fan fic pinecest

AU in which Dipper and Mabel have a pregnancy scare. It’s sad, and ridic long. Enjoy!
He realised too late that the condom had broken. Even though he’d pulled out as soon as he could, and even though Mabel had gone to the bathroom right after ‘to get sturf wizzed up’ he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
“For cripes sake, Dipper,” Mabel had said, “I told you like a bazillion times already that I’m taking stuff! It’ll be fine, broski!”
He had wanted to believe her, but his mind wouldn’t stop whirring.
Then her period didn’t come.
He found out when she snuck into his room late one night when their parents were sleeping. She had crawled into his bed, kissing his collarbone, and whispered that she was three weeks late.
“What? Mabel!” He hissed, shifting his body away from her. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice.
“It’s not my fault!”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know…”
“You’ll go to the doctor, right?”
“Yeah I guess…”
“Mabel!”
“Whump!” she poked his nose.
“Mabel, this is serious!”
“Jeeze, Dipper, I know it’s serious, okay?”
“So you’ll go?” He knew he was pressing too hard, making her anxious, but what if she hadn’t felt like he did - and, and she had to, it was important, for them to know.
He finally made eye contact, her mouth a tight line.
She turned away from him, “Fine! I’ll go. Geeze.”
***
He offered to go with her, but in the end she went alone.
At three hours, Dipper started to worry. He didn’t think she would go to their usual GP, the one that was a fifteen minute walk away – but three hours was a long time. It was too long.
He clenched his hands.
Their parents thought it was strange he waited in the front room for her to come back, but didn’t press it too much.
His dad, ever observant, clapped him on the shoulder as he walked in from work, “You’re acting like a sick dog, Dippin’ sauce. Go watch a movie or something.”
At four hours, thirty-seven minutes, he heard the click of the lock as she came into the house. Their parents were in the back room watching television.He stood up, hands gross and sweaty.
“Leave me alone.”
He flinched back.
She had never said anything like that to him before. Not in that way.
He heard his parents ask how her day was as she walked back towards her room. An audible gasp, and then bawling, footsteps hard and fast and a slamming door.
Seconds later his mother came rushing towards him, eyes dark with worry, “What’s wrong with Mabel?”
“…I don’t know,” he said.
The words sound foreign in his mouth.
***
His mother came out of her room hours later, eyes a little red around the edges. Their parents mutter between themselves, casting looks at him.
She wouldn’t have told them, right?
But he could feel their judgemental stares and when he edged towards her bedroom door his mother snapped that he should leave her alone for a while.
His heart palpitated, his stomach coiled uncomfortably.
She wouldn’t.
…
Would she?
***
He waited until it was past midnight to sneack downstairs and into her room. He wore socks, for extra stealth. His parents had stopped him from going in earlier, but they were in their room now. He was aware that this might be his last chance to see her, to speak to her, at least for a while.
The door creaked louder than he remembered. Through the gloom he could see her, sitting upright on her bed, doona wrapped around her shoulders. He felt a lump in his throat.
She had been waiting for him.
He clicked the door closed behind himself and softly made his way over, avoiding the stuffed animals and neon clothes that littered the floor. When he finally stood in front of her, he wasn’t sure what to do. Seconds crept by and he felt his heart lurch because - because - okay, it had been awkward, before, but never was this hard.
Finally, he sat at her side. She dropped the doona down and he saw that she hadn’t gotten changed.
“Mabel - ” he tried
“Don’t, Dipper.”
But that was it, for him. Frustration grew in his belly.
“No, that’s not fair,” he said, even though he knew it wasn’t true, “You can’t just ignore me, not after…everything. You can’t just not tell me.”
She was silent next to him, hair softly falling across her face. She doesn’t look at him.
“I…I think I know what’s going on, Mabel,” he said, after a while. She stiffened next to him but he pressed on anyway because he had to, because this was the only way he could force himself to do it, “I know – I know it’s hard, and whatever decision you make, I’ll support you – but you’ve read about children whose parents are – I mean, you know, right?”
And he knew he was being unfair. His stomach contracted underneath him as his mouth spilt out words, but he wanted her to know, he wanted her to understand what this decision was, because yes it’s hers, but god damnit he was part of it too, and he couldn’t let her make a decision without knowing –
She finally turned her face towards him, eyes rimmed with red, wetted nose. He fell silent.
“I’m not pregnant, Dipper.” Her voice was croaky but bitter, and he knew her well enough to know that the red in her cheeks was equal parts sadness and anger.
“…Oh,” was all he could say, because all of this suddenly didn’t make sense – and then he realised, maybe she wasn’t pregnant anymore –
He grabbed for her hand, “Mabel,” he knew he sounded desperate, “Did you take care of it on your own?”
She tensed next to him. His grip on her hand became tighter.
No. Oh no.
“Mabes,” his voice was a whisper, but she didn’t look at him.
Oh god. He would have gone with her. She knew that, didn’t she? She knew he would have?
He rubbed his thumb across her palm, “Mabes, talk to me.”
She shrunk herself into a ball, tucking her knees up into her sweater. She turned her body away from him, and if it wasn’t so silent in the room, he wouldn’t have heard her mumble into herself.
He leant in closer, “Mabel?”
She spoke softly, “I can’t have kids.”
The first thing he felt was relieved and it made him want to shoot himself. Then the words began to sink in, slowly.
I can’t have kids. Not we can’t have kids, but her, Mabel. Specifically.
The silence was deafening. In the faint light of the room he could make out the curve of her cheek.
“What?” He said finally, his voice almost as faint as hers.
.
And then she was crying, louder now, mumbling into the fabric, and between her gasps for air he made out fragments of sentences and scattered words, “can’t have kids, not the normal way, doctor says, probably not at all.”
Her crying started to get more erratic, she uncurled her arms from around herself and started gesticulating, “Look at me, I’m a mess! Blegh!”
He could make out the funny face she pulled at him, fractured smile never reaching her eyes. She hiccuped and he could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, trying to pass this whole thing off as silly – but they both know that there was no joke here; no underlying thread of comedy that Mabel could tease at.
She turned her head away from him, burying her face into her hands. The crying came back, “and, I know…and I, I know this d-doesn’t make sense because this can only be g-good for us, right? I mean, you know, us, if we want things to stay this way w-with us two –” he felt a pang of guilt – “but I can’t help – I just feel so…so gone.”
It was the way she said it that broke his heart. Because if anyone deserved kids, it was Mabel. She’d be a great mum, the best mum, full of love and kisses and too-big sweaters. She’d be the type of mum who pretended Santa was real even when the kids were all at college, the type of mum who’d let their child have pet pig even though it’s a little unsanitary.
The unfairness of it all hit him suddenly, an avalanche of feeling beating him down.
He felt her shaking next to him, heard her sniffles and gasps; and he wanted to tell her it’ll be okay, that things would work out.
But he could never lie to her.
All he could force out was a, “Mabel…” In a voice that was hoarse and choked and sounded nothing like his.
All he wanted – Christ, all he ever wanted – was to help her. But there was no helping this. She buried her face into his chest and wept.
All he could do was hold her.