeah, but John's John.'

'You think he'd be willing to give us a lift?'

'I'd rather walk.' I checked the forecast on my phone. A big, fat, black cloud with a frowny face. Shit.

'...How soon do you think he can get here?'

Sighing begrudgingly, I shot him a half assed text that just barely suggested I needed a lift. Like, I don't need a lift, but if you're not busy... John was quick to respond, an enthusiastic reassurance of laugh-crying emojis and prayer hands, because he was 'blessed' or something. Nevertheless, he was on his way, telling me to 'sit tight ;).'

John was in front of my school within minutes, honking his horn once before reclining the driver's seat, looking relaxed with his dark shades on. Because, every sane person knows that when a report goes out for possible flash flooring, the first thing you'll be needing is a pair of fucking sunglasses. I stood under the school's hooded entrance, backpack placed readily overhead, prepared to race out in the rain and have yet another unavoidable encounter with my newly acclaimed step father. Very newly. Like, I still have my plane ticket from when we flew to Colorado for the wedding new. Less-than-a-month new. I still hadn't come to terms with it.

"How was school?"

"Fine."

"You talk to any girls today?"

"No." John pulled out of the parking lot, aiming for the main street. The road was paved across several neighboring drives, swamped against clogged up drains, plugged with dried leaves and straw wrappers. Small plastic tricycles lied turned on their sides, patting against soaked grass. In retrospect, I was secretly grateful he'd been so inclined on picking me up. There was no way I was walking four miles in muddy converse.

"Why not?"

"Not interested." I looked out the window, chin in hand, watching gallons of rain shower along the streets.

"What do you mean 'not interested?' Not interested in dating? Or..." I said nothing, watching the car's speeding tires create ridiculous tiddle waves. "Not interested in girls?"

"What? No. I just-. Who cares, right?" I shrugged my shoulders, eyes closed, sinking into the soothing lullaby of a storm outside. "I'm not really into it."

"Hmm... Alright, respectable. Well, how's robotics going for you?"

"Fine."

"Journalism?"

"Good."

"What about the mathletes? I warned you not to join those guys."

"Warn, you did. We're doing good." Each question was as automatic as the response. We'd built up a kind of grey relationship, where neither parties really talked about their interests in depth, since we had almost nothing in common. Instead, we kept the conversation within a small circle of activities. School. Homework. Clubs. Girls, in very vague terms, and always with shallow responses. That was more of John's thing. At least, that's what I had thought.

By the time he turned onto the highway, we'd both gone completely silent. It was boring, talking to each other, and maybe it was all my fault. But, I didn't really care if I put effort into it or not. Conversating wasn't my idea, and it wasn't really John's idea either. It was my mom's. A steaming hot pile of bonding, right? Right. She probably felt guilty for completely changing Mabel and my life in the period of- Oh, about a year. Might as well make the best of it.

I started to sink, the vibrations of the car mixing with the vibrations of the rain, rocking my mind into a mental checklist. I no longer noticed the passing cars, blurring trees, and buzzing radio station John insisted on tuning into. Instead, I folded myself up, nice and neat, inside a cozy layer of my mind, reading over the day's events.

'Let's see. I've got a project due friday in Mrs. Key's class. I'll have to text Jordan about the powerpoint. Who should do the key points slide? Probably me. I'll let her do the peer review. She's more social than I am. What about robotics? We've still got to figure out what's wrong with the programming before our next scrimmage, or couch Meeslee's gonna throw a fit. And, journalism. I still have no idea how football works... I wonder what mom's cooking for dinner-.'

A shock road up my spine, stripping away my cozy mental blanket with a start, forcing me to wake the fuck up. John's hand rested gently on top of my knee, patting me. It was completely uncalled for, and a little awkward. But, that wasn't what surprised me. No. It was how big his hands were compared to the size of my leg. My knee pretty much disappeared under his palm. John wasn't all that big of a guy- maybe 6'2 or 6'3- but he looked to drape his entire palm over me. My eyes remained trained out the window, though my brain was completely shot by the contact.

We weren't on the highway anymore. Not driving, but parked just by the road, letting the windshields still as he stopped the car. He used his free hand to nab the key, the car's engine cutting off like death. Something was wrong with this scene. What was he doing?

"Dipper." I could hear him shift around in his leather seat to face me, his determined expression reflecting across my window. I acted like I didn't hear him, tapping my finger on my cheek as I fought against the urge to grimace. Was he trying to have a moment? Some father-son scene he'd watched in a movie? I hated cheesy stuff like that. "Dipper." John repeated, squeezing my knee as he did. This time, I visibly flinched, tilting my head just barely to view him in my peripheral vision.

