I was stunned. What a serious idiot. My window was at least twenty-one feet off the ground. Breaking a rib would have been the best senerio, had she fallen off of the window ledge. What a serious dope sometimes. I looked down at her hands, clasped tightly around her offering, a slight shake escaping as her hand muscles continued to tighten. Her eyes, her brow, everything about her face shouted, at one level or another, in excitement and anticipation. I suddenly felt slightly bad for her. The pencil between her clasped hands, a rose-eraser placed atop it, was strange. It was almost laughable how ridiculous her gesture was, considering how querky she was to begin with. However, for some unknown reason, this act of kindness was oddly touching. It almost hurt a little bit, seeing how much she strained herself. Everything in her body, every fiber in her bone and every single folical on her skin seemed to vibrate with joy, simply offering me this gift.

https://youtu.be/hUF3WM-s-Ec

"...What the fuck Paz?!" I whispered with the most anger I could muster without catching any attention from downstairs. I could see it in her eyes. The spark had dulled a bit, but I could sense a shine of determination behind her buzzing blues. She wasn't getting upset. She was getting me a present. Her grin weakened for a moment, only to return to it's original position. I could see her hands, however, loosening from around the pencil which she gripped with her life. "I wanted to thank you... for everything. You're a good friend and I-" What the hell is up with her? Sometimes, I swear to God. "You could have died from that bullshit you just pullled! Do you get how easy it is to get hurt from hights like that?!" I was ready to strangle her. I mean, not like strangle-strangle. More like tightly squeeze her between my arms.... Yeah, I was a little scared she was gonna get hurt.

"Jesus Paz! Stop and think for a second next time!" I turned from her, refusing the eraser. I wasn't going to enternain her horrible excuse for a "good" idea. I sat on my bed, opposite to her, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I questioned whether she would attempt leaving through the window (Which is a terrible idea) or exitting through my bedroom door (Which is a mortifyingly awful idea). Instead, I felt a shift in weight on the bed. I refused to look up, but I knew she was sitting next to me, and it was disturbingly comforting. She didn't put a hand on my shoulder or ask me any questions right away. And, for just a moment, I couldn't even read her mind. In that split second of confusion, I realized what she was trying to do: She was assessing the situation. She hadn't said a word because she was trying to figure me out.

And then, she spoke. "Why are you so protective of me?" I processed the question, refusing to look up and meet her eyes, because I didn't know either. Or maybe I did know... No. I really didn't. "I-... I don't know, bro." I let out jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. Just a little bit. She was silent for a moment and, once more, I couldn't pick up a bit of information from her brain waves. Maybe she wasn't thinking. Maybe that was her method. If it was, it was actually kind of a genius method. She'd been functioning this long without thinking. I could feel her eyes trailing over me, and it made me feel sick to my stomach, having so much attention directly trained on me. I mean, I had performed for the entire town, but had never had such a personal relationship with someone other than my sister before. This was different. The attention was personal. 

Another minute passed, and I took the chance of a life time: I looked at her. The second I did, I couldn't look away. Her eyes were large and round and soulful and hippnotizing. And she had tears in them. They looked so misplaced in her eyes. Her eyes were like God's, but her tears were human. Why? Why was she about to cry? Was it because I refused her pencil? (A/N: That's what she said.) "Why are you crying?" I can't believe I actually asked that. But, the look in her eyes was so painful. It tore my heart apart in places I hadn't even known existed. A single tear fell from her right eye, and it took every ounce of will power in my body not to wipe it away from her. I couldn't do this. I had made a mistake allowing her company to linger with me, and now she was in pain. I was in pain. It brought tears to my eyes, seeing her so hurt. And in that moment, even though I hated myself for it, I cared so intimitely for her that it frightened me.

She leaned towards me in sorrow, seeing my eyes well up as well. I couldn't help it. With every protest I made in my brain, with every regret, with every fight I put up to deny it, I died inside seeing people suffer. I wasn't meant for this lifestyle I'd chosen. I wasn't meant to harm people. I died a little with every innocent creature I crushed beneathe my feet. And it was even more painful when she was squished like a bug. I wished I could deny feeling anything, but it really does hurt when someone cries. Her tear, which I had refused to wipe away, landed on the middle knuckle of my left hand. The cracks of my knuckle, whitened and sickly torn, seemed to be filled by her tear. And, in that moment, I too bared a single tear, and it felt as though a connection had been made. Some strange unpassible wall had been hopped over, frighteningly easily. I had to push her back over the wall again and remain on this side, my own side. The side that would never be breeched. But, for the time being, I wanted her there. I wanted to be vulnerable and rediculusly pathetic and pitied.

