« S I C K » [BILLDIP]

Chapter 4- Tinder Kinda Sucks

      My eyes flicker wearily open, wincing at the gleam of light, relieved to note that I'm back in my cozy, boring apartment.
     Not lost in a dark, horrid void of Bill's screeches of terror. It's the stuff of nightmares.
      I never... never want to live another moment with that demon.
     "Hey, sleepyhead. Did'ja have fun passed out on the floor?"
     I blink, puzzled, and hesitate before I scan my imminent surroundings.
     It appears I rolled off of the couch in my dreadful bought of sleep.
     My face stings a little as push myself to sit up on my knees, an inevitable result of having it pressed into shag carpeting for the past few hours. I roughly scratch at the bridge of my nose with my sleeve, trying to numb the itching.
     Mabel laughs, flooding me with humiliation, and plops down heavily onto the couch.
     "How's your headache?" she chimes, her tone ringing like that of a concerned mother.
     I tilt my head back and forth a bit, testing for any signs of pain while being cautious as to prevent me from getting sickeningly dizzy. Thankfully, there's no longer any trace of any throbbing or stabbing or banging in my ears.
     "Better." I'm not sure if it's appropriate to warn Mabel of the dream I had just awoken from...
     ...and, after all, it's more likely to be a just a stupid dream and nothing more.
     My migraine, the Journals, Bill...
     I'm stuck to the opinion that everything that flashed before my eyes the night before was simply some cheap animatic of the day's events that my brain conjured up at last minute.
     And besides, Bill becoming a human boy out of the blue, no context included?
     Sounds like something you'd read out of a fourteen years old's Wattpad fanfiction.
    Never going to happen.       
    Unrealistic.
    Impossible.
    And that's a positive thing. I don't want Bill back.
     Ever.
     Mabel gives me a reassuring smile, and I crawl up onto the couch cushions at her side, violently rubbing at my face in a desperate attempt to rid myself of the marks that the shag carpet has cursed me with.
     "Time?"
     Mabel pulls her phone out of her pocket and gives it a quick glance. "3:12." Suddenly, she begins to tap her fingers rapidly on the cushion, as if she were anxious about something. I pretend as if I don't notice.
     "Plans for today? Maybe we could pop some popcorn and chill with The Office? The Umbrella Academy? Schitt's Creek?" I offer, pleadingly.
     All I need at the moment is Dwight Schrute screaming about Jim Halpert's "forged," medical conditions. The medicine that will cure every anxiety Bill up and decides to shove down my throat.
     Mabel winces, an uneasy grin forming on her lips  "Oof, ouch, sorry, I can't..." she rejects, and I feel my stomach sink a tad bit in disappointment. "I got a date night."
     I almost... practically flip. "You what?!?" I exclaim, not sure how my brain is going to process this truckload of information. "Who?!"
     "His name's Jeremy."
     "How the hell did you get a whole date while I was knocked out? Where did you meet?" I have way to many questions, and asking each and every one of them would be an utter waste of time.
     Mabel taps at her phone screen a few times, pulling up an app, and holding stiffly it in front of my face.
     Oh. My. Fucking. God.
     "Don't tell me you're going on a Tinder date."
     "What...?" Her face noticeably heats up a bit, causing her to blush. She swiftly digs her phone into her lap, hiding it. "It's a valid dating app!"
     I force down a bought of laughter, yet a snicker still escapes my gritted teeth. "Tinder dates never work out, Mabel. That's just common knowledge. Everyone knows that. And I doubt his name is even Jeremy."
     She winces and twiddles her thumbs, stare harshly focused on the floor. She doesn't attempt to come up with a snarky comment of retort in response.
    And then, I'm flooded with guilt rather than humiliation.
     "Ok... maybe they're not all bad? Maybe there's one good guy out there who can totally win you over? You'd like, be making history." I add hastily, praying my "making history," comment doesn't end up being extremely offensive without me being aware.
