༶•┈┈☓┈♛ ♛┈☓┈┈•༶
𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝, 𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚢. 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎.
Hear Me Now — Hollywood Undead
༶•┈┈☓┈♛ ♛┈☓┈┈•༶

The sword had been swung, the sting of the blade only a whisper away from striking his face as he ducked and rolled to the side. Clutching his own sword in hand, Dipper parried and blocked the next two blows that were struck.

Small strands of his hair had escaped their hold and drifted into his face, trembling as he tried to catch his breath. Standing straight, Dipper waited for his opponent to charge at him. When it had come to sword-fighting, Dipper learned he was better on the defensive rather than the offensive. He was a watcher, a waiter, he would let the danger come to him.

His opponent didn't share the same thoughts as Dipper did as he charged forward, sword held high. Which was easily dodged and lodged from his hand with one quick swipe.

The sword clattered against the dust-covered ground, leaving his opponent no choice but to surrender.

Dipper gave a bow to the small crowd that had formed, and walked up to his opponent to shake his hand. He fought bravely. Stupidly. But bravely.

"And what is it that you think you are doing?"

Dipper winced and looked off to the side where the voice had come from. Shielding his eyes from the overbearing sun, Dipper stared into the frowning face of his superior.

"I was testing my skills in combat." Dipper admitted. There was no use in lying when the man himself had most likely seen the entire fight.

"You are not allowed to work with the boys of the higher age groups." His superior, General Buford Pines, glared hard daggers down at him. "There is a reason that is implemented. It is to keep the younger kids, such as yourself, from getting hurt."

"But I beat him, though!" Dipper protested, using the tip of his sword to point toward the boy who stood a few paces behind. "Ask anyone who witnessed my battle —I am not challenged enough sticking to my age group. Not even the older boys are worth my time."

"Boy, how old are you again?" General Pines clasped his hands behind his back and bent down slightly.

"Eleven." Dipper gritted out, the word tasting bitter on his mouth.

"And what are the rules?"

"I am only allowed to fight within my own age group." Dipper recited. He'd heard the same tired line for the last seven years or so. "But, if you could just listen to me, sir—!"

"I have explained to you countless times, boy." General Pines interrupted, rather rudely. "We cannot afford to lose fighters by mere accidents. That is why the rule has been implemented. To protect you."

Until we're old enough to fight in actual wars, was what Dipper would've muttered to himself, however, he remembered the last time he mouthed off to the general; dish duty for a month.

"Am I clear?" He furrowed his brows in what Dipper interpreted as a way to make himself more intimidating.

"Transparently." Dipper bit back, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

General Pines let out a gruff sigh, looking toward the rest of the group that had started splintering off as soon as they saw him. "And just so the rest of you understand what happens when you break the rules," he looked back to Dipper, "you are sentenced to cleaning the old storage room and polishing the rest of the swords that you find in there."

Dipper opened his mouth to protest, however futile it might've been, but the general had already stomped off, leaving the dust to billow around his boots as his footfalls hit the ground.

The rest of the boys that had been cheering Dipper on, only mere moments ago, dispersed as well, muttering and whispering, to which Dipper assumed was about himself.

Sighing, he kicked a nearby stone and let out a groan.

"Hey, just so you know,"

Dipper jerked his head back up to see the fifteen-year-old boy he had won against standing in front of him. "What?" He muttered.

"Well, I just wanted you to know," the boy grinned, "that General Pines' rules are stupid. You fight well, and you deserve to be challenged. I'm not much of a challenge, seeing as how easily you beat me, but I can talk to a few of my guys to see if they wanted to train with you."

Dipper let a small smile slip onto his face. "And what about the general himself?"

The boy snorted and picked up his own sword. "He's a fool. We'll have to train somewhere secluded. So, I'll come talk to you at dinner tonight. And, I wish you luck with the storage room."

Dipper nodded and watched the boy walk off. Realizing that if he wanted to eat that night, Dipper made his way to the largest storage room that the camp had to offer.

Pulling open the rusty doors, Dipper huffed an exhale. The place was the dustiest he had ever seen, and it was chock-full of all sorts of miscellaneous garbage that people tossed in when they couldn't find any other space for it. Huffing out another breath, Dipper slammed the door and tried to think up a game plan.

Work from the back and move to the front? It would feel like a race that way. Always getting closer and closer to the finish line. Trudging to the back of the store-room, Dipper tried not to breathe the musty and dusty air that surrounded him.

At the way back, there was a covered canvas. Dipper reached out for it, and stopped himself. Judging by the amount of dust that had accumulated on the cover itself, he discerned that it had been there since before he was born. Sighing, Dipper yanked the cover off and had to shield his eyes as the spray of dust flew off.

