Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There's a popular phrase repeated time and time again that everything happens for a reason, that all that we have lived through ultimately contributes to our destiny. Stan had never bought that kind of lie.

The long nights spent in the dark, cold lab, where the only sources of light were the numerous computer screens, were starting to get to him. His eyes burned long into the next day, and the chill would seep into his bones and cling there. But the true object of his frustrations was himself. His brother’s notes and college textbooks could only take him so far. Nothing concrete to figure out how to work the damn machine.

And that was because despite what the legal documents may say, he was Stanley Pines: a failure of a student, a failure of a son, and, most damningly, a failure of a brother. It was almost three years to one of the worst days of his life, probably the worst day of his life (and trust him or not, he had a lot of those in his 30 plus years of living), and he had barely anything worthwhile to show for all his efforts.

Sure: the Murder Hut was a certified tourist trap, if not one of the best in these parts of Oregon if he did say so himself, that raked in enough cash and then some to keep himself afloat and continue work on the machine. But learning scientific theories and re-engineering a one-of-a-kind technology? He was slowly but surely reaching a dead end.

Plus, his paranoid, genius twin had to add all of these weird codes and ciphers to create equations that didn’t even exist! Sure, it was a mark of how amazing and accomplished his brother was that he was leagues ahead of the scientific community, but that didn’t really help Stan. Especially when the rest of his brother’s notes, probably kept in the other journals knowing him, were hidden from whatever monster had Ford jumping at shadows in their last meeting. Just Stan’s luck that he was given the bare minimum to work with.

So, here he was: standing in the middle of his brother’s- his kitchen drinking stale coffee from the pot he brewed the previous day. All the lights were off, but that was ok. The sun was coming up soon enough. Saved on the electricity bill.

It was the dead of winter, and in this area of Oregon, that meant that the ground was covered with snow practically the entire season. Having been raised in a more mild state, Stan couldn’t say he was too fond of it, but hey, he’s been around the country and then some. There were worse places to be. If nothing else, Stan adapted and survived. Like a practically annoying cockroach that you swore would have died after you dosed it with a can of Raid and watched it pathetically twitch its limbs on its back from where you stepped on it. Stan always survived after being squashed. Didn’t mean his back liked having to clear the driveway every other day. The local boys knew better than to shovel for him after he scammed them with “Stan Bucks”.

A few flurries were drifting along outside, buoyed up by the wind as they found their way to the shack’s window. Stan watched as they bunched together and frosted over the panes. He shuffled over close enough to exhale out of his mouth to cloud the window. He mindlessly scribbled, an activity he’d always do when he was still a kid and shared a room with Ford. They’d always wake up earlier than anyone in the house when it snowed, and to entertain themselves, they’d draw horrible caricatures of boardwalk regulars, muffling their giggling as best they could. What Stan wouldn’t give to be that dumb little kid again.

He tugged himself out of that line of thinking, almost instinctual at this point, or else he’d spiral for hours and waste time. Those kinds of thoughts were reserved for nights when he would drink the expired apple cider in the back of the fridge. His finger seemed to have a mind of itself as his own mind ran away with itself, drawing a weird little one-eyed triangle with a…top hat and bow tie?
Stan squinted at it. Now why the hell did he draw that? He certainly didn’t make that up on his own.

Oh, now he remembered. It was a recurring motif throughout the house: some of the rugs, wall decor, etc. The triangle cyclops was in all of them. Ford must have got involved in some weird cult when he moved here. It would make his behavior and projects make sense, at least. Ford, for all his smarts, was an impressionable guy. Why Stan made it dress like Mr. Peanut, he didn’t know.

It was a creepy thing to be sure, though. He felt watched in its presence.

“Whaddya think I should do now?” Stan asked the rapidly melting triangle, its pupil dripping out of the lines for the eye and the eyelashes smearing as if it were crying. Damn, he must be more exhausted than he thought if he were talking to himself.

He looked out the window, where the last star in the morning sky winked back at him. Wish upon a star, right? None of his wishes ever came true, but what the heck. He focused on a more selfish desire that had been brewing for a while. Stan wished he wasn’t alone in this big, creaking, cold house. That he had someone to bounce ideas off of. That he just…had someone. He wasn’t sure if he deserved that, after everything.

Not even a moment later, a distinct sound of a thud came from the porch outside, making him jump in alarm. That…was definitely a coincidence, right? Yeah. Duh.

Now, at this point, Stan had gotten used to the less-than-typical noises that accompanied Gravity Falls (as most people did), but this sounded too close to the house for comfort. The gross little bearded men were the only things that would try their luck and rifle through his trash, but they made more pitter patter and scratching sounds. This sounded bigger.

Grumbling to himself, Stan set down his coffee and went to grab a flashlight and baseball bat from the rack. Can never know for sure what you could run into out there. Could be a racoon. Could be Moth Man. Or some other weird third thing, like Crazy Man McGucket.

Stan steeled himself as he opened the door a crack, peeking out to scope the scene. A bunch of snow had already covered the porch due to the wind direction last night, so it was very easy to see the source of the noise amongst all the white.

There, crumbled on the edge of the porch, half-sprawled on the steps, was some sort of...body? Stan slowly approached with his bat raised, cautious of this mysterious person. While they were laying face down, they were clearly human-looking, but the darkness and his lack of clear vision made any features unidentifiable. He knew better to assume that they were not a threat despite how pathetic they appeared.

When he got in range, Stan flashed his light at the…man? and used the tip of his bat to prod at them.

“Hey buddy, you’re trespassing on private property, so scram so I don’t gotta call the police.” Not that Stan would ever call law enforcement but it’s not as if this person would know that.

The person groaned and muttered something he didn’t catch, but didn’t do much else. Maybe they couldn’t.

But now that he was closer, he could see that they were only covered in what looked like a triangular cloak, with a hood covering the back of their head. It was a deep yellow with black symbols embroidered on it, some of which looked strangely familiar. Stan squinted and got a bit closer to get a better look, focusing the flashlight on their back.

Immediately he was met with that fucking creepy ass eye, the same one from the triangles in the house. It was the first thing his flashlight illuminated, and he almost backed up from the sight of it before catching himself. What the hell was he so scared of? He faced much worse than the triangle on the back of the one-dollar bill. The eye was surrounded by a circle of symbols, and not just any symbols, but the same kind of lettering from some of his brother’s codes in his journal!

Stan was suddenly derailed from his thoughts as he felt something clasp around his ankle, letting out an involuntary yelp. He quickly looked down and pointed his light at the offending touch only to be met with a piercing blue eye staring straight up at him.

Fuck, they woke up.

Now that their face was more exposed, tilted up to look at him, Stan could see a lot more of them. They were most likely a guy from what he could tell: a somewhat soft jaw that ended in a sharp chin, a thin nose that was slightly upturned at the end that had a patch of lighter skin cross horizontally over the bridge, and golden hair that was smattered against the forehead. All these details registered in the back of his mind, but all Stan could do was maintain eye contact with that one eye. There was a wild, confused look that reminded him of a desperate animal, unsure of its safety and vulnerable. He’d seen that look enough in prison to recognize it. The other eye remained shut.

“St-“

The person coughed as soon as he started speaking, a raw sound that rattled even Stan’s lungs. Feeling a bit of pity for the guy, Stan dropped his bat and removed the hand from his boot. He set his flashlight down so he could continue to see, and slowly gripped the man by his shoulders to move him into a sitting position. He was wearing nothing else under the cloak.

The blonde’s hands clasped each of Stan’s wrists in a silent plea to keep him upright. He was surprisingly light and predictably cold.

“Now how the hell did you end up here?” Stan asked aloud, not really expecting a response but unable to hold the question for later. The stranger made a motion as if to shrug, but it was jerky, looking more like a spasm attack. His right eye was still locked onto Stan’s face, as if he could burn a hole through him and look inside.

“W-whe-re…is he-re?” He asked, the words coming in choppy syllables barely put together. His lips moved too much.

Stan eyed him carefully. “Welcome to Gravity Falls, Goldilocks. One of the oddest towns to be stuck in. Guess you fit the bill for being a whack job, though, so you won’t stand out.”

A hysterical whimpery laugh spilled out from the man as his face contorted between several emotions: resignation, amusement, anger, and fear. Primal fear that made him shake and nearly collapse, but Stan steadied him.

“Of course…” the first clear words he had spoken so far. Then his eye rolled back and he was out of it again. Stan cursed, freeing a hand to smack the guy’s face to wake him up, but no dice.

Stan realized that he could either bring this rando inside or just leave him here. That could get messy. The guy was clearly not gonna move and the winter chill would kill him. On top of that, the guy was wearing the same symbols Ford drew in the journal. The two might be connected, so he couldn’t pass up this opportunity. But that meant taking on another responsibility. Great. At least he didn’t have to worry about doing any tours for a while in the off-season.

Stan managed to drape the unconscious stranger over his shoulder once he was securely wrapped with that mysterious cloak that Stan was definitely gonna interrogate him about later. He then quickly shined his flashlight out past the porch to see if there was anything else out there. From what he could see, there was some displaced snow coming out from the birch trees surrounding the shack and coming all the way to the porch. Did the guy drag himself here? Why? Mind made up to check that out later, Stan went back inside with the blonde in-tow.

The guy might have hypothermia or something if he had been out for long, so Stan drew upon the infinite wisdom and tricks he had learned from when he hid from the sheriff’s department in Minnesota during the dead of winter years ago. He was gonna give the guy a bath. The blankets were too cold in the house.

And by bath he meant chuck the poor schmuck in a tub of lukewarm water and hope he woke up. Sure, it’d be easy to hide a body out here no problem but Stan needed this guy alive and brain functional in order to tell him about those symbols. Did this count as kidnapping? Eh, the dude was practically gifted to him! If not, then he should have mysteriously appeared in someone else’s backyard.

