Wayfarer [Bill Cipher x Reader] [REVISED]

Chapter Twenty: Sedated

After that, you and Bill hadn't bothered to stick around. The two of you snuck out to the car and fished the contact lenses case out of the trunk. Then, you slipped back into the room. You locked up and slid a chair under the door handle, per the movies, and Bill had hurried over to adjust it, jamming it up at an angle.

"What? Works better this way," he said when you gave him a quizzical look. "Don't ask me how I know."

Well, it did seem like the door was wedged more firmly in place once he'd done that, so you took his word on it. Still, you couldn't help but arrange the pillows into a human-like shape under the covers before setting up a sleeping bag on the floor, far, far away from the window and the door. You weren't taking any risks.

You awoke the next day with a heavy, dull brain and a stiff, aching back. God, had you taken forever to fall asleep on that hard, unforgiving floor!

The two of you ate breakfast in silence, allowing a few hasty handfuls of dried fruit and some granola bars to substitute for a full meal. You didn't want to run the risk of finding out exactly how Jane was going to try and make you eat this time around. Then, shoving your stuff back into your bags, you cleared out the room, put the room key on the welcome mat, and headed for the exit.

When you got there, though, Don was standing right outside the door. His craggy face, lit by the morning sun, seemed almost to leer at you as you came to a screeching halt. "Why, hello there! You two seem to be in an awfully big hurry. What's the rush?"

"Oh—well—we—um—" you sputtered. "We're, ah, leaving..." You mentally smacked yourself. Don't tell him your plans, idiot!

"Already?" he asked. "Why, it's only seven in the morning. Surely you're not in any sort of rush to get anywhere. Why don't you two stick around for breakfast, at least? I'm sure you younguns are hungry."

"Already ate," Bill replied. He stared Don down. "Ain't in the mood."

"Well, I can't imagine that the processed whatever the two of you probably ate up in your room amounted to anything near a decent breakfast," Don replied. "It'd be a shame for you to go out on the road without a nice, hot breakfast in you. C'mon, let's go down to the diner to get you some. My treat."

"Oh, no, we're fine," you said. "I mean, it's too much to ask of you to buy us breakfast. We wouldn't want to impose."

"Aw, shucks, you aren't imposing on me! I just like to be hospitable to my guests, that's all," Don replied. A strange gleam came into his eyes as he clamped his arms around your and Bill's shoulders. "Come along, now. There are some delicious scrambled eggs calling your names at the Walker Café."

His hands squeezed your arms like vices. Slowly, but surely, he began to push the two of you out the door.

Ten minutes later, you, Bill, and Don sat crammed together on one side of a booth in the diner. To your left slouched Bill, his mouth drawn taut. To your right, forming a solid, plaid-clad wall plugging up your escape route, sat Don. His smile did not waver as he looked at the two of you, eyes twinkling with a bizarre light. In front of the three of you sat two plates piled high with eggs, sausage, hash browns, and pancakes.

"Well?" Don asked. "What are you two waiting for? Dig in!"

Neither one of you gave a reply. You sat rigidly and stared down at the tabletop, where a slight smear of ketchup remained. Huh. Jane must have missed that.

Don cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. The burnished silver of the knife and fork clutched in his hands gleamed, shining with the cold light of scalpels. Why was he holding those again? "Breakfast isn't going to eat itself, you know." He gave a chuckle. "C'mon, have a bite. It's delicious!"