It'd been two days since Agent Moore threatened Dipper with his family's life, and so far, the boy hadn't tried to pull any tricks. Dipper Pines did his every task without comment or complaint. His face was permanently slackened in a defeated gaze, and he rarely made eye-contact with anyone who came into the room. Just do as your told, he'd think to himself, and you'll be okay. No one will get hurt... You just have to wait it out... But he was beginning to think that he'd never stop waiting. He had no idea if his family and friends were safe, or if they were even in any danger. They could already be dead, for all he knew. As for Bill... Dipper tried not to look at the camera feed, but... Sometimes he'd look over, and his heart would shatter once more at the sight of him strapped to the table. Every now and then, he'd see a scientist or agent come in to run tests on him, but Dipper always refused to watch.

Adding to his sense of hopelessness was the exhaustion that came with casting so many charms and spells. He'd cast them and recast them, over and over until the people watching learned it. He could only teach two spells a day, before he would pass out from exhaustion and lack of motivation. He needed to get out. He had to. But he didn't know how...

Dipper was sitting at the cold metal table, staring at his hands on the surface. He had just finished a flame spell, and he still smelled slightly of smoke. So many spells to choose from...he could use any of them to escape. But it'd be a race against the clock, and Dipper couldn't risk the life of any one of his friends. He'd just have to wait it out....

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dipper presumed it was day three. He couldn't actually tell. It was always bright in the room he was kept in. It was the same room in which he had met Agent Moore. He didn't know how long he had slept, or even what time it was, there wasn't a clock in the room. He based it off of when he finally felt rested when he woke up. If he didn't feel refreshed from sleep, then it hadn't been a night of sleep. That's all he had to go off of. Now, though, that method wasn't working very well, because he slept often, and almost never felt fully rested. The other day, he had passed out halfway through a spell, and nearly turned the agents learning into melted human corpses. Agent Moore's punishment for him was no meals for a week. He told Dipper that he should be relieved he wasn't being punished harshly, then stormed out of the room without giving Dipper what the boy guessed counted as a meal.

They fed him a slice of stale bread and some water, once every two days, if Dipper went according to his sleep pattern. The teen was already beginning to show bone, especially in the stomach and cheeks. His hands would shake whenever he reached out for something, or went to cast a spell. He often had coughing fits that hurt his throat and chest and left him craving water to soothe his burning throat. He'd found out what the drain was for at the beginning of his captivity. Dipper wasn't allowed to leave the room, even to go to the bathroom. Every day, right before Dipper would go to bed, a small water jet would come down from the ceiling and clean the floor, which often resulted in Dipper's cloths getting wet once more. Thankfully, the agents allowed him to cast a dry spell on the journal and himself, but he couldn't find the energy to keep himself and the journal dry, so he decided to protect the journal. Wet and cold in the harsh metal room, it was miraculous that the teen didn't get sick before he did.

He shivered all the time, and was constantly sniffling and coughing. It steadily grew harder and harder for him to wake up and stay awake, and despite their indifference, the agents were beginning to worry. Maybe two weeks of nonstop spell casting did have its toll...? After brief discussion and a few heated arguments, it was decided that Dipper would have two days off, and be sent to the medical ward just to make sure he wasn't going to drop dead on them.

They moved him while he was sleeping. The boy only slightly stirred when they picked him up off the cold wet floor and set him on a gurney. They tried to take the journal from him, but it was gripped tightly in his arms, and when they tried to move, the boy eyes fluttered open for a moment before closing again. Not wanting to wake him and risk making a commotion or even an escape attempt, they let the boy keep the journal. They wheeled him down the hallways, taking extra turns and wheeling back the way they came, then turning back around, just incase he wasn't actually asleep, and was tracking their movements. When they finally reached the medical bay, Dipper was beginning to toss and turn. The agents weren't worried about him waking up now. They knew from observation that when Dipper slept like this, he was deep in a dream and wouldn't wake up for a while longer.

The agents moved Dipper from the gurney onto one of the cots in the hospital. The doctor came in with a stern look on her face.

"You'd better not be bringing that demon in here. Last time I tried to give him medicine, he..." She trailed off when she saw who was on the cot. Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't call the agents out on the seventeen year old's condition. Instead, she set to work. "Go get some food from the cafeteria. Real food, please. You can't expect this boy to get any better without some food in his system. The rest of you can go about your business." She ordered. The agents snapped to attention, then two went to the kitchen while the rest went back to whatever they had been doing before.