The golden-haired man seemed to shiver more once submerged, shawl and all, but Stan took it as a good sign. Meant his body was still alive and whatnot.

Stan propped the guy up so that his back leaned against the tub to keep him from slipping and took the time to observe his face. What might have once been a semi-decent looking person was now haggard, pale, and gaunt. Clearly the guy had been through the wringer. Once again relying on his flashlight, Stan decided to check his eyes to make sure that he didn’t have a concussion or something from face-planting on the wooden porch. He needed that head to work.

The first eye, the one that had opened before, reacted. That blue iris was just as bright as before, and it reminded Stan of the fluorescent light from bar signs. Thoroughly unnerved, he went to open the eyelid of the second eye, he couldn’t feel anything behind it. And when he peeled the two lids apart, his suspicions were confirmed: this guy was missing an eye.

The sensation of having his eye socket exposed must have jolted the mystery man awake, as he immediately tried to scramble away from Stan, splashing a wave of water onto the tiles.

“Shit-cut it out! I don’t need you flooding the floor. Plus warm water costs an arm and a leg in the winter, ya know!”

Clearly the guy didn’t care about finances as he tried to get up and grip the sides of the tub to stand, but nearly slipped. Once again, Stan had to quickly hold him steady, with the man flailing in his grip like a hooked fish. Gross: now he was wet and disturbed. Not a fun combo.

“I SAID FUCKIN’ CUT IT OUT,” Stan finally roared, the long sleepless nights, hours spent uselessly on equations, and the ever-growing dread that filled his chest finding an outlet. He shook the man harshly, his body flopping about as if he was spineless. But Stan’s yelling seemed to have broken him out of his frantic episode. His body stilled.

Stan took a deep breath to get a better handle on himself. Everything was okay. He was okay. He’d been in worse messes and turned out fine.

“Just…just sit here, ok? Can you do that?” Stan made eye-contact with the man even though he didn’t want to, who was watching him cautiously. Damn, he spoke English right? Stan could have sworn he did. But then the blonde nodded slowly, and Stan let go.

“Ok,” Stan replied, moving away from the tub. “Ok uh…you can feel everything, right? Wiggle your toes and ears? And fingers actually, forget the ears.”

The stranger looked lost for a moment before glancing down at his body, as if he had forgotten that it was a part of him. He stared at his foot as he raised it out of the water. None of the toes were black or a weird color, so Stan figured they weren’t rotted.

“Yeah, that’s your foot. Real interesting. Move your toes up and down if you can.”

The man looked distressed at the instructions and jerkily moved the big toe. It was like every movement he did surprised him. After doing the same to the other foot, he then inspected his hands, flipping the palms up and down and flexing his long fingers. The nails were slightly sharp looking.

“Great, you pass. No frostbite, yippee skippee,” Stan muttered, getting up to grab a towel to hide the man’s nakedness once he got out. The cloak was drenched, floating around in the tub, so that was out. He’d have to dig out a smaller pair of pants and a t-shirt for the dude to wear.

As Stan was musing this from the towel rack, he heard a loud splash that could have only been caused by his lovely guest. He immediately whirled around only to see that the man had dunked his head completely under water.

Stan groaned and walked over, thoroughly frustrated: just his luck to be stuck with a suicidal maniac. He grabbed the man’s hair and pulled his face up for air. The blonde gargled on the water in his mouth and swallowed noisily, before glaring up at Stan as if he did nothing wrong and that Stan was the weird one.

“Hey what’s the look for, psycho? I get you may wanna kill yourself, but don’t do it in my bathtub. I’ll have to get a new one.” Stan rethought that. “Ok no I won’t; I’ll just be slightly disturbed every time I bathe.”

The stranger licked his lips. “Wa’tr…” He looked yearningly at the water that was rapidly turning murky the longer it was in use. It then clicked for Stan.

“You’re thirsty? Sweet Sally, I’ll get you a cup. Don’t drink the tub water. Or do; hell if I care anymore.”

Moments later, the man had gulped down about three cups of water out of Stan’s cup that was used to hold his toothbrush. Stan refilled it with sink water before handing it back.

“Keep shooting it like a shot and you’ll throw up like it’s one too,” Stan warned as he returned it, but his words fell on deaf ears as the liquid was rapidly poured down the man’s throat. It seemed to finally quench him, though, as he dropped it on the floor and leaned against the tub, burping. Stan rolled his eyes and kicked the cup away. Everything that happened to him in this oddball town felt like a curse. Bottom of the barrel for Stanley!

Once he felt like he sulked enough as he stared at the black bathroom grout (should he clean that?…nah), Stan looked up to, once again, locking eyes with his houseguest. Now that his needs were met and had been “treated”, the blue eye that was once so unhinged and spooky was now just…an eye. Like a human was actually looking back at him, for once.

“Big on eye-contact, aren’t cha?” Stan quipped, dragging over a small wooden stool from the corner and settling it not far from the tub before sitting on it. “Alright, pal, what’s your name and what’s your deal? What were you doing on my porch?”

The man once again tried to speak, but only a wheezing noise came out. Blatantly frustrated, he harshly coughed which then triggered a fit that wracked his body. Stan just watched, ignoring the urge to just give him a hard slap on the back and get whatever was caught in his throat out. Thankfully, the coughing subsided after a bit and the blonde was able to clear his throat.

“I don’t know…” came a gravely response, making him sound older than he appeared. “I only re-remember seeing you out there...”

Stan stared as the man rubbed his throat. “You have to know more than that! You dragged yourself outta the forest to here for a better reason than that, didn’t you?”

The empty look he received only increased Stan’s agitation. The one lead he had and it was looking like a dud.

“Whaddabout Stanford Pines, huh?! Did you know him?!” Stan was on his knees grasping the edge of the tub, eyes pleading at the stranger, who looked only more awkward.

He gave an odd shrug: one shoulder rising and falling one after the other like a wave. Stan groaned, before the yellow fabric still sitting in the tub gave him an idea. He yanked it out, completely disregarding any semblance of modesty, and raised it to the wet man.

“These symbols, please,” the rarely-uttered word now fell so easily from his tongue. “Can you read them? Understand them?”

The blonde hesitantly grasped the offered cloth and held it taut to see the full message. He furrowed his eyebrows in a way that gave him way more wrinkles than it should have. Just as Stan was about to give up hope, he spoke:

"Learn lest the same fate will befall. Change is the hardest trial of all."

Both were silent for a moment.

“What kind of lame gimmick is this?” The stranger asked with disgust, putting down fabric.

Stan bursted into cheers.

“YES,” he crowed, springing up and knocking the stool over in his excitement. “THANK PAUL BUNYON YOU CAN REALLY READ IT,” Stan beamed at his lucky-ticket, who was caught off guard by the outburst. “You, my friend, are the best thing that’s happened to me.”

The man blinked one eye owlishly. “That’s pretty pathetic.”

“Our meeting was destiny,” Stan spoke over him and turned up the charm, fixing the stool and sitting back down on it, but scooching closer to the tub. He grinned, putting his best salesman persona on. “I think that this will be the start of a beautiful relationship. I’m Stan Pines, your savior.” He gestured to himself grandly, drawing a derisive snort from the tub’s resident. “And I’m guessing since you can’t remember much, you don’t know who YOU are, huh buddy?”

The man huffed and looked away. “You seem too happy about all this,” he hissed. “And I happen to know a lot of things.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Stan was quick to reassure him. “You must be a really smart guy if you can read those symbols. A genius, I bet!”

Stan didn’t miss the way the amnesiac’s lips upturned at the word “genius” before he smothered it. Bingo was his name-o.

“Hear me out,” Stan used a finger to tilt the man’s face back to look at him. “You don’t have a place in the world, and the world is a cold, dark place, as you know. And I have a nice, warm place in the world. So let’s scratch each other’s backs: I let you shack up with me, and you help me with those symbols. Course you’ll have to earn your keep, but you don’t gotta worry about that right now. Pretty good deal on your end, I’d say.”

So he’s scamming the guy. What else is new?

The man narrowed his eye at Stan. “You and I have pretty different views of what constitutes a ‘good deal’, you psycho.”

“Oh, come on! I’m a generous guy,” Stan laughed it off. Ok, so not as desperate as he’d thought, but that’s ok! The guy literally had no other options; what else could he do?

“I should call the police,” the man snapped. “I bet they wouldn’t trust a conman like you.” Ah, a bluff. How cute.

Stan gave him a twisted, gloating grin. “Go right ahead. Call them. I’ll give you the phone right now. Because kidnappers obviously treat their victims and let them make phone calls. You’d get nowhere with that report, and you wouldn’t have a place to stay unless you like a jail cell, because I will get you for trespassing on private property. Just try it, buck-o.”

Stan must have sounded pretty confident in the strength of his defense because the scrawny, water-logged man deflated.

“I hate you,” he hissed, the venom in every word making Stan believe it.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll come around. We have plenty of time.”

A stream of muttered curses spilled from the man’s lips, but he contemplated Stan’s words and he glared down at the tepid bath water.

“So?”

The blonde sighed defeatedly, looking back up at Stan. “Fine, It’s a deal.” Stan held out a hand to him, and after a moment, the tub’s occupant grasped the offered appendage awkwardly with his own and shook it. They both held on for a long moment before Stan took the initiative and let go.

“Well,” he clapped his hands together. “Now that that’s all settled, I’m gonna get out of here and leave you to it. Because you’re basically bathing naked, and I don’t wanna see any more than I already have.”

His new roommate, who had been oddly staring at his own hand he had used to shake Stan’s, quickly snapped to awareness and tried to use his cloak to cover himself.