     Her expression lights back up a bit with it's previous glow, and she stands up, stretching.
     "Well, I've gotta go now anyway. We're totally gonna chill at this carnival that's been set up downtown."
     I frown. "For how long?"
     "9:00." She smiles, excited.
     My stomach sinks even deeper into the floor. You could make the argument that it's entirely acceptable to watch The Office by one's self, but it's also Mabel's first time watching it all the way through, and we both agreed to not continue any of it by our lonesome.
     There goes my "bears, beets, Battlestar Galactica," fantasy.
     Mabel darts over to the kitchen counter and begins to fidget with the zipper on her purse. I mimic her standing up and stretching, except I don't stray from the spot I'm standing in. Instead, I glance at the counter, hopefully, in search of a cup of much-needed caffeine.
     "Any coffee?" My tone almost brings the effect of interrogation.
     Mabel continues to rifle through her purse, lost in a trance. "No, but we've got tea somewhere."
     I practically dry heave at the thought.
     Tea is a nightmarish concept that Satan himself created in the pits of Hell, and should have never touched the surface of this once-pure Earth.
     But I wouldn't ever let that slip to Mabel, as she constantly  drinks the stuff.
     "Sweet. Sounds good." I lie.
     Mabel doesn't acknowledge me, and instead pulls her keys out of her bag.
     "I'm off!!" She stumbles to the door in a frenzy, fiddling with the lock, and stepping into the hallway.
     "Remember our rule!" I chime, staring at my phone in a haze. I'm not looking at anything on it, but I'm trying to dodge the pain of standing around awkwardly.
     She halts, peering her head in the door a bit, and frowns. "A rule? What rule?"
     I blink at her, a lazy expression on my gaze. "No sex on the first date."
     "I know!!" she splutters, stamping her foot on the ground. "I wouldn't ever!"
     "I know, but I'm just trying to be a good, responsible, twin brother, and I think—"
     She cuts me off, hastily. "Ah, ah, ah, Dipper, I know."
     "Just making sure—"
     "Dipper."
     "And since it's a fucking Tinder date—"
     "Dipper!" She screams, yet she's bubbling with giggles. "I am going to be fine."
     I open my mouth to reply with some sort snarky, clever retort...
     ...but Mabel's already slammed the door and darted down the hall, on the way to have a romantic, fairy tale ferris wheel ride with so-called Jeremy.
     I sigh, stumble over to the kitchen, and push up to sit on the counter, a queasy feeling staring to form in my gut. Part of me had hoped Mabel's presence would've shook off the shock of Bill's surprising appearance, but with her gone, and the room deathly silent, Bill is the only thing on my mind.
     Well... not his reappearance. I'm hopeful that this could've all been just a bad dream. Something that'll fade in a couple weeks time.
     But it all seemed so real. His words ring so clearly in my mind, like they were something I heard in the waking world.
     Oh yeah, and, almost forgot, but he's a fucking dream demon. Dreams are his thing.
     I lean against the fridge and shiver. I can't... I can't handle this.
     I haven't even recovered from the first Weirdmaggedon. It haunts me constantly.
     Memories of Eye-Bats turning people to stone, Stan's memory being flushed down the drain, and Bill magically growing thirty feet tall and terrorizing Mabel and I as we scramble through the hallways of the "Fearamid," immediately swamp me.
     I can't think of much to do at the moment but relive those haunting memories.
     I don't want another Weirdmaggedon. No one does. So I have all rights to be on edge at the moment.
     My legs begin to ache from dangling off the countertops after about an hour of me contemplating what I ever did to deserve this... this nightmare.
     I'm using that word a lot today. But, to be fair, I am referring to a dream demon.
     All I want, all I need right now is to forget about this disastrous mess. All I want at the moment is to think of anything but Bill.
     I begin to scroll through my phone, as my initial reaction is to lose myself in Jack Stauber or Caravan Palace or some other weird-ass tune.
