I'm into Insomniacs (discontinued)

Skull Fracture

"Dude! I think I've got it!" I felt the engine catch, adrenaline filling as the car's seats absorbed its vibrations. I turned to Dipper with a nerve-stricken beam. He pumped up his fists, clenching his phone.
"Fuck yeah! Punch it!" With that, I jammed my foot into the gas pedal, its inertia smacking us back against our seats. It was only at that moment I realized my mistake. The ravens had been swarming my car at all sides, blocking even the slightest glimpse of what might be in front. Or on either side. Or above. Or anywhere. We had been completely blinded. And, by the time my truck's force knocked away the birds, I was left with a full view of Gravity falls local bar: Skull Fracture.
We crashed through the wall, once again catching ourselves before impact. Bricks sprayed across the room, knocking a few customers inside unconscious. "Shit." I let out. I turned to Dipper in the passenger seat, taking in his current state: Shaken. Ruffled hair. Both arms outstretched to catch himself before impact. Wide-eyed pupils shrunk to almost impossible size. Phone, cracked and broken against the car's dash. His head, pointed down, facing the car's floor. His breathing, heavy, but even. He was okay. I clenched my fists on the steering wheel, taking in a breath.
"Shit, Wendy..." He remarked, flopping back in his seat. He ran his right hand through his hair, closing his eyes with a strained expression. "What the Hell...?" I turned behind me, a clear view of the outside. I had tapped into my dumb-luck bank and gotten the car propped into the hole just right. I could open my door if I needed to, while the truck's back side stuffed up the tavern's cavity without letting the birds in. For now. I sighed with relief, turning towards him.
"Any idea what's going on?" He was perfect with this type of thing. I'd known him since he was twelve, and he'd faced some crazy shit. I was sure he had some info on this.
"No clue." He began. "But, whatever they are, they seem hungry. We need to find an escape route before they come busting through the windows." With that, he unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to the door. It's side had been canvassed with bricks and debry, forcing him to give it a stern kick. After a few stomps and the shuffling of ruble, his door popped open.
"Come on." He beckoned, sliding from the pile of rocks to his stumbling feet. I bit my lip, taking in the options. If we stayed here, there was a possibility of them going away. But, I knew that was unlikely. I looked to my window, then to Dipper, then to the back of the car, and back to him. I knew my only real chance of survival. I kicked my door open, landing on my feet. I swept to his side, keeping both shoulders straight and broad to seem sturdy. I couldn't let him know just how freaked I was.
The bar was dimly lit, purple and red lamp-lights the only bit of genuine illumination we received. I scanned the room, quickly overwhelmed by the number of bulky, male scowls. I didn't have much time to dust off my pants before people started approaching us.
"What are you two doing here?" He sat at the edge of the bar, his dark boots kicked up on the table. A cigarette, it's butt burning a bright red dot into the tavern's darkness, hung from his lips. A slick leather jacket, large shoulder pads swallowing his neck whole, sat on his shoulders. I felt my brow furrow, hearing his haunting voice. The leader of the infamous Panther-Puma Squad. The P.P. Squad. He had it out for me specifically, ever since I spray painted those initials onto his car.
"Evening, Tyler." Dipper stepped forward, his hands jammed into either pocket. Slitted, intelligent eyes met Tyler's blasing ones. It'd happened almost a year ago, maybe a month before Dipper broke his arm. The tavern put in place a strict "No Dumbasses" policy on the bar. I couldn't tell you which night had been the last straw or what we had even done to get thrown out for good. All I remembered from those nights was a dark, sunken Dipper in the mist of his own self-loathing, followed by an elated, drunken Dipper for the rest of the night. We'd done a good job keeping away from this place, but now we were in deep shit.
"Don't give me that. You're not to step foot in this place again. Remember what I said would happen if you did?" He slid from his stool, saundering up to Dipper. His arms folded, puffed out chest, exposing himself to some level of dominance. Even with Dipper's extra six inches over him.
"Deputy Blubs. Jail-time. I recall." Dipper winced a bit, sprouting a smile as though it were something small. "Now's a little different, though."
"Yeah. This time, I assume you got drunk before hitting the bar. Look at my damn wall!" He growled, gesturing towards the gaping hole Wendy had graciously made on her way in. "You'd better have a darn good explanation, kid!"
"I'm not a kid." He responded sourly.
"You won't be by the time you get out of prison!" He slammed his fist against the bar's sleek top, his temple radiating with a boiled red. He began to advance on Dipper, his finger pointed accusingly at his chest. In any other situation, Pine'd be on the offense. He didn't look it, but he could be a real hot head if you went pointing fingers at him and calling him a kid and all that dumb shit he took offense to. But, today was a bit different. He couldn't go flinging gang leaders out into the streets through a window. Mainly because the birds would most definitely come in through it and possibly eat us all. This was a time for alliance. Dipper, instead, when on the defensive. He put his hands up innocently, a soft look on his face.