“Yeah, this ain’t a free show,” he sneered, an embarrassed flush warming his face. “Beat it, you pervert.”

Stan snorted and made his way out of the bathroom. “Buddy you don’t have anything worth looking at.”

The sounds of water, and a lot of it, splashing against the tiles right after he left came across as vindictive. What an asshole.

Chapter Text

Stan meandered down the stairs from the attic where the kids were being housed for the summer, head clouded with old insecurities brought up to the surface. He made his way to the living room. Maybe one of the crappy knock-off TV shows that only seemed to run on Gravity Falls’ network would distract him.

However, when he came into the room, someone else was already sitting in the chair with the “Black-and-White-Period-Piece-Old-Lady-Boring-Movie-Channel” playing.

His pushed-back golden hair now slowly fading to white, a short goatee curling off his chin, and an eyepatch covering his bad “eye”, Bill sipped from his glass of “wine” (now substituted for grape juice. If Stan had to drink Pitt Cola instead of beer, then Bill also had to suffer), comfy in his robe as he lounged back in the recliner. He was watching “Ego and Bias” with a smirk.

“You snooze, you lose, Bruiser. Now you lost your chair AND movie choice privileges. What took you so long anyways?”

After he glanced up to look at his partner, though, his tone lost some levity.

“Something eatin’ at you? Besides the usual brain worms chewing your hippocampus.” Bill raised himself up and perched on the arm of the chair. Stan slipped into the seat, sitting with a groan. Bill placed his feet on Stan’s lap as he looked down at him, questioningly.

Stan sighed heavily, dragging a hand across his face while the other squeezed Bill’s thigh. “The kids asked a magic eight ball if they should run away and report us to the Feds.”

After a second, Bill bursted into one of his high-pitched, grating giggles that always sounded menacing even in the most benign situations.

Stan scowled, squeezing the thigh tighter. “Yeah, laugh it up, Goldilocks! They woulda done it, too, if that stupid piece of plastic said so! You know how much trouble we’d be in if that happened?!”

“Oh please,” Bill caught his breath, slightly wheezing a bit. Strong reactions still caught his body off-guard for some reason. “As if the government would believe the words of two twelve year olds, even with YOUR horrendous background.”

“Hey, don’t forget about yours, too! Over half the crimes I pulled, you were right there cheering me on!”

“And I’m not the one banned from nearly half the country.”

Stan huffed and avoided eye-contact by focusing on the movie. Bill grasped Stan’s chin and stroked it teasingly. “Come on, Big Guy,” he cooed. “Dip N’ Dops and Mabel-leaf will warm up before you know it! It’s hard to go from nice, suburban California to middle-of-nowhere, rundown Oregon with a wacky old man and his charming, talented, and amazing business partner in the woods.”

Snorting at Bill’s attempt at being “comforting”, Stan tugged at Bill’s legs and slid him into his lap. Bill let himself be maneuvered, looking quite comfortable in his new seat as he slid his hand down Stan’s wife-beater and started raking his fingers through the thick silver chest hairs.

They sat together with only Beth’s proclamations that she would never marry Mr. Marcy filling the room from the TV.

“I just…I haven’t lived with my family in a while. A LONG while. And these kids keep makin’ me think of the old days…” Stan cleared his throat. “Kinda pathetic for an old man like me to be sayin’ all that though, right?” He chuckled. “If they knew the truth-”

“-Then they’d realize how mushy the inside of their grunkle is,” Bill cut in, yanking at Stan’s chest hair, making the other man hiss. “How he had spent thirty years of his life trying to save his brother. And even let some John Doe he found in the woods live with him for over two decades to crack the code to the world’s most advanced machine to exist.”

Bill sat up abruptly and wiggled his fingers as he spoke in his “mystical” voice. “Wait a minute! I’m receiving a vision from the stars-”

“Oh don’t you start-”

“-and their shining light has illuminated to me that your grand niece and nephew are gonna be the key to unlocking your happiness!” Bill spoke over Stan’s groan. “ Aside from your wonderful partner William Birch, of course.”

“Save the flowery words for your performances,” Stan scoffed, but Bill could tell from his rapid-fire blinking that it got to him. “...you really mean it?”

Bill extended his pinky. “Promise, Stanley.”

They linked their smallest fingers and pressed their thumbs together.

~

“It’ll be a good summer,” Stan mused later in bed, after they had done their routine checkups in the basement since there was little to do without the other journals. It was infuriating that they still hadn’t found them, no matter how much they inspected the woods. Bill was tucked beside him, head cushioned on Stan’s chest. “Just gotta keep ‘em away from the creepy crawlies.”

“It’ll be hard going into town, then,” Bill mused, eye fluttering closed.

“...I meant the magical forest people, Bill, not the human people.”

“And yet they can be just as disturbing and creepy,” Bill argued. “Name ONE forest creature more horrifying in appearance than Toby Determined.”

“...okay you got me.” Stan then shifted back to his original point. “Look, they’re not used to Gravity Falls, and they’re only here for a couple of months. Don’t wanna shake up their fragile little brains.”

“Could leak right outta their ears, yeah.”

“I don’t want them to get hurt,” Stan insisted. “It’ll be better if they don’t know or don’t believe in anything.”

“Oh please, they’re Pines! That means they’re gonna end up in trouble no matter what, either by looking for it or having it find them.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Stan groaned.

Bill snorted in amusement. “You know what? You’re right, Slick. It’ll be a good summer.”

Chapter Text

Living with another person was something Stan wasn’t used to. At least, not for a very long time. Bill didn’t seem used to living with someone, either.

Well, Bill didn’t seem used to living, period.

They had discovered his name after a couple of days when Bill had been nosing around the gift shop and fiddling with the cash register. Before Stan could shoo him away from his precious earnings, the bottom drawer opened and exposed what little cash Stan had stashed in there. He should have hoarded it away early but eh. No one really robbed each other in this town and the gnomes were more likely to filch an apple core. He’d set up a hidden safe at some point in the future.

“Alright, backup Cyclops. That’s enough playin’ around with my shit,” Stan sighed, tired of having to watch the amnesiac stumble around like a toddler so he didn’t fall on his face. He went to grab the money, but the blonde with surprising dexterity snatched a one-dollar-bill from the compartment. He stared at the backside with such intensity, like it would tell him the mysteries of life.

Stan cleared his throat. “Um, something caught your eye? It’s just a dollar bill.”

The man jolted, as if coming back to reality. “Yeah,” he replied, sounding like he had a revelation. “That sounds familiar.”

“Huh? Dollar bill?”

“No, you moronic dolt: ‘Bill’.”

“Oh, so you think it’s your name?” Stan pieced together. “No last name?”

“Not at the moment,” the ma-Bill grumbled as Stan ripped the buck from his claw-like fingers and returned it to the rest of his stash.

Stan could understand why Bill was so frustrated. They had already checked with the police to see if there were any records of a missing or wanted person with his description. And by that Stan meant that he had broken into their headquarters while Bill radioed him on a walky-talky from the car if anyone was coming. Too risky to legally file a report if the guy had a warrant out on him or something. Then Stan would lose his only lead to reading the ciphers. But there were no matches in the records, even at the state level. For all intents and purposes, Bill was a John Doe.

So, they were stuck as roommates for the moment. Stan had offered, after all, as long as Bill helped him with the journal. But before they started, Stan let Bill rest under the guise of recuperating for a couple of days to get a better understanding of who he was working with.

When Stan retraced Bill’s trail through the snow that first morning, he had found himself in a small clearing that he hadn’t even realized existed so far behind the shack. The bare trees loomed threateningly over the Earth, as if trying to shield the sky from looking upon the ground. Did Bill just…appear? Even with the town’s oddities, Stan found that hard to believe. But he kept a close eye on the blonde.

He knew better than to assume that Bill was harmless: despite his lack of memories, the man had a vicious tongue that could turn as sweet as honey at the drop of a hat. And Bill loved to fight with him. Well, only verbally because Stan would absolutely beat him physically. There was a rage in Bill that would flare up at the slightest provocation.

Just the other night, he and Bill had gotten into an argument about whether Bill was allowed outside alone. Obviously, Stan said no. The guy kept tripping over his own two feet. Bill hadn’t liked that answer and made his feelings very clear by cutting the blinds with a pair of scissors. Then thirty minutes later, the guy was simpering in his ear about wouldn’t it be nice if Stan let Bill take a joyride into town, come on now Stan~.

Stan had been sweet-talked only to have the rug pulled out from under him enough in his life to learn how to spot a fellow con man, so Bill’s little jabs and flattery didn’t get to him, which in turn annoyed Bill. But Stan knew that there was something deeper about him that upset Bill. If he moved too fast sometimes, Bill would flinch away, as if to flee. When Bill thought he wasn’t looking, he’d stare at Stan’s face with an odd intensity. Bill was specifically wary of him, for some reason. If that meant Bill wouldn’t try to seriously mess with him, though, he’d take it.

But it wasn’t Bill’s combative behavior that bothered Stan. Well, yeah, it was annoying to deal with, but he had dealt with hardened criminals in Colombian jail before. What really unnerved him was how Bill seemed to not only have forgotten his memories, but also how to live as a human.

There were smaller eccentricities. The way he’d show too much of his gums when he’d smile. His heavy breathing through his mouth. Blinking only when his eye would get dry from staring. Speaking with exaggerated lip movements.

It was more obvious when watching Bill perform everyday tasks. It was like a baby performing its developmental milestones for the first time, only the baby was a boney twenty-something year old man. If Bill wanted to go somewhere, he’d pause for a few seconds and look annoyed that he wasn’t already at his destination. Then he’d take these lumbering, uneven steps, as if forgetting that he had to support the weight on his feet each time he stepped forward, constantly tripping himself. He didn’t even realize when he needed to take a piss! Now THAT had been an awkward how-to.