Coughing, Dipper rubbed his eyes with his arm before blinking in the fading light. The portrait was beautiful; a fading sunset over a dark blue sea. The deep waters reflecting the flames overhead, casting shadows over the stone castle on the distant shore.

Dipper placed his hands on his hips, dropping the cloth-covering into the corner beside the painting.

He was never one to admire art, however, he could see the beauty in doing so. Seeing a far away place, where one could escape just for a moment.

His musings were interrupted by a deafening shriek to his right where he had dropped the cloth.

"AHHHH SPIDER! SPIDER! GET IT OFF!"

The cover was tossed frantically as the figure beneath it scrambled to get away. The figure knocked into Dipper, sending him tumbling into a pile of old clothes with a startling 'oof'.

Blinking rapidly in the dim light, Dipper managed to see a tiny figure shaking its arms and rubbing frantically at its hair. Its hair was a startling white, the likes of which Dipper had never seen before.

It was a boy. One who appeared significantly younger than himself. Raising a curious brow, Dipper pushed himself off the pile of ratty and tattered clothes and stepped cautiously toward the young boy.

The white-haired boy was still flailing shaking off an imaginary spider, swinging his arms in wide motions, one which smacked Dipper's face, sending him stumbling back into the clothes pile.

Laying on his back in what might be the grossest pile in the entire room, Dipper glared up at the boy who suddenly seemed to notice he wasn't alone.

"Do you think you've got it, now?" Dipper cocked a brow and gestured to the air where the alleged spider had been dangling.

"I-I I am so terribly sorry!" The boy yelped, running over to give Dipper a hand —which he rejected. "A-are you alright?"

Dipper dusted off his pants, giving the rest of his body a once over to make sure that no harsh damage had been done. "Fine." He muttered, looking at the boy once more. "What are you doing in here?"

The boy looked flushed. "I uh, um, well, you see—"

"Forget I asked." Dipper waved a hand, dismissing his question even though he still wanted to know. "Now, if you don't mind, this store-room isn't going to clean itself."

The boy sulked. "You have to clean this place?"

Dipper let out a sardonic laugh. "No, I'm doing this for fun."

White-haired nuisance —which Dipper had taken to calling him— scrunched up his nose as he surveyed the place. "Who would clean this place for fun?!"

Dipper's shoulders deflated. Wow. White-haired nuisance was as thick as it got. "I was being sarcastic."

"Oh," the boy nodded thoroughly, "yes, that makes much more sense."

Dipper tried to ignore the white-haired nuisance, as he turned back to his task. He needed to figure out a place to toss all the useless junk.

"Why do you have to clean?" White-haired nuisance pestered, wavering on his heels as he got too close to Dipper's personal space.

"I did something I wasn't supposed to; this is punishment." Dipper didn't care to elaborate on his own alleged 'wrongdoings'.

"Ooh! What'd you do?" White-haired nuisance bounced on his heels, getting too close for Dipper's liking.

"I killed a man." Dipper lied, and he actually heard the boy pause.

There was a sustained silence that penetrated the confines of the room in that very moment.

"Oh," white-haired nuisance mumbled, seeming to get steadily uncomfortable. "Wait, a minute, if you killed a man, wouldn't they have killed you?"

"No, I'm General Pines' favourite." Dipper smiled bitterly, adding an overly saccharine tone to his voice.

The boy got quiet. "Heh, really?" He plopped down onto the dusty floor, chin in his hand. "I mean, I knew he had favourites."

Dipper cocked a brow and glanced down at the boy on the floor. "What? Do I not look like the type?"

The boy shook his head profusely. "N-no, that's not it!" He protested.

"Well, you'll never be his favourite if you don't show up to training." Dipper took a stab at one of his thoughts.

The boy, judging by his frame and entire personality, was not a strong or skilled fellow. Most likely he did not even think to show up to the training lessons that were required.

"I'm no good at it," the boy murmured, "I knew I'd never be the favourite, but I guess I'm just upset."

Why would anyone want the approval of that heartless man? The pieces slowly clicked into place and Dipper felt sorry for the boy. Sorry enough that he took a seat next to him.

"You're his son, aren't you?" Dipper mumbled, mirroring the boy's position.

White-haired-less-of-a-nuisance looked up at Dipper with glazed over honey eyes. "H-how'd you know?" His voice cracked and he sniffled.

"I'm psychic." Dipper joked, trying to lighten the mood tremendously.

The boy's eyes went wide and Dipper held up his own hands to shut the whole thing down. "No, I'm not, I just, I'm good at reading people."

The boy hummed. "You're right; he's my father." He held out a weak hand toward Dipper. "I-I'm Gideon. Gideon Pines."

Dipper took the hand and shook it. "Dipper."

White-haired-less-of-a-nuisance, well, Gideon now, wrinkled his nose. "Dipper? Is it short for something like Dipmemnon?"

Dipper laughed and shook his head. "No, it's just Dipper."