The doctor took Dipper's temperature, gently removing the journal from his hands. At the absence of the book, Dipper's eyes flew open and he sat up in panic, eyes wide, chest heaving as he pulled himself from his nightmare. The doctor hushed him gently, brushing the boy's hair out of his eyes, smiling encouragingly.

"You're okay, it's fine. Your journal is right here, sweetie, it's alright. I'm going to help you feel better." She said softly. Dipper furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. These people were...helping him?

"W-Why..." Dipper began, his voice breaking off into a cough. The boy swallowed painfully then narrowed his eyes at the doctor. "Why should I trust you?" He growled. The doctor frowned slightly.

"You have no reason to." She replied honestly. She leaned forward, pretending to take Dipper's temperature. She whispered in his ear and she fiddled with the thermometer. "But you trust your demon, don't you?" Then she injected him with a sedative and Dipper's eyes drifted closed. Trust... He thought as he slipped into a troubled, medicine induced, sleep. Trust...trust...trust no one...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Dipper woke up again, the room was dark, and he still felt exhausted. Not to mention he felt even worse than before. His forehead was beaded with sweat, yet he was shivering. His stomach was on the verge of eating itself, and his throat was painfully dry. He tried to sit up, but ended up coughing instead. The coughs racked his whole body, scraping up his throat and causing spots of blood to spatter onto the white, papery sheets of the cot in the medical ward. Dipper groaned slightly, a hand on his burning throat. At least it's more comfortable than the metal floor. As if to prove the point to himself, Dipper laid his head back down. The pillow wasn't soft, by any means, but it was better than what he had been sleeping on. To the right of his head, Dipper saw his journal. So she wasn't lying... Dipper realized. Suddenly, he remembered what else the doctor had said. But you trust your demon, don't you?

Dipper let out a yawn, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. What had she meant by that? Dipper pondered this as he raised a trembling hand and reached for his journal. Before he got there, someone grabbed his hand. Dipper was about to cry out when the voice hushed him and covered his mouth. Dipper froze, looking up into one golden eye, the other covered by a triangular eyepatch. Dipper felt his eyes begin to water in relief, and when Bill Cipher gave him a small smile, he couldn't help but the tear that slid down his cheek. Dipper quickly wiped it away, and Bill laughed softly. He sat down on the bed next to Dipper and helped him sit up.

"How did you escape? And where did you get your shirt back?" Dipper wondered. Bill searching Dipper's eyes for a second, debating on how to answer.

"Pine Tree, this...isn't real. You're asleep." He replied. The teen's heart sank slightly, but he didn't comment. After a moment of silence, Bill sighed and spoke again.

"Listen, Pine Tree, I need you to do something for me." He requested. Dipper raised an eyebrow as a signal to continue. "I need you to stay alive, alright? Pretty soon, Dr. Carson's going to come back in with some food for you, so you're going to wake up and I'll have to leave. But listen to me, okay? No matter what happens, and no matter what you see or hear, stay alive." He instructed. Dipper furrowed his eyebrows slightly.

"What about you?" He wondered. Bill smirked.

"Don't worry about me. I'm holding up my end of the bargain. Just...get better, okay? Get better and get ready. We have friends here, and they're going to help us out. When you hear the prison breach alarm, find Dr. Carson. She'll lead you to the rendezvous point. There, you and your family will be able to get away." He continued. Dipper opened his mouth in question and in protest, but Bill raised his hand to silence him.

"Nothing you can say or do will change anything. But you have to swear to me, Dipper Pines. Swear on everything that you will stay alive." He insisted, almost aggressive in his tone. Dipper nodded numbly, his sick mind still trying to understand and comprehend.

"I-I swear." He finally said. Bill smirked and got to his feet. He tipped his hat to the boy on the cot.

"See you around, Pine Tree." With a flash, Bill disappeared and Dipper woke up, his sheets still stained with his coughed up blood. I must have fallen asleep when reaching for the journal, he decided. There were light footfalls crossing the room, and then the light at the bedside table turned on. Dr. Carson gave Dipper a small, knowing smile, as if she had known that Bill was going to visit him in his dreams. All thoughts of what the doctor knew and didn't know left Dipper's mind when he smelled what she had in her hands. It was a bowl soup and a warm piece of bread. She set the styrofoam cup of whatever on the counter and helped her patient sit up. Once upright, Dr. Carson carefully handed Dipper the bowl of soup and a spoon. Dipper immediately got a spoonful and ate it. Within minutes, the bowl was empty and Dipper was sopping up the extras with the bread. Dr. Carson laughed slightly.

