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Chapter 7- Pathetic

     I stare at him for a bit, in awe, as he desperately gasps for air in between his pathetic sobs, tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping from his chin.
     Dare I say that this isn't how chaos gods act on a day to day basis. It's almost sickening to see one hunched over in the dirt, bawling his eyes out.
     Someone needs to speak up. Someone needs to say something. And with Bill crying at the top of his lungs, it appears that I'm the one who needs to speak.
     As usual.
     I work up something to say in my head. Something intimidating, but comforting at the same time. I play it over a few times in my head, and prepare myself to speak.
     But it doesn't seem to work.
     "Bill...?" is all I can seem to gawk, startled.
     It's silent before he speaks again.
     "God, Dipper, you don't even know, do you?" He mumbles over his cries. "It hurts. Everything just fucking hurts. My bones, my head, my stomach, my ears, I wasn't supposed to come back. I wasn't supposed to be thrown in a completely different dimension from my physical body. And it fucking hurts." He manages to choke down his whines as he speaks, but they fight their way back through his throat the moment he finishes his sentence.
     I'm... taken aback, to say the least.
     I had no idea.
     Then I think back to his grunts and winces I've been picking up in his tone since we've begun speaking.
     Bill laughs a bit, pathetically.    
     "Yeah, get it?"
     I stare at my toes, at the ash and charred leaf litter on the ground.
     "O-oh..." I finally manage to spit out.
     Then Bill curls up tighter and continues to sob.
     Something urges me to go help him. Maybe it's the sick sight of a demon crying. Maybe it's the shock from the fire.
     Maybe it's because I need this. I need this sense of adventure again. I can't seem to function without that spark of thrill and fear and excitement.
     No matter the consequences, I'll take my chances.
     I take a step towards the shivering figure, slowly, as not to spook him.
     If anything, I'm supposed to be the spooked one.
     And then, as I take another step, anxiety begins to well up inside me.
     What if this is all a trick? Don't forget, Bill's the Master of Illusion. He could just be drawing me near him to stab me in the back all over again.
     I stop in front of him, leaning down and hesitantly reaching out towards his shoulder.
     Oh God. Oh man. What if this is a trap? What if I touch him and he chokes me to death? What if I touch him and he snaps my neck? What if I touch him and he—
     Suddenly, he jumps up and grabs me, forcefully I yanking me towards him. I shriek in terror, my worst fear becoming reality...
     ...when I realise all he's done is buried his face in my shirt and continued his hopeless sobbing.
     I sigh in relief, yet I remain slightly uncomfortable. I don't hug him back, and instead raise my arms awkwardly in the air, not sure how to use them.
     ...wow.
     This is Bill.
     This is fucking Bill.
     "I already said it's me, and don't cream your fucking pants, Dipshit," he sniffs miserably.
     "Dipshit? That's a new one."
     Bill doesn't respond, but as the minutes pass, his cries devolve into mere sniffles and tears.
     He says something, but it's too muffled for me to interpret it.
     "Uh... repeat that?" I ask, voice slightly shaky.
     "I said I'm sorry."
     I blink, perplexed.
     "For Weirdmaggedon. I'm so sorry. You don't even know. That shit tears me up inside constantly."
     I remain silent, not entirely sure if taking him seriously is a bright idea.
     "I know you can't trust me again, and that's fair enough. I fucked up way past forgiveness," he continues, face still pressed into my jacket.
     My mouth refuses to move, once again.
     "Look, Pine Tree..." he whimpers, peering up from from his spot in my shirt. "I don't deserve a second chance. That's that. And that's fair."
     He coughs, choking up again.
     "But please... please let me fix my mess. And please..." he groans in agony again, clutching his arm.
     "...get... g-get me out of here."
     God, he's... he's in actual pain. And I just experienced his pain.
     He's been living this hell for weeks.
     Jesus...
     I hesitate for a slight second, then push myself to my feet, dropping Bill back onto the ground. He doesn't dare stand up after me.
     "How do I leave...?" I whisper, as if speaking aloud right now would somehow reincarnate the raging fires.
     Bill looks up at me, his gaze pleading and fearful.
     "You want to leave?"
     "I need... time to think." I'm not lying. I need to think this whole situation over. My perspective on this particular event has totally shifted.
     "Oh... talk to you later, Dipstick." he whimpers painfully. Oddly enough, I feel a spark of sympathy for the poor creature.
     Before I can say anything else, such as leave words of encouragement or something along those lines, he snaps his fingers.
     And, in a moment's notice, I'm back, face down on my cheap, rock-hard sofa all over again, without a blackened blade of grass in sight.