"Woah, woah, woah. I'm not here to cause trouble."
"Tell that to my wall, Pines. You're fucking drunk!" He spat, scowling all the while. Dipper continued on the defensive.
"No I'm not, Tyler. I swear. I've been sober for a long time, okay? A long time." He bunched up his shoulders, acting shocked. I'd have to take notes if I wanted to seem as not-guilty as he did. The bastard could've been a saint, for all I knew. Tyler leaned in on Dipper's face, giving him a sniff.
"You don't smell sober. When was your last drink?" I could see the sweat droplets form on the back of his neck, though he kept his composure. Damn. He really was good.
"Almost a year ago. A friend just spilled a bit on me, that's all." Tyler seemed unconvinced.
"Sure. Sure. And, I assume you weren't behind the wheel either, right?" Dipper took particular offense to this, considering it was the one thing he'd never do, no matter how drunk he was. I specifically remember asking Dipper to drive us both home one night after a party, and he almost attacked me. 'What the fuck are you thinking, Wendy?! What the- what the fuck do you think I am? I-... I would never do that shit! Dumb fucking idiots do that shit, you know? My- *Hicc* my fucking dad did that shit one time, you know? Almost killed mom, like what the Hell?! I- I was almost not born cause of that, you know?!' In short, he took offense more than anything to that. I thought he'd snap for sure, which couldn't happen. We couldn't get thrown out. They might as well serve us on a plate, if that's the case. And, sure enough, Dipper's face scrunched up in almost instant anger.
"Uh, excuse me-?!" I hooked my arm over his mouth, bringing his chin to my shoulder.
"We need your guys help." I cut in. Dipper's muffled words dug into the cravis of my elbow for a moment, only for his shoulders to slump as he calmed down. I freed him.
"We're being chased." I continued, moving to the center of the conversation.
"I'm sure a lot of people are chasing you, Ms. Corduroy." Tyler pulled out with a sneer. "I, for one, don't like my damn car spray painted. And, I'm sure a hell of a lot more of your victims don't either. Right boys?" He turned to the bar-dwellers, grumbling and barking in agreement. I cleared my throat.
"It's a bit bigger than just some guy, Mr. Tyler." I snapped at him, giving a sore look. I jammed my thumb behind me, directing their attention past my truck. "We've got some supernatural shit on our hands."
"Don't you always."
"Don't I always." I smacked back at him, crossing my arms. I didn't have as much height on him as Dipper did, but I could sure as hell seem as intimidating.
"Well, you can't be bringing that type of trouble here. So, why don't you two kids scatt?"
"Maybe if there was some place to scatt to. In a couple of minutes, you guys won't be so safe either." We stood toe-to-toe, glaring into each other's eyes, either of our mouths foaming at the corners.
"That sounds like a threat, rat's nest."
"Damn straight, whiskers." I leaned in even more, till our heads bumped up against each others.
"You've gotten pretty damn disrespectful, kid." His mustache twitched at the edges. "Not like when you were young."
"I had a father back then, dick." I snarled, expecting an even nastier response. Instead, to my surprise, Tyler looked stunned. I had forgotten all about their history in this tavern.
"And he was a good man." He backed up. His face remained stern, although his brow had softened a bit.
"The night your father-... The night your father took his own life was a hard night for everyone." A single sniff was heard in the room, followed by a long silence. When Tyler's lips parted, the subtle sound put all attention on him. "It'd do you some good to try and leave his memory untainted." He mumbled grimmly, turning his back on me. My brow furrowed.
"I beg your pardon?" I scoffed in disbelief, taken back by his audacious tone. He said nothing, moving back to his seat at the isle. Something about that made me boil. Dad had been a bartender. Dad had served that man a million different drinks and laughed a million different times and told a million different stories. And now, he was sitting back in his seat, feeling like he had been the one to lose him the most. Well, that wasn't the case at all. When that smile left this bar, it left home too. His storied evaporated, and his laugh was swept out the door in an instance. My face burned.
"What do you know about his memory?!" I stepped forward, whipping out an accusing finger. Dipper grabbed my shoulder.
"Wendy! Don't!" I didn't listen.
"What do any of you know about his memory?!" I spun around, making eye contact with each and every one of the men in there.
"None of you knew a damn thing about him!" Dipper pulled at my waist, trying to steady me.
"Wendy, seriously. Calm down. Stay calm-" I put my hand up to him, avoiding his gaze.
"'Cause if you did, you'd know how fucking proud he was of the Corduroy name! Everything he did, he did because he was a flippin Corduroy!" I balled up my fist, banging it against the isle.