"Hmm? Oh. Uh, yeah?" I played dumb, my eyes lighting up with fake realization as I met his gaze, like I'd been lost in thought. His features hardly shifted, relaxed or changed as he examined me. I could feel his heartbeat through where his skin pressed against mine, noting the subtle slick of sweat when his wrist twisted to rub my boney knee. I held back a groin, internally grossed out by the idea of his anything smearing over me. It wasn't sanitary. Plus, it was his. John looked as though he was going to lean back, pull away his hand. But, he didn't. He just sat there, staring at me with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw. After a minute, he finally spoke.

"You're doing pretty well in school, huh?" John's tone was set light with a small hilt at the end, but his eyes were cold. Lacking in warmth, and strangely animalistic. His fingers flinched, catching a bit of extra skin near my thigh, only to go back to rubbing my bare knee. He must have felt awkward about actually trying to bond for once, or else the atmosphere wouldn't have been so heavy. But, if so, why were his eyes so certain? I swallowed lightly, failing to cloak my mounting discomfort, followed by a nod in conformation.

"Yeah... I made the honor roll again."

"All A's?" I shook my head.

"I've got a B in Mr. Jackson's class." John chuckled lowly at my response, his grip openly tightening as he stopped rubbing in exchange for squeezing. My body became ridgid, hearing the masculine draw of his voice. It was so smooth...

"Well, you deserve an A, for whatever class he is." His thumb rubbed circles along my inner thigh, eyes riding down my leg as he did so. "You know you can always come to me if you need help. I'm sure I could teach you a thing or two..." His voice trailed off, looking back up at me with an odd smirk. In that moment, I had no idea what that face was supposed to mean. I'd never received a glance like that in my life. But, somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, I caught wind of a dimly lit side of me. Something I never knew was there.

"U-um. Sure. Yeah, that sounds-." He leaned forward, just an inch. My body reacted before I could, forcing my entire back against the car's window, shoulders bunching up as I watched him like a hawk. "-Fine. That sounds fine."

"Does it? Does it really?" Another inch between us, gone. And, if I wasn't any wiser, I would have sworn his hand slid up just a little. "Is studying what you actually wanna do with me?"

Um... yes?

"What are you talking about?" My eyes snapped ahead of him, viewing the busy road that zipped past us. We weren't even spared a glance.

"You know Dipper, you're a really smart kid." His phone dinged with a text. He ignored it, still staring at me like a primal beast. "You ever take an IQ test?"

"N-no. I-. I've never really seen a point to." John leaned in again. His hand definitely hitched up that time, now resting at my mid thigh, squeezing; a searing team of five fingers digging into the meaty pale flesh that twitched beneath his grasp, uncaring as they slipped under my pant leg to get there. My breathing picked up, looking anywhere but that hand. What...?

"I think you should." John took his other hand, placing it tactically on the bottom of my seat, just below my right leg.

"O-okay. I'll do it when we get home." Time to wrap it up, John. Let's get things going. Dinner's probably waiting for us on the table and, if I'm being quite frank, you really suck at bonding. John looked at me puzzled, lips pursed, eyes slanted, brows raised, hand now accustomed to rhythmically sliding up and down my thigh. His nails were getting dangerously close to my iliac crest with each swipe he made up my leg, only to slide back down just before making contact. My breathing visibly picked up, and I knew he could tell I was nervous. John's hand stopped moving, settling high up my thigh, squeezing hard enough for me to wince. He scowled at me.

"You really are a smart kid, Dipper." That voice... He didn't sound like John anymore. Not the one I knew, and not the one he pretended to be around mom. It was darker now. Low. Sinister and set in conspiracies. A little secret he felt like letting me in on, as long as I didn't tell anyone else.

"Th-anks." I choked. His hands really were big... The one placed peacefully under my seat began to move, forcing my hairs to stand on end as his fingers made their long awaited journal: Across the chair's leather base, under my leg, beyond my thigh, and just below my ass. I started shaking, looking into his deep brown eyes, cold and calculated. "W-what are you-..?" Something alien stirred in my gut, cutting off every breath I took. This... This isn't bonding. This is mating. John... He wants to-. His newly added hand tested a squeeze, all the while his eyes bore into my dilating pupils. He smirked at my reaction.

