(A/N: Kinda in a slump right now, with the writing and stuff, so I churned this out in an attempt to start up my creative thinking again. It goes along with the story, and it's a little bit of character development, but It's not too important to read. I mean, It's kinda filler-y, but also not. IDK. You don't really have to read this one, just a heads up.)

~Mabel's POV
~Earlier that day
The room was a wreck, microscopic glass bits sprinkled across the floor in alarm. I looked to the window, shocked to see a large, spikey hole in it, as if someone had thrown a rock. A fist-sized rock. Had someone broken in? Who could be so daring?

I scanned the room for a moment, taking in the scene. The drawers were closed, and a burglar, I'm sure, would have checked them first. As an added bonus, no one could have survived breaking into this house. No one.

If there wasn't a corpse, there wasn't a burglar. I trotted across the room cautiously, weary of the floor's new warning signs. What was going on?

I sniffed around the room for a moment, only to be stopped in my tracks. The wall, right next to the window, was spotted with blood droplets. They were small, but vibrantly red.

They had already begun to dull into a crusty bronze color, but still stung my nose with a subtle copper smell. The wall was a blossoming white against the red's bold presence, yet, seemed to cave in around the marks. In fact, taking a closer look, that was exactly what had happened. The wall was chipped around the blood dot's edges, devoting inward in some spots.

Had someone punched the wall? Making a fist, I examined my knuckles. Four rows of bumpy flesh. I looked to the wall. Four rows of drying blood. That was exactly what had happened.

My stomach began to churn in anxiety. The night before, the night I refused to remember, was beginning to form. It was beginning to form into reality. The Leak. Dipper's eyes. Pacifica's plasma gun. My fear. It was all beginning to solidify into something I couldn't prevent. I fell to the bed, Dipper's bed, and held myself for a moment.

How long could we possibly hold him down? How long could we keep him from hurting himself? I felt a 'ping' in the pit of my stomach, sitting up. Where had he gone to? Dipper's shirt from last night had been slung sloppily into the waste bin.

A pair of his shoes sat at the foot of his bed. His amulet was right on the night stand, and seemed to grow darker with every stare I presented it. But, where had Dipper left himself? I leapt to my feet, a nauseating woos creeping up my spine with a head rush. I could feel my breathing grow heavy.

I passed the room a moment, before working up the nerve to peek my head out the window. Nobody. That is, no body.

He hadn't jumped, much to my relief, but he was still a lost man. Until, I saw it. A single drop of blood, splurged in the center of the room, beckoned me.

I looked ahead to see another droplet. Two. Tiny droplets, like a spray bottle sprits, led me to the bathroom entrance. In a state of fear, I took precautions and looked through the key hole.

I felt like throwing up. The sink, usually a glossy white, had splotches of blood and dotted tissue paper. Dear God, is Dipper in there? I tilted my head to the left, trying my best to get a full view of the bathtub.

If I was already too late, he'd most likely finish it up with bathtub water. I could feel my heart racing, my cheek pressed crookedly against the door frame. I saw Dipper's face, eyes closed. Skin pale.

His feet were kicked up upon the tub's faucet, his converse' white toes soiled with slight dips of blood. I stood back, my hand clasped over my mouth. I was too late.

I could feel the tears slip down my face in a pattern of heavy drops. I would have to remove his body from the tub. Chills rode their way up my spine, imagining the heavy thump of his body against bathroom tiles if I drug him out. I took in a deep breath. It was all I could do against throwing up.

I placed my hand on the knob, ready to force the locked door open, only to hear a slight hum from within. Without a second thought, I crashed my ear against the wooden door, begging to hear more. Dipper's voice.

He was singing. He was singing and alive and beautifully calm. I clasped my hand to my chest, feeling a relaxed breath soften my tense muscles. I slumped to the floor, my tail bone plopping against the redwood panels.

My head rested against the white board which separated us, and I could feel my heart's pounding subside. His voice was like silk. I remember being so young, yet already knowing that his voice was like no other.

Dipper always had such a lovely voice. I did, too. But, it wasn't like his. It had a softness to it, yet was able to spark you to life. I felt a cold wind swirl through the halls. How quiet would the house be without that voice? God, I didn't even want to think about it. I heard the words of his song, a sick song, which I followed along with in my head. 'Slit your wrists', it said.

Once again, I was on the verge of puking. If he did that... I felt my lip quiver, my finger tips covering the bridge of my nose, down to my mouth. I couldn't let him hear me cry. But, I had to confront this.

I had to be there for him, no matter how little I understood. I stood to my feet, my knees buckling from beneath, turning to face the frosted white door. My hand shook, yet I managed a knock. "Um... Dipper? Knock knock." I felt a lump in my throat, hearing him scramble from the bathtub to the floor. He was trying to hide it from me. No. Not like this. Please don't hide this from me. "What are you doing in there? What's all that racket?"

Like I didn't already know. I could see what he was doing. He scraped off the blood on the sink, washing it down the drain. He shoved glass in his hoodie's front pocket. He got on the floor and began rubbing at tiny blood splatters. "G-Give me a second, okay?" His breathing became hard, and I could just barely make out sweat forming on the back of his neck.

What did he think I would do if I found out? Why didn't he want to share this with me? I could feel yet another set of tears prick at the corners of my eyes, my face growing hot. I thought we were closer than this. "Dude. There's glass all over the bedroom floor. Did you break the window?"

I could feel a throb of pain at the back of my aching throat, trying my hardest not to choke over my words. I rubbed at my face, trying hard to remove as much sign of sadness as I could muster. If he didn't tell me straight out what was going on, how would I be able to confront it?
"Uh, yeah! Sorry about that! I broke it by accident, but I'll clean it up, okay?"

That was no accident, Dipper. I know that. I know you. God, Dipper. I pressed my forehead against the door pane a moment more, only for it to swing open. "Listen, I-" He began, only to have my arms stop him. I squeezed him tight, feeling his flittering heart beat slow. He was alive. Alive and breathing and beautiful. I couldn't seem to help but be greedily happy that he wasn't dead. "You sure you're okay?" I knew the answer, but to hear him say it would mean the world to me.

"Totally." My heart fell, but I tried hard to pick myself up. I focused on his heart beat. Bump ba-bump. But, at the back of his mind, I could make out just the smallest of words. 'Make you slit your wrists.'

Dipper walked off, and I went into the restroom. He had done a remarkable job at covering up his tracks. Not a drop of blood. Not a shard of glass. Not ever water from where he had whipped up. Reality hit me. Had I not seen it for myself, I would have been completely oblivious to his actions, and thought that this was a normal bathroom.

This bathroom was for washing your body and face, and brushing your teeth, and combing your hair, and doing a whole bunch of other stuff. I wouldn't have been even remotely aware of the one extra use it held. Once again, my stomach twisted in agony, and I fell to the floor with despair.