"That's an unusual name." Gideon mused, side-glancing him. "Why?"

"Why am I named that?" Dipper wrinkled his nose, not unused to the intrusion. Using a hand, he pushed up the hair that had fallen out of its tie. "Because of this ridiculous birthmark."

Gideon cocked his head to the side, scrutinizing eyes on Dipper's forehead. "Whoa! That's so odd!"

Dipper side-glanced the boy, grabbing the string that held his hair back, tying it back away from his face. "When I first arrived here, I was barely a child. I can hardly remember coming here, but I didn't speak to anyone. I hardly even knew who I was. People often referred to me as 'the boy' until someone saw my birthmark."

Gideon nodded thoughtfully. "So, that's why they call you Dipper."

"Yes, that's why." Dipper murmured.

"Do you even know your real name?" Gideon pressed as Dipper rose from his spot on the floor.

Dipper bit his lip. He wasn't about to indulge some random boy with the tale of his woes. No reason at all for that. "No. I do not. Not that it has bothered me."

"O-oh! I wasn't a-assuming that you cared!" Gideon's head snapped up at, most likely, the tone of Dipper's voice.

"That's enough about me." Dipper turned back to the painting he had been gazing at. "You're General Pines' son?"

"T-that's right." Gideon nodded enthusiastically. "He's um, well, a military man."

"I can see that." Dipper murmured, moving the painting off to the side. If he ever got out of there, perhaps he'd take it with him.

"It's just, he thinks I can't do anything." Gideon mumbled. "He pushes me too hard, and I-I'm just a kid but he expects so much of me. I suppose fathers are like that."

Dipper raised a quizzical brow. "What do you mean?"

Gideon froze up. "Oh, did you—"

"No. I never knew my parents." Dipper replied evenly.

"That's awful." Gideon got up and walked over to Dipper. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Dipper shrugged away the hand that Gideon was about to put on his shoulder. "Yes, it's somewhat sad that I dunno where I come from, however," he gave Gideon a sly grin, "it also means that I have no one to impress."

Gideon nodded slowly. "B-but you're my father's favourite!"

"That was a lie." Dipper rolled his eyes, bending over to pick up the crushed box of old clothes.

"Oh, right." Gideon grabbed the canvas he had shaken off and began to fold it. "So, if you didn't kill a man, what did you do?"

Dipper sighed, unused to talking to someone so long. "Since you don't go to training as often as you should, I doubt you'll know that we are separated into age groups."

"Yes, I know that."

"Anyways, I was fighting some of the fifteen-year-old boys, and I suppose I shouldn't have been." Dipper winced as his hand scraped across a dull sword. It wasn't enough to cause harm, but it was still disgusting.

"Didja win?" Gideon pried.

"Of course I did." Dipper felt no need to hide away his excellent swordsmanship. "However, General Pines saw the fight and called me out for it."

"Well, you beat a fifteen-year-old! That's impressive!" Gideon exclaimed, starting to clean the back with Dipper, even though he wasn't even asked to.

Dipper huffed in agreement, and hoped that he could just work in silence so he could meet up with the older boy at dinner who would help him.

"So, can we make a bargain?" Gideon finally asked, breaking the lovely silence that Dipper adored so very much.

Heaving one of the numerous sighs he had heaved that afternoon, Dipper turned back to look at the pestering younger kid. "What exactly do you mean?"

Gideon fumbled with the box he was holding, looking to be scared to even think about opening his mouth for one more second. "Um, well, I'm a terrible fighter, and, even though it's pointless to even try, I still want my father to be proud of me. . .so, this is a long way of saying that in exchange for my help in cleaning this storeroom, you could, possibly, teach me how to fight?"

That was a surprise. Dipper stopped his task for a moment. Never had someone ever asked for his help in that particular category. "Well," he drew it out, "I suppose there is little harm in teaching you a little of what I know."

Gideon clapped his hands together once or twice before he stuck out his right hand. "We have a deal, then?"

"What could possibly go wrong?" Dipper agreed, shaking his hand firmly.

༶•┈┈☓┈♛ ♛┈☓┈┈•༶

The sun was high in the afternoon sky, warm weather paired with a light breeze. Birds flew, swooping high above the trees, which bustled in the wind.

Dipper laid beneath a tree, grateful for the shade that it provided. Eyes closed, he tried to picture the oh-so vivid dream he had had the night before. As night faded to day, he found it harder and harder to remember what he had seen in the dream.

Visions of a red filled his mind, obscuring the true picture, yet a woman's face rang out as clearly as the morning sky to him. Eyes so familiar, a warm smile on her lips as she spoke to him. And that was all he knew.

Groaning, Dipper opened his eyes very slowly, adjusting to the bright light the day provided, and surveyed his surroundings. He was off in a more secluded area of the camp, far enough to not be bothered, yet close enough to arrive where he needed in a short span of time.