"So, what makes me so different?! Huh?!" I stormed up to Tyler, much to Dipper's disapproval, who was still trying to calm me. Tyler continued to stare at his drink, half-empty, a dark shadow cast over him.
"Well, Tyler?! I'm a Corduroy, aren't I?! So, what makes me so damn different from him?!" Once again, I slammed my fist on the isle, hoping to alarm him. He remained still, though. So I yanked him by the collar of his shirt.
"Look at me, bitch!" I shook him, his startled eyes staring back at me. The room quickly filled with shocked gasps as his head whipped back and forth the more I shook him. I felt arms wrap around my waist on either side, ripping me up into the air with a vicious force.
"That is enough, Wendy!" Dipper barked, yanking me away from Tyler, off of the floor. I continued to flail around, making jabs at Dipper to let me go.
"Yeah! Scared know!? Huh, Tyler?!" I could see the disbelief in his eyes, watching me spew every insult and curse I could find. "Fight me, bitch! Fight me!"
"Dipper. Do me a favor and take out the trash, will you?" Tyler turned back to his drink, rubbing his finger around the rim of his mug. Dipper's face scrunched up, dropping me. As he did, I found my chance and began to charge at him. Dipper quickly caught me by my arms, holding me back.
"If you gave a rat's ass about my dad's legacy, you'd know just by looking that I was a Corduroy! And you wanna know something, Tyler? I'm pretty damn sure you can see it!"
"Shut up." Tyler grumbled, miserably.
"You just hate how much of him you see in me! That's all it's been, isn't it?!"
"Shut up." He said again, louder this time.
"I stake every bit of the Corduroy's reputation on this shit, Tyler! This stupid shit we barged in here for! If you really cared for my father, you'd know I was legit just by my nam-"
"Shut the Hell up!" He burst out of his seat, causing me to stop my thrashing. The room went silent, Tyler's huffing breaths the only thing audible.
"You-!" He began, his long, pale finger shaking with anger as he pointed at me. "You're the one who doesn't know jack shit about your dad! If you knew anything, you'd know he wouldn't just throw that name around like it was replaceable." He began to advance, making long steps to meet me. I could feel Dipper shuffle in front of me, ready to make a barrier if need be. But, now was the perfect time to pull them in.
"Than let me prove to you I deserve the name!" I began. "On his grave, I'm a Corduroy." I took my fist, patting it against my chest, gritting my teeth with determination. "I'm calling in a favor, Tyler. A favor that, at some point in my father's lifetime, I'm sure you weren't able to repay him. I'm sure of it! Because that was the kind of man he was!" His face continued to grow darker and darker with every word.
"You're not your father." He responded.
"But, I am a-"
"Don't." His eyes squinted shut, his fingers pressing the bridge of his nose in frustration. He took a moment, mumbling to himself, before meeting my eyes.
"You want to stake every bit of respect we have for your father? Fine. If it's worth our time, we'll help your sorry asses." He hissed, leaning his elbow on the isle's slick top.
"But, if it's worthless-" He began. "We're calling the police. You'll be thrown away for breaking my wall. Not to mention you've already been banned once before." Dipper pulled at my sleeve, giving me a bit of his reassurance.
"Deal, Ty." I huffed. Tyler put his hands in his pockets, his feet shuffled outwards, giving me a stern look.
"Well, Ms. Wendy." He commented, giving me a scowl. "What little monster are you up against? A fairy? Leprechauns? Gnomes?" Dipper sniffed at him, rolling his eyes.
"Why don't one of your guys go take a look outside and see?" He suggested. I gaped at Dipper, hearing the bold and nasty intent of his words. I was about to contradict him, when one the men in the bar, too willing to prove their manliness, took the bait and barged out the door. It swung open and shut, giving only a moment for the bird's notice. Perhaps it was the door's bell that alerted them. Perhaps they had been waiting outside peacefully for our emergence. Whatever the case, the man had no more than a moment of fresh air when they all flocked him.
"What the Sam-Hill is that?!" Tyler gasped. The room was silent, the blackened feathers of each bird's silhouette darkening the bar. Dipper stood in front of the door, looking out with a bland expression.
"Birds." He said. With that, he rushed open the door, pulling the man back in by his wrist, and slammed it shut once more. The man was shaken, cuts and claw marks all over his shoulders and face. Feathers stuck out from the corners of his shirt, as well as the belt of his pants, which had been torn to shreds.
"That enough for you guys?" Wendy mocked, turning to meet Tyler's disturbed expression.
"Maybe too much." He mussed back, trying his hand at a light chuckle. "How many are there?"
"Who knows? Hundreds, maybe. We're not sure why they're here."
"What do you want us to do?" Tyler queiried, his brow pinched and confused. He took a look outside, the birds no longer out of view. They swarmed the bar, pecking and cawing at the glass. Wendy stood, popping her neck from side to side as she spoke.
"Fight."