"So smart... I thought you'd catch on by now. Do you get it? Do you get what I've been doing?" Doing? What has he been...? Dropping hints. He was dropping hints. A lot of them. Asking if I had someone special in my life. Praising me. Telling me how smart I was. How attractive. Reminding me that he did a good job with her, so who's to say he couldn't do it with me?

Holy shit. This guy was-.

I froze, the only message clicking in my mind to nod and shut up. So, I did. John's smile widened, giving yet another squeeze as he moved to be nose to nose with me. "You ever kissed a man before?"

I said nothing, sucking in my bottom lip as it began to tremble. The alien swirl in my gut became an absolute typhoon of emotions, questions and disbelief. And worse, creeping up to overpower each expression: Curiosity.

John smells... good... today... He usually just smelled like cologne or body spray. Mom liked buying him stuff like that when she came across it, and he always went overboard. But today, he smelled softer. Sharper. Like aftershave and oranges, as well as something else. Kind of powdery. John's hair wasn't all gelled up today, either. It didn't look to have that stiff prickle of cheap products and sprays it usually did. Instead, it had a nice volume to it, slicked back in a tar black stream of dark hair. It was perfect for amplifying his cheek bones. He had amazing bone structure. And such tan skin. Clear shaven. Thich, black eyebrows. A broad chest. Had John always looked like that?

"I..." My mind went blank, what I thought and what I should say two completely different answers. In the end, I just shook my head, eyes trained on his smile. A bit of tongue flicked out, wetting his lips when he noticed my gaze.

"Would you like to?" Blood pumped behind my ears, hearing that.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

No.

...

Yes.

I kept my lips shut, going bug eyed at his suggestive questioning. I'd never been offered something like this before. Not from a girl. And, definitely not from a man. The only person I'd ever really 'kissed' had tasted like pool water and fish breath. This was a completely different situation. This wasn't prepubescent Dipper Pines. This wasn't completely innocent, completely unaware Dipper. I knew what people did when they got intimate, and it always made me uncomfortable when I imagined a man and woman together. But, what about two men?

'Dipper, stop.'

John sat there, waiting for his que to get things moving. When none came, he decided to make the decision himself.

'He's so tall.'

'Tell him to quit it.'

He started leaning in, tilting his head to match up with where my lips would be.

'That color looks good on him.'

'You need to go home, Dipper. Now.'

His hand slip up again, this time pressing against my V-line. He prodded at it boldly, forcing my breath to catch in my throat.

'When was the last time I saw him this close?'

'You can't do this. You know that.'

I wiggled just slightly under his grip, but remained otherwise still.

'It was so nice of him to pick me up.'

'He's just gonna use you. Don't let him have this.'

John's eyes slid close, but I couldn't look away. I was absolutely mesmerized.

'It's kind of romantic.'

'John doesn't care about you! Stop it!'

He sucked in a final breath, closing the gap between us.

'...Just one kiss.'

The next scene was a blur. I don't quite recall the kiss, as short as it was. But, I remember him being close. Unprofessionally so. Close enough to cage me up against the door. Close enough to feel my heart pump against his chest. Close enough to feel the hand up my pant leg play with the elastic of my boxers. I have a vague recollection of screaming into the kiss, pushing him away in a rush of understanding. Realization. I was Dipper Pines, age fifteen, living with my recently divorced mother, feminine twin sister, and-.

And my fucking step dad.

Holy shit.

Holy shit, oh God jesus christ, no. Before I even knew what to do, I was crying.

"W-what the fuck are you doing?!" My hands were clasped over my mouth, trying to still the burning throb of pent of sobbing that sliced my throat. The noise I made in place of it was far more pathetic. I refused to look at him, eyes trained on the floor as tears began to well up.

"What do you mean 'what'?! You didn't stop me!" John was absolutely furious with me and my immature outburst. It was just a simple kiss, right? No harm in getting friendly. "What the fuck are you crying for? I didn't do anything!"

"You-..." I stopped myself, letting out a cry. Why was I crying so much? Why did it hurt so bad? I felt so guilty all of a sudden.

'You wanted that kiss, Dipper. You wanted that.'

"I didn't do anything! Stop making stuff up!"

"It literally just happened! Why would you-?"

"Jesus christ, you fucking kids! You think everyone's all over you!"

"You kissed me, jackass!"

"Watch your mouth!" John barked, hand firmly gripping the bomber jacket mom bought me for my birthday. It felt light years from where I was now. He jerked me forward, forcing a whimper from my tight lips, suddenly on a whole other plane of understanding.