"You're in so much pain... All the time. I can see it in your eyes." She leaned closer, and I could smell her breathe. It smelt like the gum we had chewed together the night before. And, for a moment, I wanted to know if it tasted that way, too. She wiped away my tear, and I could feel my face go numb. I could see, in the reflection on her eyes, my own face, which looked surprised. Surprised by her compassion. Surprised by her kindness. Surprised by her. I saw my eyes and it reminded me how small I felt, and so I shed two more. I couldn't tell what was happening for a moment, until I was on my back. Pacifica kissed me. It wasn't like last night's. This one was terribly tense. I could still feel her tears against my skin, her face mashed harshly against my own, and a slight sniffle in the breaths she took through the nose. This was not a kiss of love and attration. This was a kiss of loneliness. This kiss was painful and hurt and desperately terrified of everything. I could feel the tears on my face thicken as I took her head in my hands, combing my fingers through her hair. And yes, she did taste like gum. The same gum we had chewed the night before.

I wanted to savver the flavor of her lips, because every inch tasted like how I felt. And, a moment later, she pulled away. Once again, I refused to look at her, afraid I'd see something I wouldn't like. Her body was bent over me, and her hands were balled up into tiny fists, which she placed firmly against my chest. Her face was pressed under my chin, and I could hear the slightest of wimpers. And, in her wimpers, I just barely made out what she said. "I know you're hurting. I know it hurts. But please, talk to me Dipper..." Her shoulders bunched up as she choked out a restrained sob. My chest felt so heavy. I hated this, because I knew it was my own fault. Everyone I hurt; my fault. She rolled off of me, and although she tried her best to hide her face with her blond hair, I could still make out blotches of red on her skin. She was as weak as I was, yet I felt as though comforting her was the most important thing I could muster. My hands hesitated for a moment before reaching out to her. Although she didn't look directly at me, I could tell she saw my actions from through her strands of hair. Without thinking, I brushed the few strands of hair off of her face. She shyed away, if not for a moment, only to allow it once more. I ushered her to sit next to me, although I wasn't sure she was in the mood for talking to me. Yet, I knew I had done or said something to upset her. I just wanted to know what it was.

Her feet shuffled for a moment, determining whether or not sitting down was really an okay thing to do. To reasure her, I pat the spot of the bed next to me, hoping she'd take the spot. She was uncharacteristically shy all of the sudden, scooting up next to me on the bed, her eyes focused on her knees. And, once more today, I had no idea what was going on in her head.