His past few weeks had been filled with nothing except playing nice for General Pines in public, training with Gideon during the afternoon, and meeting with the boy —Robb Corduroy— for more training sessions with his friends at the dead of night.

To say the least, his body ached for a break. He hadn't felt this worn out since the moment he arrived in the stupid war camp. This was his lucky break; Gideon told him that he was visiting with his aunt and uncle for the day, so it gave Dipper a little bit of a break for at least the afternoon to close his eyes and rest for a bit longer.

He'd managed to keep his night activities a secret from the General, so he wasn't spending his days performing more rigorous tasks. Meaning, he had the day free to do nothing but lay around and watch the storm clouds roll in from the north.

By his calculations, he still had a good hour before the clouds completely obscured the sky, so his shock was most profound when he saw a shadow looming over him. Opening his eyes once again, he was surprised to see that someone had stumbled upon his secret place. A girl no less.

Not that that was entirely surprising; the camp served as army-training for the boys and a preparatory school for young girls. Most of the girls went on to be teachers themselves, housewives, or —the lucky few, depending on your opinion— lady-in-waitings for various princesses across the globe.

"Pardon me," the girl whispered, her voice soft in the wind, almost disappearing into the gusts, "are you the one they call Dipper?"

Always one to be on the defensive, Dipper supported himself onto his elbows and looked up at the girl who managed to find him. "Who is looking for him?"

"I am." She went on, fingers clutching the fabric of her dress. "I am Pacifica, it is most important that I speak to him."

"You came to the right place." Dipper got up from the ground, dusting himself off as he did so, "I'm Dipper, after all. Why is it that you are looking for me?"

Pacifica's gaze broke from his as she spoke, her eyes fixated on the soft grass. "I have heard that you are a skilled fighter, despite your age, you have made quite the reputation for yourself."

"I wasn't aware I was spoken of while I'm away." Dipper scoffed lightly, "I must admit, those rumours you have heard are nothing but the truth."

"How old are you?" Pacifica asked.

"Eleven." Dipper replied.

Pacifica's eyes widened slightly, a light amusement playing across their depths. "I suppose that is what makes the rumors more impressive."

"Why have you come here?" Dipper hoped to stop talking about himself and what he was able to accomplish as fast as possible. He wasn't used to people praising him, and he found that when they did, he did not enjoy it.

"I do not know how to fight." Pacifica stated. "I have been trained in the arts, culture, history, and I've dabbled in alchemy —yet I do not know how to defend myself when it becomes necessary."

When Dipper noted. "And, if I may wager a guess, you have come to ask if I could help solve your problem."

"Yes! That is correct." Pacifica smiled brightly. The bright smile only lasted a moment as a frown came quickly to push it down. "I know you are busy, and I know that I have nothing to offer you in return for your guidance, but I only ask that you give me a chance. A chance to prove that I am worthy."

What was with every person who talked to him lately wanting to prove their worth? Granted, it was only two people in a span of about a month, but it was still something.

"You are quite wrong, Pacifica." Dipper replied evenly, finally catching her attention. "If you desire a quid pro quo relationship, there is something you can give to me. You mentioned the several things you know, and I would like to know them."

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Pacifica's brows furrowed lightly, her face confused.

"I am not a sir." Dipper sighed. "There are no traces of nobility in my heritage, so there is no need to refer to me so regally."

"Yet, you speak like one." Pacifica countered.

"I am intelligent." Was what Dipper had to say back, it wasn't his best, but it was all there truly was to say. "I will teach you how to fight and survive in the world, only if in return you teach me whatever you are learning."

"Why would you want to learn lady-in-waiting tasks?" Pacifica asked, being far too nosey for Dipper's liking.

"I like to learn lots of things." Dipper glanced up to the sky, the darker clouds looming in the distance. "I become more valuable that way."

"You're not an object meant for people to use." She suddenly said, her tone becoming soft.

"That is not what I refer to." Dipper rolled his eyes. "It is just that it is highly likely that I will not be sent into wars in the near-future because of all that I know."

"I think that if you are as good as they say you are, people will want you in their battles." Pacifica replied, tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear.

At that moment, that very small gesture, something registered in Dipper's head. There was a small strand of her hair that was pure white. Curbing his curiosity for a later time, Dipper stuck his hand out toward her. "Do we have a deal?"

"Of course we do!" She nodded, shaking his hand with a lot of enthusiasm. "When shall we start?"

"If the storm that's coming stops before nightfall, we can start tonight." Dipper decided, casting a wary glance up toward the sky. "If not, tomorrow night it is."

"Thank you, Dipper, you won't regret this." Pacifica stated, her voice firm, yet wavering on happiness.

In a manner of a month, Dipper had two students, and a very busy schedule to keep, it would seem.