"Guess you are as hungry as you look." She remarked. Dipper handed her back the bowl, coughing into his arm as he did so. The doctor saw the blood stains on the sheet and pursed her lips. She fished around in her pocket until she brought out three throat lozenges. She let them fall into Dipper's hand.

"Here, space the use of these out, and drink lots of water. I'll be back in a little while with some cough medicine and throat coat. It should help, at least, with breathing easier. I can almost hear the congestion in your chest from here." She told him, getting to her feet again, collecting to bowl and spoon. Dipper did as he was told, popping one of the cough drops in his mouth and taking a few sips of the cold water. He almost sighed at the immediate relief, and he let himself lean against the wall and his pillow, saving his energy for whatever it was Bill was planning. A few minutes later, Dr. Carson came back with medicine. She gave some to Dipper, took his temperature, then left. Dipper sighed, looking around the room. He ground his teeth against the cough drop out of nervous habit. It was basically the parallel to chewing pens. Dipper looked over at the journal, debating on wether he should sleep or review magic. The idea of casting spells was still strange and foreign to him, even though he had been casting them for two weeks. It didn't feel like he was actually performing magic of all things. He had done incantations before, but that was a while ago, back when he entered his great uncle's mind to save the shack, the first time he had met Bill... And then again when he summoned those zombies to convince the agents...

Dipper's stomach sank. This was his fault. This was all his fault! If he hadn't convinced those two agents that the supernatural existed, they never would have reported it and gotten the government's permission to do what they were doing now! Dipper closed his eyes and put his hands on his face, his stomach churning uncomfortably. It's not like you knew what they were going to do... He told himself. At the time, he had thought that all things supernatural were bad, and dangerous. He was just desperate for someone to help him uncover all the secrets of Gravity Falls.

Still, his stomach was burning and churning. This wasn't guilt, Dipper had had enough experience with that. No, this was something different. The discomfort was rising, climbing into his throat. There was a moment of slight panic as Dipper realized what was coming. He managed to pull himself to the edge of the bed before he retched. His stomach took everything he had just eaten and threw it back up onto the floor. Dipper gagged, coughing, his throat burning. He felt miserable. He felt like giving up, like crying... The teen raised a trembling hand and picked up the cup of water. He brought it to his lips, his hand shaking badly, splashing water over the edges and onto the floor and the cot and his shirt. He only got a few sips before his unsteady hand hit the cup against his chin and sent the water pouring out onto the floor. Dipper groaned slightly, not even bothering to roll over. He collapsed, his arm hanging over the edge of the cot. He pressed his forehead against the cold metal, breathing deeply, his eyes closed.

He heard a small gasp and felt gentle hands helping him back into position on the bed. Dr. Carson had brought a rag soaked in hot water and folded it over Dipper's forehead, eyes, and nose. The boy's eyes immediately began to water at the heat, but he didn't have the energy to try and move it off. He heard the sounds of the doctor cleaning up his mess and getting him a new cup of water. Dr. Carson took the rag off of Dipper's forehead and gently began to clean his face and arms. The entire time she cleaned the boy, she whispered to him under her breath.

"You need to get better, Dipper. Your demon can't hold out much longer. He's not going to be able to wait for you. If you aren't well enough to make a get away, everything will go to waste. So, get better." She said quietly. Dipper coughed slightly, grabbing her arm.

"Why do people keep saying that?" He managed to say, though it hurt. Dr. Carson pursed her lips. "It's not like I can just order myself to..." Dipper trailed off and looked at the journal next to his bed for the third time that day. Dr. Carson seemed to read his thoughts, and she shook her head slightly.

"Dipper, even if there was a spell to make you better, you don't have the strength! Not to mention healing spells are the most powerful. Except for necromancy, of course." She explained. Dipper furrowed his eyebrows. He was going to ask how she knew so much, but just then Agent Moore came into the room, seeming irritated about something. Dr. Carson exchanged glances with Dipper before getting up and approaching the man.