*Pacifica's P.O.V.*

I can't look at him. Everything about him, I hadn't realized it until last night, but he was deeply pained at times. He didn't act different this morning when I climbed through the window, so I suspect he doesn't realize what he did after the sheriff showed up. Well, I do.

~~~ Last night~~~

"...Dipper?" Sheriff Blubs blinked, as if it were too surile to comprehend. I had never met this man before, but from the looks of things, he knew Dipper. Sheriff Blubs stood there, a stern look on his face. To be honest, he scared me. But, why wasn't he doing anything? Why wasn't he saying anything? And, more importantly, why wasn't I being handcuffed and shoved into the back of a police car? I looked over at Dipper, hoping for some kind of support or reassurance, only to realize I had completely lost him. His head leaned to the side, as if the weight was going to pull him to the ground. I couldn't tell if he was blacking out or about to do something incredibly stupid, but I wasn't willing to find out either way.

"Is he-!?" The sheriff began, only to be cut off by the most alcohol-induced laugh I had ever heard. Dipper was cracking up all of the sudden, shaking his head like a freak. My eyes shifted towards Sheriff Blubs, expecting some kind of a lecture, only to see his right hand squeezing the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He waited for Dipper to calm down for a moment, placing his hands on his hips and fixing his eyes directly on me. I think he has judging me. No. I know he was judging me. It must not have looked good. And it wasn't good, because I knew it was kinda my fault. I could have stopped him or interveined before he got wasted, but I just couldn't. And it sucks like crazy knowing I didn't.

Dipper's laughs died down after a while and he sighed a long, drawn out sigh afterwords, finally looking up at the sheriff. "How's it hangin'?" What was up with him? He was fine a couple of seconds ago, but now he was undeniably drunk. I mean, I guess he was drunk before, but now he was fuckin' smashed. Sheriff Blubs didn't waste a second, striding up to me and Dipper, hands still placed on his hips. He bent down, meeting eye level with Dipper, only to shake his head in disappointment. "You've been drinking again, huh?" Dipper smiled smuggly, a mischevious giggle lifting through the air. "Fuck yes, baby." And with that, he cracked up into laughter again and everything about him went to Hell. He was officially a mess and it was close to impossible seeing him as anything else at the moment. This wasn't the first time? He'd done something like this before? Oh jeez, he's screwed. We're screwed. I'm screwed.

"Are you planning on walking him home or is Mabel on her way?" Wait. What? He wasn't gonna- "Does Stan know about this yet?" Sheriff Blubs asked with worry. And, all of a sudden, the pieces began to come together. I had never formally met Dipper's great uncle Stan, but whoever he was, the sheriff was protecting Dipper from him. I shook my head in response, hopeing I didn't look guilty or sad. Stan didn't know. Mabel wasn't coming to get him. Dipper had to go home and live with both of them. Now I really felt bad for him. The sheriff didn't say a word. Instead, he stood up, walked to his police car, turned on the engine, and drove away.

Dipper know's the sheriff? How? I mean, if this wasn't his first offence, Dipper may have actually met him several times. But still, Dipper drank? Dipper knew the Sheriff? Dipper cursed? Alot?! Why hadn't I known this? Why didn't he tell me? I knew almost nothing about him, and the few things I learned about him tonight were alcohol-induced. It doesn't count unless he's fully aware what's going into and coming out of his mouth. I knew nothing about him, and now I was forced to know something. Anything! I hadn't realized it, but he never neccessarily withheld information from me. I just never bothered to ask follow up questions and dig into him as a person. And now, that's all I wanted to do.

"Hey, Dipp-" I turned to my left, expecting to see him passed out on the concrete or something, but he wasn't. In fact, he wasn't anything. Because he was gone. "Shoot!" I cried, bouncing to my feet in an instance. I instantly began to pace around the street, seeing if maybe he had gotten up and collapsed somewhere else. But he was nowhere to be found. "Fiddle stick! Holy fuckin' Fiddle sticks!!" I cried, looking around every corner I could find, calling out his name as loudly as I could without alerting the neighbors, and pretty much trying my hardest not to piss my pants. Where had he wondered off to?

*Dipper's P.O.V.*

It's dark. It's really dark. This street's kinda weird. Like, everything's kinda weird. My face and everything feels really weird. I feel kinda sick. That song's stuck in my head again. I feel like I should dance along to this song. I feel like I should sing to the song. I-I-I-I've got a migrain. And my pain will range from up, down, and sideways. Thank god it's friday, 'cause fridays will always be better than Sundays 'cause sundays are my suicide days. I don't know why they always seem so dismal. Thunder storms, cloud, snow, and a slight drizzle. Whether it's the weather or the letters by my bed, sometimes death seems better than the migrain in my head. How does the next part go again? Shit, I love this song.

My head is all buzzy. I kinda like that. I feel like I'm just buzzy. My skin's kinda buzzy, too. Not really. Just a little. I feel uneven. Weird. I think I wanna sit now... Nah. I wanna keep walking. This street's kinda dark. I don't like it anymore. I wanna go home.... Shit. Where's my house again? '....Over here I'm over here Dipper' I hear a voice. Shit. Now someone's gonna come and kill me. I turn around a bit, 'cause maybe I can fend them off if I can see their face. I can't really take them on right now, so maybe I could just talk them out of it. Or maybe I won't. I don't know, man. I just want something to eat, to be honest.