     Music's sort of always been my go-to escape from reality. Specifically artists like Stauber. The way he doesn't usually follow a set tune or style and jumps around with unnatural noises and clips drags that whole mysterious, adventurous side out of me.
     Just like when I was twelve.
     Just like when I was twelve...
     Just like when I was twelve and that mysterious, adventurous side of me nearly destroyed reality as we know it.
     Music won't help me shake this.
     I slam my phone on the counter, disappointed, and flop on to the couch, grabbing for the remote.
     Alas, as soon as my finger rests on the power button, I lose interest.
     A book? Mabel's always collecting romance novels. I might not be interested in anything such as a relationship at the moment, but I just need something to rid my thoughts of Bill.
     I stand up, intention being to duck into Mabel's room and snatch any read that catches my eye off of her shelf.
     Instead, I grab Journal 3, the blacklight, and... God, and a fucking cup of tea.
     See, kids? This is what we refer to as "desperation."
     I begin to flip through the pages, reminiscing the summer where everything went down. And I'm...
     ...I'm smiling.
     Smiling at this traumatic disaster presenting itself in front of me.
     I finally land on a page. It was written right after we pulled Ford out of the portal. It's an entire page dedicated to me.
     I read it aloud.
     "Twins in the family! Although unfortunately that is the only family resemblance I see in this overly-eager, unusually sweaty..." He's written ten year old, but it's crossed out. "...twelve year old.
     "Every time I made direct eye contact with this fretful child, he started gagging like he was going to throw up, and when I tested his heart rate for side effects of dimension fever, I found it going a mile a minute.
     "The only thing I could glean from his stammering was that he was the one to find Journal 3's hiding place in the forest! (I'm not sure how accessing my journal was even possible. The only explanation is that the circuitry must have become unstable over time and perhaps water damage loosened the machinery.)
     "Although I'm grateful to have my journal back, a quick look through reveals that he has been treating this important document as his own personal diary and generally scribbling over my work with his own notations. I will have to review when I have a moment to survey the damage.
     "Observations... one, constantly sweating. Perhaps he takes after Stanley. Two, fidgeting suggests he may still be recovering from shock of portal contact. Three, very thin limbs. Almost noodle-y. Were his bones weakened by exposure to portal radiation? Four, rank odor. Clearly hasn't bathed recently. Stanley should never be put in charge of children!"
     I chuckle a bit, and flip a couple more pages in. 
     He's written a lot about me.
     God... if only Stanford could see me now...
     "Not that you've changed much, Pine Tree."
     In a shock, I scramble to slam the journal shut, and protectively pull it to my chest, as if the action were second nature. I leap up from my seat and pathetically knock the chair over in the process.
     Bill?! Bill?!
     "Show yourself!" I screech, yet I'm afraid I'm shaking too much to appear intimidating.
     What the fuck? How is he here? Why the hell is he in my apartment?!
     "I'm in your head, kiddo." His tone almost sounds strained, but he's doing an exceptional job at masking it.
     "In my head? Am I possessed again?"
     "Nope."
     My eyes dart around the room, in a panicked frenzy.
     "I'm not in your shitty apartment, Dipstick."
     Heart pounding, I cautiously set the chair upright, and slowly lower myself into the cushion. I'm still clutching the journal like there's no tomorrow.
     Oh God.
     Oh fuck.
     This is Bill.
     It's Bill.
     It's fucking Bill Cipher.
     "Yeah, it is, don't cream your pants."
     "What do you want?" I hiss, my knuckles whitening due to the strong grip I have on the journal.
     "Well, we're straightforward, then." His voice rings viciously in my ears. "I don't even get a hello?"
     "Well, we're not here to talk about good ol' Six Fingers, are we?" I retort, yet I'm swamped with anxiety.
     God... I'm pathetic.
     "Yeah, you are. And no, but Fordsie's a fun conversation topic! God, we had good times."
     "Yeah, before you threw him under the fucking bus."
