(A/N: Hey, yo! Yeah, so this chapter's a bit lame. I've lost a bit of motivation for the story, so I'm just trying to keep up the writing against writer's block. Like, I've got the ending sorted out (And yes it's cheesy and weird and will probably take a while for me to wrap up all the plot holes and the shit I mindlessly typed out in middle school like 'oh yes this is definitely edgy we don't need to worry about future me trying to make sense of the beginning and people will definitely remember what the hell I'm referring to.') I just need to work my way into it. Anyways, here's the mother fucking tea, bros.) 

I pouted, moving my broom across the shack's floor, its bristles sliding but not cleaning. My mind was elsewhere.

'How could this happen?'

My eyes lifted for a moment to view the cash register where Wendy sat, scrolling through her phone. I didn't have the nerve to tell her what had transpired between Dipper and me. She didn't question what we had done after the bird incident, nor did she elaborate on the bar's condition when she went to check up on everyone. Silence remained between us.

And yet, for the few seconds I went to look at her, I saw something shift in her features. Brows furrowed. Teeth bared. Nostrils flaring. Skin seeming to burn with a crimson tint. Her fingers seemed to halt over the phone's screen, staring at whatever it was she was seeing. I looked back down, continuing my work, only to hear the ferocious clipping of long, thin nails against a glass screen.

She typed with vigor, letting out a growl in annoyance and disbelief.

"You fucking fucks fuck you ass fucker piece of shit bitch faced dick shit you pretensions little fuck ostentatious bitch fuck you fuck you fuck you-" She spoke under her breath, perhaps reading over her comment. I cringed at her words, uncomfortable around the vulgarity for once.

"Hey... Can you not say that? It's kind of inappropriate..." Not that I was clean, myself. I had spewed my own stream of swears at one point. But, Wendy was a bit different. She was angry. And scary. And monstrously dangerous. There was a sense of foreboding behind those words. She sounded like she might hurt me.

And, by the way her head snapped up to look at me, I thought she really might.

"Fuck off." Was all she replied with. As if the bit of acquaintance we had made days before was nothing but pretense.

"You don't have to be snappy about it, okay? I was just asking you to stop cursing..." Her eyes furrowed, only to soften.

"Yeah, whatever..." Wendy said.

I swept for a moment more, only to grow tired of the act. I had spent the entire summer avoiding work and free loading, which I was completely fine with. But, now that I had nothing to do, choirs were all I had left. And getting to work after lazing around for an entire month wasn't easy. I put the broom aside, moving to behind the counter as well.

"What are you looking at anyways?" I hopped up, seating myself atop a barrel. She was probably scrolling through band drama or looking over an ex that ended up dating one of her friends out of petty revenge.

"You've got a phone. I'm sure you know what I'm seeing here..." She hissed, hostile and pissed. I leaned back on my hands, scoffing at her outright aggressive remark. "Can you believe that bitch..? I should have known something was up... Shit!" Her fists went to pound against the counter top, a spur of rage burning through her. "The ass should have just told me what she was doing! What the hell, Dipper?!"

I froze, noting her remark with shock.

'...Dipper? What was happening to Dipper?'

Against my better judgement, I began to lean forward, my eyes peering just over her shoulders to see what was on her screen. My skin instantly broke out in goosebumps.

"...Holy... What is this?" Wendy turned, a sudden jolt of surprise taking over.

"Didn't you hear?" Wendy asked. I shook my head. I was still the proud owner of a 'Motorola DynaTAC 8000x.' Or, as most people called them, a brick phone built before the internet was a thing.

"Is this...?" I leaned in, taking a closer look at the grotesque photos. "Are these pictures of Dipper?"

She was silent, staring at her screen as her head shook.

"It's pretty much everywhere at this point. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole town knew about it by now." She tapped her finger against her chin, anger once again building it in her. "Goddamn bitch... That serious bitch!" I jumped in my seat, frightened by her outburst.

"W-who?" Was all I could will, fidgeting as she continued to foam over in anger.

"Who do you think?!" She looked at me incredulously, her arms outstretched with eyes blown wide. "That little shit's been dragging him around... showing him off like a fucking trophy... And I just kept wondering why he let her do it... Ha! I'm an actual idiot! This-!" She took a moment to herself, lifting the phone to my face as she did so. "This is why!"

I cringed at the images. His porcelain skin: Slashed. His arms: Torn. His chest: Scratched. His legs: Burned. And it didn't take a scientist to tell what they were from. These weren't accidental markings of thorn bushes or cat nippings or scrapes from stone. These were organized lines, set up row upon row with intent. These marks were done on purpose. And, as much as I hated it, I hoped with all my might that they hadn't been done by him.

"...Candy." My lips formed the name before it even registered within me. A conspiracy was beginning to develop within me. A small one. It was a stretch, but if I could confirm something, things would begin to make sense.

"Who posted it?" I asked simply, looking at her screen. Wendy scrolled up, not even bothering to see me as she did.

"Golly gee, I wonder who. Wouldn't have a clue, since they used a 'burner account.' Nope. No idea what ass hole would post this shit." Wendy rolled her eyes in nothing short of blunt sarcasm. And of course, as she showed me the account's name, my little theory was confirmed.

'Sexyfashionist.'

Once again, the words formed before I even knew they were coming out.

"...That bitch."