"Who's there?" 'Cause, like, maybe they'll tell me? I mean, I don't really see any point in keeping some kind of an identity or whatever, 'cuz they're about to kill me anyways. '...I'm here' "Yeah, like, no shit Sherlock. I'm not stupid. Where are you?" I'm getting real sick of this dude's bullshit right about now. But, really, it doesn't actually sound like a dude. It sounds like a girl. Or, like, a lady or something. I mean, she sounds kinda old, but not like old-old. Kinda more middle-aged or some shit. IDK. She just sounds kinda familiar 's all. Maybe I know her? If that's the case, maybe she's got it out for me or something? God damn it. I really can't talk 'er out of killing me.

"Why are you stalking me?" No response. "Where are you?" Still nothing. "Are you gonna kill me?" Sadly, not a word. Damn it. I'm fucked for sure. I might as well keep walking, I guess. She'll come out sooner or later. I might even get a peek at her face before she skins me and wears me as a hat. Maybe some boots? That'd be pretty cool actually. Like, I'm fashion or something. I think I wanted to be a shoe at one point. Right? Like, people can't leave without me, so they look for me. Like a shoe. But now, I'll be both shoes. But like, aren't boots more like special occasion shoes or some shit? I'll barely get worn. No one will look for me if I get lost. They'll just settle for some converse and head for the bus. I wonder if they'll ever find my body. Will they? Will they care if they find it? Will anyone remember me after my lower intestance is fashioned into a pair of socks? I mean, I think they will. But, after everyone I know is dead and gone, I'll have pretty much never existed, right? Why should I care if I die now or later, then? What would that effect? Why should I care at all if she kills me, whoever she is? Should I just give myself up then? Is that what I want to do? To give myself up to her? I.... I feel like it is.

How long have I been walking for? Not long, I don't think. However long I was walking before, I've stopped now, and it feels okay to stop. I feel like all of my blood stopped moving and, like, it's all rushing to the base of my feet, 'cause I can't feel the upper half of my body. My arms are just swinging everywhere, I feel. I feel like I'm gonna collapse. I feel like I want to collapse. But, I wanna know who'll be wearing my boots, first. I feel like I didn't even turn around, even though I know I turned around and I can see my feet moving and I can see the opposite side of town that I was walking away from. But now I'm looking at the town. But it's not the town. It's a thing. Like, a red thing. It's pretty big, actually. Haha. That's what she said...

It's this thing with a face right in front of my face and it's got these sharp teeth that are pretty weird and these eyes that are black where they should be white and white where your eye color should be. I like it. I wanna touch it, and I think it wants to touch me, too. I can just kinda tell it wants to take me away and never let people see me ever again and I want it to. Her to. Her voice. I know her voice now. She sounds just like mom. She doesn't look like mom though. She looks really weird for a mom. But, I guess I look pretty weird for a son, so I guess we're even. It's so close to me, I don't know what to do. I could reach out my arm and litterally 'boop' it's nose. And I want to. It's chin is long and presses up against the pavement, but it's head as a whole is big enough to still be eye level with me. Is it a kekkashi or something? Some weird goblem spirit?

Something about it's eyes... are so beautiful. It's as if Satan were looking through my soul, and for some reason, I loved looking right back. And, for some reason, I wanted to touch it, too. For a moment, that scene from 'How to train your dragon', where Hiccup touches Toothless for the first time, comes to mind. I thought it was funny. So I laughed. And then I put my hand up. I wanted to touch it so badly now. It could be my friend. I think we are already friends. That makes me so happy, 'cause now I don't feel lonely at all. I couldn't feel less alone than right now, infront of this thing, which made me feel like anything was possible. I see it's eyes. It's excited. it wants me to touch it and be my friend, I know it does. I do, too.

"DIPPER! WAIT!!!" It's Pazzy-poo. I wonder how she found me. I turn to look at her now, and I see a little boy by her side. He's short and fat and pasty and kinda weird-looking. He's panting and sweaty and pretty wet. Haha. That's what she- "Don't touch that thing, Dipper!!" It's Mabel. Mabel's here, too. And she's got tears in her eyes. She starts talking and I see her eyes go all excited and her body starts fidgetting. She looks really nervous and it kinda freaks me out but I'm not listening to her. I've got another song stuck in my head. And for the first time, I feel like I know what this song is actually talking about. 'There's miles of land in front of us. And we're dying with every step we take. We're dying with every breath we make. And we all fall in line. Stranger's backs is all I see. He's only a few feet in front of me. And I'll look left and right some times. But I'll fall in line. And no one looks up anymore, 'cause you might get a raindrop in your eye. And heaven forbid they see you cry. As we fall in line. And about this time of every year, the line will go to the ocean pere. and walk right off into the sea. Then we fall asleep.

That's my song. This is my song. This is my thing. And the thing in front of me is the sea. I know it is. I love the sea. So I touch it, and everything becomes clear.

https://youtu.be/hSDehrt5Zi0