She Will Always Hate Me

x: we got a piano

This chapter is edited.
WARNING:
This story deals with some heavy topics i.e. mental health, depression, mentions of suicide, physical abuse, as well as eating disorders. Please read at your own risk.

Dipper made sure to be at Greasy's Diner a whole hour before Pacifica arrived. His brain was moving a mile a minute and he preferred to have the area scouted before going anywhere with someone.

Of course, he ran into Cody there. Dipper was hardly surprised. If anything, he was more miffed.

"Dipper?" Cody scrunched up his face in confusion before walking over to where Dipper sat. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm fishing; what does it look like I'm doing?" Dipper retorted. "I had something to drop off, a friend needed help."

Cody rolled his eyes. "Still working that gig?"

Dipper scowled just a little bit. "It's not a 'gig' if I don't get paid for it, Cody."

Cody chewed on his lip minutely before replying. "So, you go to the sessions, try not to off yourself in the middle just to get a prescription for a illness that you don't even have to give to a guy and you don't even get paid?!"

"Would you like to say that any louder? I'm sure the folks in Germany didn't quite hear you." Dipper snarked. "I wouldn't want to get paid for something like this. Consider it my community service."

Taking this as a cue to sit down and start a conversation, Cody plopped himself down in the seat opposite of Dipper, hand on his cheek, a thoughtful expression flashed across his face. "Maybe I pegged ya wrong. Not Peter Pan, more like a modern day Robin Hood."

"I don't recall asking for this conversation." Dipper checked his nails, a bored expression on his face.

"Ahh, but you'll get it." Cody grinned, one half of his mouth quirking up while the other half stayed perfectly neutral. Dipper was quite used to making that particular expression himself, and found it rather strange to see on another human being. "Why do you think that is?"

"Which question are you asking me to answer?" Dipper feigned ignorance, something he didn't particularly enjoy doing, however, sometimes it was necessary. And because Cody Chiu was practically acting like Dr. Southeast, it was only fitting that he treat him as such. "If it is the latter, I am going to assume the answer is because you are Cody Chiu and your opinion matters to me solely because of the concept of found family."

Cody rolled his eyes. "Flattery will getcha anywhere, sunshine"— he smirked at Dipper's disgusted expression— "but I know you're smarter than that. You know what I mean."

Dipper sighed and schooled his face into his resting face (boredom, easy). "Because I feel like I owe our society a debt of servitude to pay for all of my sins."

"I asked for your answer, not the bullshit excuse you feed to your psychiatrist so they can write a novel aboutcha." Cody snorted, unpleasantly. "So. . ?"

Dipper frowned, so it seemed that Cody was far more perceptive than his ridiculous charlatan of a psychiatrist. Oh well, he could trust Cody. "I assume you want the honest answer?"

"No, Dipper." Cody retorted. "I want you to blatantly lie to my face so I can go to the bathroom and weep humongous tears to my reflection as I gently caress its shimmery face and wail 'why doesn't he trust me?!'."

To this, Dipper snorted in response. Cody Chiu was an interesting colleague —well, Dipper supposed that he could be considered a friend due to his reference to found family— and managed to catch Dipper off-guard with a ridiculous comment that, despite his better judgement, would make him laugh.