'Had I been wrong? Did I do something wrong? Was I reading into this too much? God, but-. But, he kissed me.'

"I-." John hissed, pulling me to be face to face with him. I turned my head, looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a passing car; someone who'd see us. They didn't, and when he noticed I was looking away, he grabbed me by the chin, squishing my cheeks as he snapped my head to look at him. "-Didn't do shit."

'Yes you did. Yes you did.'

"And don't you dare tell your mother, or I swear-!" John stopped himself, ready to threaten me with my life if it came to it. But, he wouldn't. He knew I wasn't going to say shit. I was too awkward with it. And, what if no one believed me? What if they all took his side? Who'd believe a thirty five year old newlywed was hitting on the bride's son? No one. Absolutely no one. John sighed, releasing me, letting my head fall back against the seat. "Just-. Don't. We don't want people getting the wrong idea." He looked to the road. "Okay?"

No. No, not 'okay.' Never again okay. That was wrong. This is wrong!

I didn't nod my head.

Didn't let out a meek 'yes sir.'

Didn't sit silently in the passenger's seat and let him drive me home.

No. I ripped open the car door, shielding myself against the brutal pound of freshly poured rain, and began my trudge back in a complete daze. It wasn't as bad though. I only had two more miles to go. By the time I got home, John was already there sitting at the dinner table, checking his phone. He didn't look up when I came in. He didn't say hello. It was as though I didn't exist.

Mom was a completely different story, tearing into me when she saw what a dripping mess I was. I'd gotten my muddy feet all over her new carpet, but I was too numb to care. She checked my face, tilting me one way then the other, checking if I had a fever, any scratches, if I needed a bath. And, when she was sure I was fine, she went right back to bitching. Her words floated in the space above my head, not really connecting. Eventually, she was done laying it on me, and let me through to my bedroom, where I lay for hours and hours, until midnight finally came.

One phone call.

I'd make one phone call.

If that didn't save me, I wasn't sure what to do. But I just couldn't live in this house anymore. He picked up on the first ring, brisk and familiar as ever.

"Daniel Pines speaking." It was almost too much, hearing his voice. Would he be ashamed of me if I told him? Jesus.

"H-hey dad. It's Dipper." I cleared my throat, sensing the tight strain of muscles closing up as I spoke. "How are you?"

"...Good?" I heard him switch hands, moving from left to right as he readjusted the phone. "Mason, are you alright? You sound horse." I cleared my throat again, no more successful than the last time, but trying to pull it off. I had to.

"Ye-ah. I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"I noticed. You do know what time it is, right?"

"Sure." I nodded.

"It's a school night."

"It is, yeah. I know." There was a pause on his end.

"What's going on over there?"

"I-. I wanted to talk."

"What did you need to tell me?"

"Nothing, I just-. Can't I call my dad without there being something on the line?"

"At 12 o'clock?" My dad joked. "Sure. Let me get a pot brewing."

"Okay." I said, hearing him shuffle around on the other end. I heard the unmistakable creak of a cabinet door, the clicking of a cap, and the tinking of a spoon against his favorite mug. He settled down after a moment, having made himself a strong cup.

"So, how's school going? Still all As?"

"I've got a B in Mr. Jackson's."

"That's not bad."

"It's not great."

"Is that what your mother thinks?"

"What else would she think?"

"That you're a genius." I smiled into the phone, hearing the honest tease in his voice. He really meant it, too. Dad always treated me too good.

"Yeah, well-. I'm not as smart as you think..." I was almost able to make it all the way through, only to slip up on the final word. It was too breathy. Too sad. It was like walking on a rug and the tip of your shoe caught close to the floor, and you ended up tripping over it.

"... Mason, are you alright? Where's your mother? Are you near any sharp objects? Remember the steps, Mason. Remember to breath-." Remember to breath, Dipper. Remember what the doctor told you. When I suffered from attacks after coming back, it was like returning from Vietnam. No one could stop the nightmares. No one could counter the panic. No one could understand. Not Mabel. Not my parents. For some reason, I was the only one who caught it, and it made for one hell of an experience. Like giving my anxiety Five Gum.

"I know, dad. I am. It's okay, really-."

"Have you been seeing Mr. Arbuckle?"

"I don't need to see him anymore, dad. It was just that one summer. I'm doing fine now."

"Are you sure-?"