Sleeping also didn’t come naturally to Bill. Stan had cleared one of the storage rooms and gotten the guy an air mattress for the time being. The guy would stare straight up at the ceiling for hours flat on his back, barely blinking the couple of times Stan had peaked in. Maybe he was some sort of insomniac?

The more worrying behaviors were more violent.

It had been their first ever meal together a couple hours after they met: breakfast. Stan whipped up a pan of scrambled eggs and toast from the ass-pieces of loaf bread. He then tossed the two dishes onto the table with the cutlery.

“Breakfast. Bone apple teeth or whatever.”

Stan dug right in, finally filling his stomach with something that wasn’t a microwaveable hot pocket that would be stretched till dinner.

SCREEECH

Stan nearly knocked over his glass of (almost expired) milk at the hair-raising noise, looking up to see Bill scraping his fork across the plate, holding the utensil in a clumsy fist as he attempted to stab a piece of egg.

Stan instinctively covered his ears at the sound. “Hey, hey, what’s the big idea, huh?!”

“Hm?” The guy had the nerve to look innocent yet amused by Stan’s pain.

“Stop messin’ around and just eat,” Stan snapped. “It’s the ass-crack of dawn, and my day has already been long enough.”

“Wow, it’s almost as if that was what I was TRYING to do in the first place!” Bill waved the fork over the plate. “Don’t knock my methods, Dumbo.”

“Keep callin’ me that and I’ll knock YOU,” Stan grumbled and went back to eating, but kept an eye on Bill. It was almost exhausting to watch the guy eat. Half the time, the egg fell right before Bill could put it in his mouth, making him glare at it hatefully before flattening it in revenge. That was all Bill’s fault, though. His movements were too jerky and wobbly to hold anything for long.

The toast was the only thing he could successfully eat, but even then, Bill had difficulty. He didn’t know how to tear off a bite with his teeth, nor how to move the food to the back of the mouth to grind and chew it. To top it off, he’d forget to swallow before going in for another bite. He smacked with his mouth wide open, so Stan had a front-view closeup of everything. Was this why Stan’s father refused to let him eat at the dinner table when he was little? If he ate his food anything like Bill did, Stan could understand now.

Bill dropped the end crust of the bread with a sneer like it had personally offended him. “What a load of shit! Crust is the worst. Are you gonna make me keep guzzling this garbage like you do?”

“Make your own then, Master Chef.”

Done eating, Stan pushed himself up with a groan, cracking his back. “Ok, time to do…adult stuff, I guess,” Stan mumbled to himself. He then spoke louder to his unwilling guest. “How you feel about breakin’ into the police department later?”

Bill nodded absentmindedly, pressing the tongs of the fork against the tips of his fingers. “Sounds risky and illegal. I’m in.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

Stan brought his emptied plate over to the sink and looked down at the towering pile of dishes that had been neglected for some time. To wash or not to wash?...Eh, who was he kidding? This would be future-him’s problem.

“Hey, pass me your plat-” Stan cut himself off as he turned around. “The fuck?!”

Sticking out from Bill’s left forearm was the fork Bill had been playing with earlier. It was at least an inch deep into the skin. But somehow even more disturbing than the mutilation was Bill’s face. The agitated state he was in just moments before seemed drained away. He was idly looking at his arm as if he were wearing an accessory. That was sticking out of his arm.

Stan immediately came over and grabbed the appendage, rotating it to get a sense of what happened. “Did you-did you just stab yourself?!”

The blonde sent him an ‘Are you stupid?” look. “What else could have happened?”

“But why?!”

Bill smiled. “Just wanted to feel it, I guess.” He winced when Stan lightly poked the fork. “It hurts.” “No fuckin’ shit it hurts! Ugh, you’re insane.”

“Aww, did I make Stan upset,” Bill cooed as if he was talking to a baby. “Sowwy to scare you,” he giggled maniacally.

He stopped laughing when Stan poked the fork harder than necessary.

So Stan had to pull the fork out and bandage the arm. The punctures were deep, but were small so they didn’t need stitches or any other attention. Bill was fascinated by the blood that poured out of him, though. He swiped his fingers through the puddle that had formed before Stan could clean it up and watched it drip down his hand.

Similar instances happened with a broken beer bottle, in which Bill had taken several pieces of and dragged the jagged edge along his forearms because he “felt like drawing”. Or when Bill would drag his hand along the walls, as if to gather as many splinters as possible in his flesh. It had taken a lot of willpower from Stan not to strangle the guy out of frustration, which Bill probably would have just found funny.

But Stan didn’t think that it was done out of spite to make Stan’s life harder, despite how much Bill liked to rile him up. It was almost as if the self-inflicted injuries helped Bill, in some twisted way. He’d start out twitchy and antsy, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself, but after the pain would set in, he’d come back to himself. And then bitch and moan about the injuries even though he knew it would hurt. Did the guy not know that actions have consequences?

It only reinforced Stan’s first impression of Bill: something wasn’t right with him. Maybe the same way something wasn’t right with Ford, except Bill wasn’t paranoid that someone was out to get him. Not that Bill would even remember if someone was, but that's besides the point. The two were linked, somehow. Stan didn’t really care how, though, unless it helped get his brother back. Bill was simply a means to the end. As long as he didn’t horribly disfigure or kill himself, he could do whatever the hell he wanted to his body as long as Stan didn’t have to witness it, he told himself. He wouldn’t care at all.

~

Tonight was the night that he was going to show Bill the basement. He hadn’t told Bill anything about the portal yet, only vaguely explaining to Bill that he needed him to decode some writings. But it was gonna come out sooner or later, and Stan wanted to make more progress now. As for revealing his past…well, it’d be too much of a pain to constantly tip-toe around the guy about why he was fixing the portal. He’d give him the bare minimum to work with.

Bill looked unimpressed as Stan had them stand in front of the vending machine, absentmindedly scratching his arm raw. “THIS is the ‘very important’ thing you had to show me? A metal box of stale candies that your stomach can’t even digest? YAWN.”

Stan ignored the snide remark as he quickly punched in the code, opening the secret door with a whoosh.

“...wow, a hidden entrance. Slightly more intriguing but clichéd. A meddling gang of kids with a dog could easily find this in the climax of the episode,” Bill commented, but willingly hobbled after Stan with his newly-acquired walking stick Stan found in the garage into the passageway that, once another passcode was inputted, revealed an elevator. Bill let out a low whistle as they entered.

“Now THIS is getting somewhere. Why isn’t the rest of this dump like this? Are you too much of a cheapskate to renovate?” Bill’s only eye gleamed. “Wait-don’t tell me. You’re a crappy business owner of a tourist trap by day and a mad, genius scientist working on unethical experiments by night, hiding from the government. We going down to your secret lab, Pines? Or is it Doctor Pines?”

“Oh, shut your yaps. You’re only half-right,” Stan admitted as the elevator came to a stop and the two doors slid apart. “It’s a lab, but not my lab.”

“Yeah, I can't see you having the brains to be doing all that,” Bill tried to leave first but Stan caught his wrist and forced Bill to walk behind him. “Whose lab is it then? Did you kill ’em for it?”

Stan unintentionally winced at the accusation, a reaction that Bill unfortunately caught.

“OOOOOO you did?! Shoulda known you’d have it in you, Stan. And here I thought you were a lonely, lackluster loser with no dri-.”

“I DIDN’T KILL HIM,” Stan shouted, whirling around to glare at Bill. He loomed over the shorter man, making Bill shrink back.

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’,” Stan growled. “So shut it and lemme talk.”

Bill kept quiet. Stan took in a deep breath and began to explain as they walked deeper into the basement.

“It’s my brother’s lab,” Stan started. “He’s a brilliant guy, and he studied all types of stuff. Especially the weird stuff. Probably why he came to this town after college. But then he made something that…was too much for him to handle. It accidentally turned on and sucked him in. That’s why I’m here, keeping the place. The machine is broken now, so I gotta fix it and turn it back on to bring him back. Some of the instructions are written in that code, so I need you to read it to me.”

Bill’s eye rapidly pinged around the room, drinking in everything. “And what kind of machine did your brother make? How could it suck him in?”

“See for yourself.”

They had just entered the main atrium. All of the control panels and computers were held in the other room, so the biggest attraction sat smack in the middle, impossible to miss. Its looming presence made Stan feel so oppressed at times, reminding him that Ford was just beyond it but he couldn’t reach him. Not yet.

“It’s-”

“-a portal,” Bill cut Stan off. Stan looked over at his guest. Bill looked utterly enchanted, the triangular metal machine swallowing him in its shadow. His pupil was blown out as he gazed at the creation of Stan’s nightmares with such want. Something sunk in Stan’s stomach at the sight.

“Five points to you, Genius,” Stan tried to joke. “How do you know that, though?”

Bill’s eye never left the giant structure. “How could I not know? It’s wonderful.”

Stan didn’t know what to say to that.

After a moment, Bill addressed Stan again. “So we gotta get this beauty up and running as soon as possible, right?”

“...yeah,” Stan agreed. “To save my brother.”

“To save your brother,” Bill echoed. “Of course we will.”

Chapter Text

The summer of 1987 marked the third time Bill and Stan had experienced the season together in Gravity Falls. The middle of the week welcomed a slower stream of tourists to scam, leaving the two men with little to do but sit around the newly renamed Mystery Shack.

Stan peered out the window, squinting to see if there were any tour buses coming down the road.

“Don’t bother,” Bill drawled from the register, fidgeting with the buttons to open and close the cash compartment. He wore the new prototype employee shirt with a big question mark on the front and a large pair of shorts. The summer humidity made his hair stand out in all directions, making it difficult to keep his eye-patch in place. “The last group was just talking about how the tour company had to cancel the rest of their afternoon buses.”