"Agent Moore, is there a problem?" She wondered. The agent rubbed the bridge of his nose between two fingers, taking a deep breath.

"The demon has...locked himself up, shall we say. He's got some spell around him that won't let us get any closer to him. He demanded that..." Agent Moore trailed off for a moment, looking over at Dipper. "He demanded that Dipper Pines be kept from performing magic at all costs. And to insure that..." The agent brought out a small pill like object and handed it to Dr. Carson. She furrowed her eyebrows.

"But why would Cipher not want Dipper to use magic? I thought he'd support the idea." She wondered. Agent Moore sighed.

"I did too. But according to the monster, the use of magic at only seventeen can be lethal, which is why he was getting so tired so easily. His demon seems to care a lot about him. Usually, I wouldn't care, but if we're going to learn anything about the supernatural, we have to hold up our end of the bargain. Cipher says this pill will brand him with a powerful spell, making it impossible for him to use magic until he is eighteen years old." He explained, sounding annoyed at Bill's stubborn attitude. Dr. Carson looked at the pill, at Dipper, then back again. The teen was only half able to listen, slipping in and out of consciousness.

"Will it take away the side-effects of the spell casting he's done in the past two weeks?" She inquired. Agent Moore shrugged.

"So says the demon." Was his response. Dr. Carson pursed her lips and walked over to Dipper. She helped him into a sitting position, and handed him the cup of water. Not exactly knowing what was going on, Dipper took a sip, and before he could swallow, Dr. Carson popped the pill into his mouth. Dipper swallowed out of shock, and the minute he did so, there was intense pain in his arm. Dipper cried out, clutching the burning arm to his stomach in a vain attempt to dull the pain. He didn't have much time to try and figure out what was hurting more, his head or his arm, before all the pain disappeared and Dipper fell back onto his pillow, breathing heavily. He looked down on his right arm and saw dark marks, like a tattoo, in the shape of a sign he knew all too well. The Cipher Wheel from Bill's page in the journal had been branded into his arm. Dipper looked at Dr. Carson, confused. The doctor handed him the journal.

"Here, try casting a spell." She instructed. Dipper took the book, surprised that his hands were shaking anymore. In fact, he was already feeling better. He still felt sick, of course, but he wasn't so exhausted that he couldn't function. Dipper flipped open Journal 3, his stomach fluttering slightly when he passed over the page where Bill gave him the new cipher. He located an easy looking spell and started the incantation, only... He couldn't. Any time he went to start the spell, no noise would come out of his mouth. It was as if something was in the back of his throat, closing his wind pipe every time he attempted to say an incantation. After a few more attempts, Dipper closed the book angrily, putting his hands over his face in frustration.

"Dammit, Cipher, what are you doing?" He growled under his breath before breaking off into a cough. Dr. Carson offered him water, but he just shook his head, lying back in irritation at his predicament. Just when he had started to feel like he could actually do something...

"If that's it, I think I'll be getting back to work." Agent Moore said with an air of boredom in his voice. Then he left the room. Dr. Carson looked at Dipper, a concerned look on her face.

"Dipper, whatever he's up to, your demon has a reason for..." Dipper cut her off.

"Stop calling him that. He's not mine, he's his own being. Also, I don't care what he's up to. If he wanted me to be safe, he could have told me from the beginning that you people were after him." The teen snapped, irritated that Bill's over protectiveness had rendered him useless. Dr. Carson seemed slightly hurt at being lumped in with 'you people' but she didn't comment. Instead, she just handed Dipper another handful of cough drops and left to go to her office in the back of the medical ward.

Dipper examined the mark on his arm, unable to keep his mind from wandering back to when he walked in on Bill cutting himself with the knife, simply because he thought it felt weird. Dipper smiled slightly at the demon's child like excitement for all things human.  Next time I'll just go ahead and carve my name in you, then. Whatdya think, Pine Tree? Property of Bill Cipher? Dipper recalled what Bill had said to him, and couldn't help but feel that this was basically the same thing. Dipper smirked, rubbing a hand over the mark on his arm. Tiredness won over and Dipper yawned, laying down, closing his eyes, his anger at Bill turning into something that could have qualified as appreciation. My demon... For some reason, the thought wasn't as unappealing as it had been. Dipper smiled and slipped into sleep...