"Yes! Shit, dad. I said I'm okay!" And, I knew I'd fucked up in that moment. Dad didn't say anything for a moment, only listening and waiting for my explanation. But, what could I say to that man?

"Are you okay?" That was it. I was a sobbing, bawling mess, shaking my head and curling in my lip to muffle it as best I could. I knew he could hear me, though. I knew he knew something was definitely, absolutely wrong.

"D-dad." I wept, rubbing my eye with the ball of my palm. If he couldn't help me, no one could. "Dad, I did something really, really stupid..."

"Mason, it's okay. Whatever it is that happened, it's alright. You're okay, Mason. You are." How wrong he was. How optimistically wrong. So wonderfully blind to his sick, demented son. I could hardly hold back my admiration for him, shaking my head as the tears poured endlessly. Please, please help me.

"Dad-. Dad, I need to-. I need-." How to phrase this right. How to make this okay. If he knew, would he still love me? God, I was a mess. "Can I co-me live with you?"

"What?" He switched hands again. "Like, in New York? With me? Really? Mason-. I-. I don't know. I've still gotta sort everything out with the realtors, and there was this big mix up with the moving company, not to mention the neighbors are noisy. Heck, the whole state's noisy. And, what about your mother? Have you talked to her about this? What does she think?"

"S-she do-esn't kn-know." Please please please get me out of this place, dad. Please.

"And what about school? You've got finals coming up soon, don't you? You can't miss those."

"D-ad I'll finish my fin-finals, I swear."

"Don't swear, Mason."

"Ok-ay." I sniffed, pinching the bridge of my nose. This had to work. I didn't know what else to do besides this. "But-... But, what about after finals? What about then?"

"When are finals over?"

"A week."

"And your grades?"

"A-all A's, one B." I heard a heavy sigh on his end, mulling over his options. Taking me away would spike some bad blood between him and mom, and she already wanted him out of her life. It wasn't something to be taken lightly. She was ferocious when she wanted to be.

"Geez... Mason-."

"Please, dad... I can't stay here anymore." I was trembling now, holding the phone between sweaty palms that refused to let up. Refused to let go. It was like appealing a death sentence. Because, I had no more control over this house hold. Everything I thought I knew: Gone. Vanished. A completely new world I lived in, and so much more confusing.

Why had I wanted that kiss?

"...I'll talk to your mother." And, that was the end of it.

A month later, I was strapping into the passenger's seat of dad's rental car, mom making one final attempt at persuading me.

"Dipper, sweety, you don't know what you're doing." She placed a hand against the window, caressing the glass with sad eyes. But, they were crocodile tears. She just couldn't let him win. She couldn't let dad have the last laugh. "You're not mature enough to make this kind of decision." Mabel hadn't come out to say her goodbyes. She was still mad at me for skipping out on her, and even more at herself for letting mom talk her out of coming along. She'd be mad for a while, until it finally subsided and she couldn't wait to see me again. But, that wouldn't be for a couple of weeks. And, in that period of time, I'd have more than enough silence to keep me company.

"If you do this, there's no turning back. What about all your friends at school? What about Mabel? Are you just gonna up and leave them behind?" Mom's voice was soft; sweet. She talked like she just wanted what was best for me, and the idea of me making a mistake absolutely broke her heart. But, what did she know? She didn't even know what was happening under her own roof. "Come back inside, Dipper. We can talk about this later."

"If I go back inside, we'll never talk about it ever." I spoke through the glass, refusing to meet her gaze. It wasn't meant to hurt her. It wasn't meant to break her heart. It was just the truth. If she got what she wanted, there was no reason to fulfill her side of the bargain. Because, she wasn't working to compromise. She was working to convince. The persistent tone of her voice was enough proof. Mom looked at me with hurt eyes. Another move below the belt, but I wasn't nearly as focused on her as before.

Instead, I stared at the man standing behind her, crossing his arms with an indifferent expression. As if to say, 'Go ahead. Run away. See if I care.' Because, at the heart of it all, he didn't. He never cared about me.

The flight was five hours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I bolted out of bed, a headache springing up to greet me.

"Oh-. Shit."

My hand went to my head, rubbing circles at the endless throbbing just above my temple. It was only then that I realized where I was. My bed. In my apartment. But-. Hadn't I just been at the mansion, fighting a shapeshifter? Or, was that a dream? It felt too real, though. Far too real. And long. I remembered the search, the fight, and nothing else.

And, perhaps an actual dream while I was unconscious, but it was already slipping from my memory as I tried to recall it.