“Seriously? It’s not even two yet,” Stan grumbled, moving away from the glass and coming to stand in front of Bill, leaning against the checkout stand. “Guess that means we’re free the rest of the day.”

Bill blew a strand of his curls out of his eye. “Oh goodie: more restocking the gift shop and gluing random taxidermied animal parts together.”

“Hey, you’re a natural at making exhibits! Your foxolotl really wowed the crowd this week,” Stan praised, earning a scoff from his business partner.

“I don’t need your empty flattery,” Bill turned away. “...they really liked it?”

“Couldn’t stop takin’ pictures of it,” Stan affirmed. “Five dollars a photo. So the Mystery Shack is in tip-top shape when it comes to exhibits, and we got nothing to do. I think that deserves some time-off.”

Bill considered this. “You say that as if you have something in mind.”

“Look: you spend most of your spare time crawling around the forest and playin’ patty-cake with the spooks you find there. Not to say I’m against it-” Stan shut down any protests Bill was about to make, “-because believe me, it’s good that you’re…acquaintances with them. But you need to go out more and meet the human people living in Gravity Falls, too.”

“Pass.” Bill left the register and went through the "Employees Only" door, passing through the living room to go to the kitchen, and headed for the fridge. Stan trailed behind him.

“Aw, come on, Curly! I’m always gettin’ asked where you are when I go into town. You’re more of a mystery than Mr. Mystery himself.”

Bill snapped open a can of Pitt Cola and threw another can across the room at Stan’s face, but Stan caught it just in time.

“Sounds like a you-problem,” Bill remarked. “Why should I have to parade myself around for those meatsacks? I thought you said it’d be better if I steered clear of the ‘normal’ residents, anyways.”

“That was when you were still acting like a freak who didn’t know how to breathe outta his nose. Nowadays you can even handle talking to the customers without making them cry. Besides, showing your face keeps people from lookin’ too hard, or thinking that we’re hiding something.”

Even though we are went unsaid. Two men with fake identities living under the same roof running a tourist trap wasn’t the most lowkey of situations, but they still flew under the radar. Which said more about the inability of the townspeople to give a damn than their ability to blend in.

“You may even like it.” Stan sat himself down at the table, and after a moment, Bill slid into the seat across from him. “Unless you’re too chicken to do it.”

Bill scoffed “Me? Scared? I take walks with the Hide Behind night. I hang out in trees with vampire bats. I gossip with an arachnimorph. I watched a gnome take a squirrel bath. MULTIPLE TIMES. It’ll take more than a few nosy human neighbors to ruffle MY feathers.”

“Wait - do you hear that? It sounds - cluck - I could have sworn that was - cluck-cluck-buckawk - yeah we have a CHICKEN in here-”

“Oh, you insufferable, annoying man,” Bill hissed. He slammed a hand down on the table, making their Pitt Cola cans rattle. “Alright, I’ll go to town. But you-” he pointed dramatically at Stan, “-have to spend a day in the forest with me in return. Get to know the people I hang around with. Deal?”

“Ugh, you’re acting like I’m torturing you,” Stan rolled his eyes. “But sure, yeah, deal. Just don’t make me fight a werewolf or something.”

“Damn; there goes my plans.”

~

Bill fiddled with the seatbelt as Stan revved up the El Diablo. “So, Bruiser, what’s on the itinerary for today? Stealing purses from old ladies? Shoplifting gold chains? Juggling eggs?”

“No to all three. The old ladies here only have expired mints and those weird negative 12 dollar coins in their purses. And the gold chains are kept in the back of the jewelry store nowadays after a series of thefts that have no connection to me, so they’re harder to get to. Plus, I only play “Toss me a dozen eggs” with Jimmy at the grocery store,” Stan answered. “How about some diner food?”

Bill stared out the window as Stan backed up and steered the car onto the road. “As long as it’s not like your Stancakes. I got one of your hairs stuck in my teeth last time. Took forever to get out.”

“I doubt you actually care about what goes into your mouth. I watched you lick one of the neon mushrooms that’s been growing on the back of the house. ”

“So you’ve been spying on me?! You just can’t keep your eyes off of me, huh, you creep?!”

“Oh, is this coming from the same guy I caught raiding my underwear drawer last week? Like you know anything about privacy!”

“BECAUSE SOMEONE'S BEEN STEALING MY SOCKS-”

“-I TOLD YOU THE BOTTOMLESS PIT EATS ‘EM-”

They bickered the rest of the way until Stan roughly turned into the log-shaped building’s parking lot, banging Bill’s shoulder against the car door. Stan gave him an overly-apologetic smile.

“My bad.”

“I know you did that on purpose,” Bill scowled. He wrestled himself out of the seat belt and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Stan snickered as Bill turned to glare at him.

“Open the door.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Now, Stan.”

“...we’ll work on that. Let’s eat!”

The diner was slowly filling up for the lunch crowd, but Stan and Bill managed to grab a corner booth. Stan didn’t know how much stock he’d put into Bill’s social skills to sit at the counter for an extended period of time, so this was a pretty good set up. Stan watched as Bill flipped through the menu.

“Want any recommendations?”

Bill put down the plastic booklet. “Just order whatever, I guess. You seem pretty familiar with the place.”

“I come here every now and then. Or order takeout.”

“You’ve never shared with me.”

“Yeah cause it’s my food. Not yours.”

Bill opened his mouth to start another squabble, but the waitress came over.

“I didn’t expect to see you today, Mr. Mystery. Coffee?”

“You know it, doll,” Stan flashed her a big smile. “And a cup for my friend, Bill, too. We’re just taking a break from the Shack.”

The waitress curiously looked over Bill as she poured their drinks, making Bill squirm slightly in his seat and smooth over his eyepatch. “So you’re his partner, huh? Can’t say we’ve had you here before.”

“First time for everything, right?” Bill answered. “Usually he locks me in the basement, but I’ve been behaving really good, so he’s letting me have some fresh air.”

Bill yelped as a foot sharply jabbed his ankle but Stan’s loud, fake laughter drowned out the noise. “He loves jokin’ around, this clown. Can’t get enough of him! How about you put in my regular order and a half-plate of short stacks for this guy?”

The waitress giggled along. “You got it.”

Bill and Stan glared at each other as she went to the kitchen.

“How DARE you kick me,” Bill hissed.

"Then don’t bring up the basement around here,” Stan snarled. “What, do you want us to get caught?”

“It’s called making a joke, you empty-headed buffoon. As if she’d believe it.”

“Well, your jokes are crap.”

“Yours ain’t any better. And I know you workshop them in the mirror at night, which makes them even more pathetic.”

“Knowing stuff like that makes you look like even more of a creep.”

“I have insomnia! What else is there to do when I’m walking the halls?”

“Order up!”

Their respectives orders were slid in front of them. “Hope you boys enjoy it!”

Stan and Bill stopped talking and looked at their food. Eating classic American diner meals was a good way to end an argument, so they dug in.

After two years, Bill knew how to handle utensils…mostly. Stan wasn’t the most elegant of people to use as a role model, so the both of them were not what you’d call gentile when it came to consuming food.

Stan took a moment to glance around the diner as Bill attacked his half-short stack of pancakes. The rest of the patrons were minding their own business for the most part, but he caught a few of them looking in their direction a bit too long to be casual. Which he understood. Bill was a member of the community no one really knew. He’d bet that come time tomorrow, the town would be gossiping about the rare sighting of William Birch outside of the Mystery Shack. Damn: they could have made a whole ticketed event out of it if people were actually this interested.

The two of them finished not long after, with Stan footing the bill.

“Hope you know you’re covering my half,” Bill stealthily nabbed one of the mugs he had been eying. It matched the ones they had at home. “Since you don’t pay me. I should report you to whichever government agency cares about that.”

“You live in my house and get fed for free everyday,” Stan deadpanned as he dropped a couple of dollars on the table, definitely a couple bucks short of the actual bill. “That’s your payment.”

“...I want a raise.”

“Better up your game, then, Mr. Freeloader. As of now, you only work on the science project and grab the money from customers. Make it worth my while.”

Bill contemplated this as they made their way to the exit. “I’m sure I could put on an act even better than Mr. Mystery.”

“As if.”

As Stan opened the door, their waitress waved them goodbye from the counter. “Bye, Mr. Mystery; see you soon! And bye, Bill! It was nice meeting you!”

The people sitting at the counter and booths near the door turned at her words and offered them their own goodbyes, exclaiming that it was nice to meet Bill, even though they didn’t converse with him at all. The blonde man wasn’t used to such targeted attention, but rallied well, even if the smile that crossed his face was far too wide.

“Aw, shucks. I’m flattered. Tickled yellow, as they say! You people know where to find me, and I know where to find all of you. Buh-bye!” The door slammed shut behind them.

Moments later, as they were in the car again, Stan spoke up.

“So?”

“Hm?”

“Was it as terrible as you thought it would be?”

Bill kicked up his feet on the dashboard, seemingly blind to Stan’s disapproving look. Well, it’s not as if he could see from that side anyways. “All a guy’s gotta do is eat some disk-shaped carbohydrates and it wows the crowd! Easy-peasy.”

“I figured. People love good food and a show.”

“Me? A show? Now that’s a thought…” Bill trailed off. “Pancakes were alright, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ve had better.”

They then passed by a large building as they got closer to town, which caught Bill’s eye. He peered at it through the rear window. “They actually have a library out here in the boonies?”

“Most towns do, boonies or not. I’ve already combed through it for anything relating to the portal.”

“Can we still go there?”

Stan thought for a second. “Honestly, it may be good to spend a day there sometime. Maybe you’ll find something I couldn’t that would help with the research.”

“Not every book I want to read has to be related to the portal,” Bill pointed out. “Believe it or not, Lughead, people read for the sake of reading.”