     "Wonderful times!"
     I shiver. I'm talking to Bill. There's no way...
     "Yeah, okay kid, we get you're talking to me. You sound like a broken record."
     "We erased you from existence! Remember? We trapped you in Stanley's mind and obliterated you!"
     "And you brought me back! Remember? You were being sucked into my journal page!"
     "I brought you back?!"
     "Yeah! Thanks for that one, kiddo." His voice wavers a bit as he speaks. I pay no mind.
     "How?!"
     "Shhh... it's a secret."
     "What? Why?"
     "If I told you, you'd go crying to Fordsie, and you'd figure out a way to destroy me again..."
     "Which is what I'm hoping for." Not like I can reach him at the moment, though.
     "...and I'd be back after another couple years, and it all just seems like an unnecessary waste of time."
     I groan.
     "Cut to the chase, Cipher," I snap in aggravation. "What the hell do you want?"
     "What do YOU think, Pine Tree?"
     "Another Weirdmaggedon?"
     "Ha! I wish!"
     "So what the fuck is it?" My fingers tap along the table in irritation.
     "Wanna step foot in the real world again. You know, enjoy this totally radical human body a little bit."
     The image of Bill yanking helplessly at his devil tail flashes before my eyes, and I snicker.
     "Okay, except that."
   I push up from the table, exasperated, about to set the journal down.
     "No, wait, don't put the journal down yet."
     "What, why?"
     "That's the only way I can get to you outside the Mindscape. I'm not actually in your head. I'm in the journal. And the only way I can reach your mind is if you're holding it."
     "Even more reason to put it down."
     "Pine Tree, just hear me out," he pleads, and I notice a sharp wince in his tone. I glance down at the journal, puzzled.
     "You good?"
     "What? Yeah, I'm good, why?"
     "Sounds like you're in pain."
     "Never. Pain doesn't phase me."
     "Hm." I settle back into the chair, leaving a hand placed on the cover of the torn up book. "So you're like a Squip? And the journal is like green Mountain Dew?"
     "What in the actual fuck is a Squip—"
     "It's a musical reference. A voice in your head. From Be More Chill."
     Bill hysterically snorts. "You listen to musicals?"
     I shrug, though I'm aware he probably can't see it.
     "I can see you shrugging, Dipstick. And that's really fuckin' gay."
     I slam my head to the table. "I. Am. Not. Fucking. Gay."
     "Okay, kid. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
     "I'm leaving now."
     "Yep. Mabel will be home from her Tinder date any minute now."
     I blink. Have we really been talking that long?
     "And Jeremy was a no show. She'll want a hug."
     "How do you know that?" I interrogate.
     "I do." He audibly grins. "Talk to you in the morning, Dipstick."
     "I'm not coming back."
     "You will."
     And with that, Mabel explodes through the door, tears streaming from her red eyes.
     I blink once at the journal, suspicious, then slam it down and dart over to my sobbing, shaking sister.
     Mabel throws her arms around me pathetically and buries her face into my shirt, draping me with snot.
     "He didn't show up!" she sobs, sniffing. "I was alone the whole time!"
     Bill was spot on. There's something off about it, and it makes me feel slightly queasy.
     "Fuck Jeremy."
     Mabel sniffs again and looks at me. "W-what?"
     "Fuck Jeremy. He's a dick. You're too good for him."
     Mabel releases her hold on me, and straightens up, wiping her nose with her  sleeve.
     "Yeah... yeah. Yeah! Fuck Jeremy!" she squeals, determination flaring up in her bloodshot eyes.
     I smile.
     God.
     I fucking love my sister.
     She chants "fuck Jeremy," for a solid five minutes, and I can't help but laugh the entire time.
   Though, she eventually comes to a halt.
    I grin at her.
   "Office and popcorn?"
   Mabel grins back.
   "Office and popcorn."

**The text written in Journal 3 is canon from the official journal. I don't own it.**