“I have never done that in my life, ever. But sure, we’ll get you a library card and you can read to your shriveled, little nerd heart’s content.”

They had now entered Main Street, and Stan had just cut a car off to grab a parking spot. Stan gestured grandly with his arms once they stood on the street. “Welcome to the town center of Gravity Falls! It’s got everything you may need: a seamstress, the seamstress’s seamstress, a deadstock store with creepy knock-off memorabilia from 70s shows that would only play at 1 AM on weekdays, and the soup store. Do not try to buy clothing from there.”

“Wow. Exciting.” Bill watched the mundane scenes around him. A woman walking with her woodpecker wife, a policeman eating donuts, a little boy on a tricycle licking a lollipop and wearing a tri-colored propeller hat…Bill really wanted that hat.

The two con men casually walked up and down the streets, stopping once and a while to check out a few stores that they’d each grab a “souvenir” from for free. Stan, to pass the time, regaled some of his past exploits to Bill, like when he ran an illegal caterpillar ring behind the bar a couple of years ago (whoever became a cacoon first won). Bill hated to admit it, but Stan knew how to weave together stories. He was entertaining, and knew what you wanted to hear, so time flew by as Bill got drawn into the morbidly interesting tale of the time Stan had to fight off a toe-nail enthusiast in flip-flops.

Every now and then, they’d be greeted by a local who would stare, interested in Bill. Stan would then slip into his Mr. Mystery persona and show off Bill like a celebrity gracing their presence. It was surprisingly easy for Bill to follow suit, grandly introducing and endearing himself to the simple-minded folk. Sure, people here knew that Stan was a bit of a fake, but they liked his mostly harmless games. And Bill found himself enjoying playing along. It was familiar, in a way. Better than playing nice at the register.

The heat was starting to get to him though, as his forehead started to perspire the longer they stood out in the sun. After he moaned and whined repeatedly, Stan suggested that they end the day by the lake.

They quickly stopped by the Dusk-2-Dawn convenience store where they were advertising a deal on slushies. Stan quirked an eyebrow at Bill. “You want?”

“Well, since you’re being surprisingly generous today, why not?” Bill led the way and pushed through the doors. “You get cursed to be charitable or something?”

“I think the sightings of you around town will draw in more interested folks into the Shack to meet you.” They walked to the machines lined against the wall and grabbed their promotional cups. “So it’s like you’re paying for yourself, in a way.”

“So I’m being treated like a local cryptid attraction,” Bill snorted, deciding on a blend of cherry and blue raspberry.

“You’re basically one in human-form with your mannerisms, so why not?” Stan shot back, filling up his own cup and snapping on the top before looking at the selection of straws. “Look, they got the weird ones in.”

Stan waved around a straw the likes Bill had never seen before with the plastic bent into swirls and loops. Without his input, his hand snatched the straw from Stan’s hand and held it carefully. It…he liked it. It was silly. So why did he feel so horrible looking at it?

Sensing the shift in mood, Stan let the rude action slide. These behaviors would arise now and again in Bill, so he had gotten used to dealing with them. “I’m guessing you want it?”

“...yes.” Bill narrowed his eye at the straw, before sticking it into his slushie. Stan nodded and let Bill walk ahead of him to the register, shoving something quickly into his pocket on the way out.

They went back to the car and circled around to leave the square. Bill happily slurped on from his cup, eye focused on watching the liquid climb up the straw. It was weirdly…cute. In a way.

Stan took a sip of his own, almost shuddering at the syrupy taste. God, he must be getting old. He couldn’t hold his sugar like he used to.

The trees got more dense as they went along the windy road to the lake, shrouding them under their canopies. Like they were the only beings around for miles. Out of all the places he had been to over the years, none were even remotely similar to Gravity Falls. No wonder it had called out to Stanford.

Stan heard a strangled groan come from the other passenger. “Ugh, brain freeze.”

“You drank too fast, that’s why.”

Bill stuck out his tongue, which was stained dark purple. “The pain is worth it.”

By then, the trees parted to reveal the parking lot for the lake, the water visible out on the horizon. The sun was sitting lower in the sky, spreading its orange light across the land.

“Guess we got here just in time for sunset. How about we-”

Out of nowhere, a brown blur ran out in front of the car.

“HOLY SHI-” Stan slammed on the brakes, but still hit the sudden obstruction, causing it to fly a few feet away before rolling on the ground. The car screeched from the sudden deceleration, and Bill nearly dropped his slushie. He did choke for a second since he was in the middle of taking a sip, but Stan harshly slapped his back and helped it go down.

“WHAT-” Bill rasped, coughing slightly. “-WAS THAT?!”

Stan rolled down the window and stuck his head out, squinting slightly at the prone figure face down on the dirt.

“Oh, it’s just McGucket. I thought it was a deer, or a walking scarecrow. Or something”

“Who?!”

“He’s like the town weirdo. Goes around to places he shouldn’t be and yells something in that horrifying voice until someone shoos him away.”

“Can we just leave him?”

“Yeah; lemme just make sure he’s still breathing.”

Stan got out of the car and went over to the motionless man. He bent over just enough to see the guy’s face. Thankfully, his nose was still twitching, and so was his beard for that matter…

He gave a thumbs up to his passenger. “All good! He’s, like, indestructible or something.”

“Maybe next time we can hit him harder. Just to test that theory.”

Just as Stan started to walk away, though, a hand suddenly grabbed his ankle, stopping him short. Stan automatically tugged out of the grip and looked down to see that McGucket was watching him. Well, it was kind of hard to tell with the two eyes pointing in opposite directions, but Stan had a feeling he was.

“Prime-statistical anomalies over 37 but not exceedin’ 51!” McGucket popped to his feet like he wasn't just struck by a car going over fifty miles an hour.

“Uh…what?”

“Ah reckon’ that be the key to defeatin’ him for our campaign! He is one pesky brain-eatin’ sonuvah gun.”

Ugh, why did Stan attract such weirdos?

“I bet he is, so you better hop to it.” Stan inched away. McGucket inched closer.

“Now where you heading’ to? We’re just gettin’ started!”

McGucket reached for Stan again, but before Stan could do anything, a loud blaring horn suddenly blasted them. McGucket flinched back and covered his ears, and screamed at the top of his lungs as if answering the noise. Stan took advantage of the opening and dashed to the car, where he could now see Bill pressing down on the steering wheel.

The door was flung open and Stan threw himself inside, quickly locking the car.

“What did that hillbilly want with you?” Bill questioned, watching as Stan relaxed in the safety of his vehicle.

“Like I could understand anything he said. This town is a magnet for crazies,” Stan grumbled as he gestured after McGucket, who was running away on all fours. ”Look at the people who live here!”

“You live here, too.”

“And? So do you.”

“Not willingly.”

“Like you’d fit in anywhere else.”

Stan parked close to the lake ranger station. The two walked out and stood on the wooden dock as they watched the boats on the horizon get colored by the setting sun.

“So? What’s so exciting about all this?” Bill gestured to the lake.

Stan plopped himself on the edge of the platform. “There’s no sight better than the water when watching the sunset.”

“You’re acting uncharacteristically sentimental right now.” Bill looked down at Stan, nose wrinkled. “It’s gross.”

“I can enjoy myself once and a while, even with you for company.” Stan watched the sky. “It’s a nice view.”

Bill sat down and dangled his legs over the water. “They all look the same after a while.”

“Oh yeah? Then why do you stargaze? They’re the same every night, too.”

Bill flushed. “You watched me up on the roof?”

“Yeah. I thought you were gonna throw yourself off it the first time. “

“What about the times after that?”

“Just kept an eye on you. Guess we’re both creepy stalkers.”

Bill let out one of those pitchy giggles he called a laugh. “You said it, not me, Fez.”

They sat there as the sun dropped lower and lower. Stan let himself dissociate for a bit, trying to give his mind a bit of a break from its usual worries. Made time go faster. Bill had found a discarded newspaper from last week that had gotten stuck on one of the wooden poles and decided to read it. The silence was broken by sounds of intrigue, amusement, and disgust depending on the section he was on. Apparently, the comic section sucked. Stan was inclined to agree.

Bill tapped on one page in particular. “Do people really buy this bologny? ‘Leo: your confidence will come roaring in when a person from your past returns. Don’t hold yourself back!’ It’s so vague and meaningless!”

“Guess that’s the appeal. So people can find ways to make it apply to them.”

“Astrology is a joke,” Bill grumbled. “It’s for the weak sheep who need to be told who they are. Then they buy this waste of paper again and again to let it rule their lives. I could scam people better than this!”

“Why don’t you?”

“Oh please, why don’t-“ Bill cut himself off. “Why don’t I? Now there’s a thought…”

“And you say I don’t have good ideas,” Stan teased.

“Shut up: I’m thinking now.”

Stan let Bill mutter to himself and watched as the sun disappeared from the sky, leaving behind a splash of colors that painted the sky as it turned a deep azure, signaling that night had approached. The day had been surprisingly enjoyable. Bill had been enjoyable. Which was occurring at frequencies that was surprising Stan. Then again, when you lived with someone for over two years, you got used to them and their quirks. Bill must have gotten used to him, too.

He was eager to please in the oddest of ways. Always wanting Stan to be noticing him, but also hating being watched. Taking Stan’s nonchalant attitude towards his tricks and jabs as a challenge. Showing off his intelligence and talents with every task he performed to prove to Stan he could do it. Working on the codes and ciphers to reverse engineer the missing equations late into the night with Stan. Helping out around the Shack and suggesting new ways to pull one-over their customers…they were weirdly on the same wavelength when they weren’t getting on each other’s nerves.

But Stan was well aware that their partnership couldn’t last. Bill may not be actively conspiring against him, especially since he had nowhere else to go, but Stan was certain that if a better offer came up, Bill would ditch him without a glance backwards. So Stan trusted his understanding of Bill rather than Bill himself.

They went home once the last of the sun’s rays faded away and it was pitch black out. Bill watched the sky through the passenger window as the stars started to gleam brighter. It was gonna be a nice, clear night.

As they walked into the Shack and through the doors to the private quarters, Stan made a beeline to the kitchen, citing a need for a beer to wash down the sugary concoction they consumed earlier. Last Bill checked, though, the cutlery drawer didn’t have any beer in it, which from the sound of it Stan had put something in there. After Stan settled himself on his armchair, Bill quickly snuck in.

After rummaging a bit for the right one, Bill found what he was looking for in one of the drawers. Sitting inside next to a bunch of takeout utensils and napkins liberally taken from fast food joints at the mall was something Bill was not expecting to see: silly straws. The ones from the convenience store. Bill hadn’t thought to take extra at the time, but Stan did. And while Bill couldn’t be sure of Stan’s motives, the guy could have just grabbed them for the fun of it, he did know that Stan knew he liked them.

His heart did a weird jig in his chest. He must have contracted heartworms at some point. Obviously! He closed the drawer gently.

Reaching into his oversized shorts, Bill pulled out the mug from Greasy’s Diner he had taken earlier in the day. He opened the mug shelf and slid it next to brother and sister mugs. A complete family now. Nodding in satisfaction with himself, he went and joined Stan in the living room, a thought brewing in his head.

Bill coughed awkwardly to draw Stan’s attention away from the television. “Night sky’s clear tonight: good for looking at the stars. And, y’know, since you like looking at the sky so much, you should join me instead of tiptoeing around and watching me from the shadows. Like a creep,” Bill offered, not really knowing what he was even doing. All he knew is that he wanted to do more. Show Stan more. He didn’t want the outing to end yet.

Stan took a loud slurp from his can. “Just look at the stars? No accidental bumps that make me fall off the roof?”

“Tempting but not tonight. Besides, it doesn’t have to be on the roof. We got a pretty good view from the porch.”

Stan eyed Bill for a moment then shrugged. “Yeah, why not? Beats these garbage movie channels they run at after seven. Gimme a minute.”

Bill flashed a toothy grin. “You got it, Big Guy.”

As Bill watched Stan amble to his room, he once again questioned his decisions. Why was he willing to spend more time with Stan? Yeah, they still had that excursion in the forest Stan promised to go on in the future, but Bill wanted more of that attention now. Because honestly? While Stan wasn’t a needlessly cruel person, he absolutely didn’t go out of his way to cater to people and invest effort in them if he didn’t get something out of it. For most of their time together, Stan had basically kept Bill in line for both their sakes. His watchful eyes were to catch if Bill slipped up, accidentally or purposefully, and set him back on course.

Bill knew this was all done for the portal so that Stan could save his brother. Stan would not have let Bill stay if he didn’t have a use for him. But over the past couple of months, Bill felt a shift. The atmosphere wasn’t as fraught and Bill had more liberties than before. This outing was proof that Stan believed he could handle himself in new environments, and Stan chose the specific activities with Bill in mind. The brunette could claim all he wanted that it was a calculated move to blend into the town, but he treated Bill to food, walked him around town while telling stories, then took him to the lake for the sunset. That went above and beyond anything he had to do. All of this was sounding a lot like a…Bill didn’t want to even go there.

Just as Stan closed the door to his room upstairs, there was a thump on the porch, catching Bill’s attention. After a beat, there was a knock at the door. Annoyed at whoever was interrupting the moment, Bill stalked over to the door and opened it.

There under the porch light was Crazy Man McGucket. Up close, Bill could tell that he probably wasn’t as old as his long white beard and bald head would suggest. Rather, it was neglect and abuse that caused the teeth in his mouth to jump ship and spine to curve so deeply. Abuse of what, Bill could only guess. But the guy was twitchy, and had an undercurrent of nerves that supplied the jitters in his legs. He kept looking around and fiddling with a metal box in his arms, taking in the front of the Shack as Bill leaned against the door frame, not amused to see the scarecrow thief yet again today.

“Aren’t you far from Kansas, Farm Boy?” Bill quipped. “The garbage dump is in the other direction. Or did you follow us from the lake?”

The spacey man jolted, as if he didn’t even realize Bill was there until now, which further fired up Bill’s ire.

“Oh, er, pardon me, Mister. Ah jus’...mah legs led me here like a horse to a barrel ‘o hay, is all. And ah can’t reckon why, by gommity.”

McGucket then held out the rectangular object he had been carrying, which Bill now recognized as the toaster Stan had thrown out the window a couple of days ago when it made his toast burst into flames. It had been sitting in the yard since then, dented and singed, but now looked brand new.

“Ah also found this lyin’ around and figured y'all wouldn’t mind if ah just gave it a little twist here and there…”

Bill eyed it with suspicion but took it from the short man like one would handle a live bomb. It looked like McGucket did more than just give it “a little twist here and there”. Who knew that the town coot had a way with machines?

“We’re not gonna pay you for fixing our toaster if that’s what you want,” Bill told him, ready to send McGucket on his way before Stan got back.

“Oh no! That ain’t why ah did it!” The man looked a bit embarrassed, running his bandaged fingers through his beard. He looked far more lucid than he did hours ago, like there was actually a person residing in that dilapidated body.

“Ah just…ah just felt like ah was meant to come here, ya know? Even if this place gives me the heebie jeebies…” McGucket trailed off, fearfully eyeing on the higher, triangular windows facing outwards. “...ah have ta be here.”

Bill narrowed his eye as the southern accented man looked around again, using his body to block the prying eyes from peering inside the Shack. Felt like he was meant to come here, huh? He would have been more creative than that! Did McGucket really think that Bill would let him inside? That Stan would let him inside? Please! It would take more than just fixing a toaster to ingratiate himself to the distrustful owner.

Unless Stan saw use in the hillbilly the same way he saw use in Bill. Neither con men were particularly experienced in engineering or construction, though Stan had a way with cars, but McGucket seemed to be inclined to those disciplines. Would that even work? All three of them working on the portal…as roommates…as partners…

Bill having to watch McGucket prove his worth to Stan while Stan kept an eye on his odd tendencies. Watching them pour over the blueprints together. Watch television together. Choose what to have for dinner together. Bill having to watch Stan thaw as he got used to McGucket, and trusting him more and smiling at him…Bill would constantly have to deal with some third-wheeling, spineless, raccoon-loving, cross-eyed hick living in HIS house with HIS partner. And Bill did not like that thought. At all.

“Well, aren't you a pathetic lifeform?” Bill asked, using as much of his thin body as he could to loom over his opponent. It wasn’t hard.

“You really think a little housewarming gift and a sob story about your feelings are gonna be enough? As if! Listen real close, you mentally scrambled nut job.”

Bill’s voice dropped down to a whisper as they locked gazes, both of McGucket’s eyes trapped by Bill’s lone pupil. Bill had his undivided attention. “You should have never come here. You aren’t wanted. You’ll just mess up everything we’ve been working on. Stanford Pines already has a partner, and it’s me. Not you, never you. And if you ever think for a second otherwise, you’re wrong. So leave now while you still can and forget this ever happened. Understand?”

McGucket trembled, before he practically threw himself backwards and covered his face, blocking his vision as he scrambled away.

“STAY AWAY, ONE-EYED BEAST,” he cried brokenly. “AH WARNED HIM. AH CAN’T DO IT AGAIN. AH JUST CAN’T. JUST LET ME UNSEE IT.” The terror-filled yells faded as McGucket made a break for the woods, never looking back once as he pulled something from his overalls just before he disappeared into the surrounding forest.

Well THAT certainly wasn’t the reaction Bill was expecting. He just wanted to shoo the guy away from the Shack (and Stan) by hurting his feelings. Not draw out such an emotional response. But hey, he wasn’t complaining. After that, he’d be surprised if the wacko came within a mile radius of him again willingly.

“Yeesh; what did you do to the guy?”

Bill tensed up before immediately relaxing, realizing that Stan had just come back from upstairs. He turned around and gave the man his best “Who, me?” look.

“I only told him to leave! Who knew he was such a sensitive crybaby?”

Stan, now clad in one of his sweatshirts, didn’t look convinced. “Look, the guy’s unstable. I heard that he chased his ex-wife with a dinosaur robot when she served him with divorce papers. Last thing we need is him building a fire-breathing dragon to burn the house down because you terrorized him.”

Bill paused at that. “He made a what?!”

“Yeah, it’s like the one skill he has. Too bad he’s nuts, or I woulda recruited him to help rebuild the portal.”

“Ugh, don’t say that,” Bill gagged. “Last thing we need is Possum-Breath stinking up the place.”

“Why not? I let you live here, after all. Maybe I should start taking in more useful strays,” Stan mused, pretending to entertain such an idea as he took the toaster from Bill and inspected it with a critical eye.

Bill looked at his shack-mate in horror. “Don’t even joke like that, Stanley.”

“Didn’t realize you held such strong opinions on a guy you just met today,” Stan chuckled, placing the toaster on a table inside. “But don’t worry; I wouldn’t actually want to deal with him. He’d probably convert the shack into some weird robo-thing given the chance.”

Stan then stepped fully outside and closed the door. “But forget McGucket. I wanna be dazzled if I’m willingly staying up and getting bit by mosquitos for this.”

Right; Bill was going to show Stan the stars. That was the plan for tonight. In his annoyance at the nutty professor, it had slipped his mind.

“You’ll be more than dazzled when I’m done with you. Tell me, city boy, what do you know about star constellations?” Bill grabbed Stan’s wrist and led him to the porch, where he began to draw connecting lines between various stars, illustrating the images as he rambled. And Stan let him, interjecting now and again for Bill to show him again or making fun of the shapes. But it made Bill feel seen, being listened to. Being allowed to show off his oddly diverse and large pool of knowledge he had no recollection of curating. Especially when Stan rarely let himself be amazed. It made it all the more special.

As for Stan, rarely did he ever just do ordinary, harmless activities with people. Especially very bright, enthusiastic people who found it hard to relate to other people. Not for a very long time. And even though the circumstances of his and Bill’s situation was as odd as can be, there was something tranquil and grounding about all this. Without any acts that needed to be performed. Where Stan and Bill could be themselves without any pretense of being better people. Stan knew Bill and Bill knew Stan. Well, at least better than anyone else. There was something comforting about that. It just couldn’t be too comforting, no matter how tempting that was beginning to be.

So yeah: being with Bill wasn’t the worst thing ever. He was the partner he needed to get through this, he mused to himself as he watched the moonlight brighten Bill’s already light hair.

Stan would come to retract that thought during their planned hike through the forest a week later, in which Bill “accidentally” led Stan to a group of bats. Even after Stan got bit, Bill wouldn’t tell him if it was a fruit bat or a vampire bat, so Stan stayed inside for days in fear of the sun until Bill laughingly confessed the truth. Bill may be his partner, but he was also an asshole.

Chapter Text

Bill rummaged through the numerous boxes in the attic, opening them in no particular order. There had to be something up here amongst all of this junk he could use for the debut of his act: Mr. Mystique.

The set up was this: as Mr. Mystery brings the tour into the gift shop, a mystical voice beckons to the tourists from a dark room in the hallway. Hidden in the shadows sits The Soothsayer of the Stars! Sit with him for the low price of $15 and your questions concerning the future will be answered. Limited number of guests only! He and Stan figured that Bill could bullshit well enough to tell people what they wanted to hear, so it was a solid idea.

But first, Stan had to deem Bill “moderately family-friendly enough to avoid lawsuits”. Bill’s standards for “normal” were much more anarchic, brutal, and baffling than the average Joe’s, much to his dismay. All of the fun ideas he had pitched to Stan over the past few years, like combining all of the cleaning chemicals under the sink into one multi-flavored beverage or his “Top Ten Ways to Convince Someone to Sacrifice Themselves to Your Cult” list that would have been a great marketing campaign, didn’t fit society’s rigid mold. And while Stan was one to view laws as more of a guideline to get around than anything, even he drew the line at certain behaviors.

That meant Stan had Bill go through a few practice trials with himself as the test monkey. Do not threaten people by sticking needles into their eyes if they don’t like one of your readings. Advising people to drink their sorrows away by swallowing spiders is just gross. No, you could not tell kids to feed their blood to the nearby trees in the forest so it’ll give them a candy apple. In fact, stay away from kids in general. Yaddayaddayadda.

Of course, Bill knew better at this point to not do any of the aforementioned above (Stan would not-so inconspicuously keep children’s TV shows playing in the living room so Bill would have a reference point for PG human interactions). He just liked to push and see how far the boundaries could go. Stan finally gave Bill the go ahead once Bill gave him a reading that didn’t end in a brutal death or being locked up in prison.

The next part was creating a look for the gimmick. It was a good start that Bill was missing an eye, people tended to associate that with misfortune or dark magic or something, but he needed to elevate his appearance.

His first suggestion had been immediately dismissed by Stan. They had been walking around the mall to “window shop” when they passed by a display for the Generic Department Store’s Male Formal Wear. The center mannequin wore a classy suit with gold accents, which would perfectly match the top hat Bill already had. Bill eyed it appreciatively, and a pang of longing hit him suddenly.

Bill grabbed Stan’s shirt by the sleeve to stop him in his tracks. “What about that?” he gestured to the dapper outfit. Stan gave it a critical once-over.

“What do you think we’re runnin’, a circus? And you’re no ringmaster.”

Bill dropped Stan’s sleeve. “Funny, because I’m lookin’ at a clown right now,” he played it off. “Shoulda known you wouldn’t know fashion if it assaulted your retinas.” He gave the model one last look before he forced himself to resume walking. A large hand caught his shoulder before he could get more than a few steps away.

“Didn’t say you couldn’t get it.”

Bill looked over his shoulder at Stan. “You’re sending me mixed signals.”

Stan shrugged. “Mr. Mystery already has the suit thing going on. Mr. Mystique’s gotta look more magical if he’s gonna be a sham-soothsayer, ya know? But if you want it for yourself, go for it.”

Bill felt the corners of his lips stretch across his face. “It must be pretty expensive. I may not be able to afford it~”

“Buddy, you can always afford it when you get it through certain means,” Stan returned the knowing grin.

By the end of the day, Bill’s clothing rack was now the proud owner of a very nice three-piece suit with all the accessories. And he got a moped. Let’s just say that they had to avoid the mall for a while.

Back to the storage bins, Bill was opening a particularly difficult one whose lid refused to budge. He gave it one hard tug before it finally loosened, causing him to stumble back a bit and kick up more dust. Bill sneezed, “Ugh, last time I come up here. This place is even more of a dump than the rest of the house,” he complained aloud.

Bill went over to the now-opened bin and saw that it was full of books, old camera reels, and photo albums. He huffed in disappointment and went to check the next box when the implications of what he found hit him. This was a first-person account of Ford’s childhood, assuming that these were his belongings. That meant it was also Stan’s childhood. AKA blackmail galore! Bill bet the big lug had an awkward teenage phase he could exploit for something.

He went straight for the photo albums since he didn’t know how to even play the reels and the books seemed to be more academia-focused, probably old textbooks from high school or something. He cracked the top one open to reveal Stanford Pines as he showed off his high school diploma, a smile clearly forced as his two parents stood on each side of him. Filbrick Pines looked as solemn as Stan had once described him, no emotion being expressed except for a general aura of “I’m not impressed”. Caryn Romanoff Pines at least looked happy for her son, but there weren dark bags under her eyes and even with the diluted color of the photo, she appeared pale. Stan was nowhere to be seen. Must be a story behind that. What a happy family!

Flipping through the rest of the album, Bill watched as Ford continued his education, his baby fat disappearing as his chin became square like Stan’s. There were several off-guard photos in a dinky dorm with a tall, skinny guy with a handlebar mustache and aviator glasses. He looked a bit familiar…oh wow, those green shorts were a choice, haha!

The album ended with Ford holding up each diploma he received from Backupsmore University, which totalled to three bachelor degrees and four doctorates. Bill knew from the hidden bedroom Stan avoided like the plague that Ford would go on to earn a total of 12 PhDs, so honestly? The guy was pretty impressive, if not a major try-hard. Again: no pictures of Stan.

The other album he found was dedicated to “F’s Wedding”, who Bill assumed was the roommate from the college album. He didn’t bother giving that much of a look through. There was only one album left, so he really hoped this one actually had something to look forward to.

The first page showed two babies laying side by side in a cradle, one screaming its head off and the other curiously reaching towards the mobile. Place your bets on who’s who folks! Not even a day out the womb, and Stan was already yelling at the world. Nice to see he hadn’t changed much.

The two babies grew older on each consecutive page, toddling around on the boardwalk, touching stuff they weren’t supposed to in the pawn shop, wearing adventuring outfits to catch the “Jersey Devil”...they really were each other’s world, huh? Bill wondered what happened, because even if Stan had the tightest lips known to man, he couldn’t keep back the little comments that would slip out about Ford. They were a weird mixture of fond and bitter. Plus, the journal they had never made any mention to Stan that wasn’t crossed out with dark ink. What did that say?

The Pines twins got older, and Bill cackled to himself at the huge braces both Stan and Ford had to wear in middle school. Not to mention those pimples! Might as well call ‘em pepperoni face! And who knew that Stan was such a twig before? It was so at odds at the big man he lived with. But Bill noticed the progression Stan underwent once he started boxing, his frame becoming fuller and more built, even under that layer of baby fat and chub. Ford stayed leaner than his brother and got that defining butt-chin. They looked like what most people would expect out of them: nerd Stanford Pines with his glasses and button-up shirts and slacker Stanley Pines with his stupid slick-back and shit-eating grin.

The album cut off abruptly about three-fourths of the way through, with the last photo being the brothers clearly having returned from prom based on their tuxedos, but both were covered in punch. This didn’t seem to upset them, though, since both boys were smiling widely at each other. They were happy together. Stan was happy, like, genuinely the most happy Bill had ever seen him. The Stan that Bill knew wasn’t ever this joyful. Guess there was little reason to be when the reason behind that smile happiness was a dimension or two away. Bill wondered if there was any way to get Stan to smile like that without Ford. He quickly dismissed that idea. Like he cared if the grumpy cheapskate smiled for him! It’d just be an interesting challenge, that’s all!

It begged the question: what happened between this photo and the high school diploma one? Stan was still so young at the time. A huge falling out? Murder? A government conspiracy? Becoming a pagan? Bill would have to needle Stan the next time they got high off of the hot glue gun. But whatever left them on bad terms wasn’t enough to make Ford destroy the past memories. Bill wondered if those camera reels would be enlightening.

“You still up there?” Stan called out from the bottom of the stairs. “Did you find anything you could use?”

“This place is a maze of ugly memorabilia, tacky house decor, and dusty boxes,” Bill complained. “What’s a guy gotta do to find a decent costume? But I have to say, I’ve found something very interesting…”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Stan thumped up the stairs and came behind Bill, who had flipped back to a young zit-faced Stan. Current Stan groaned at the sight as Bill giggled at his expense.

“Of course you’d find THESE pictures. It’s like you can sniff out the things I don’t want you to find, like a reverse hound dog.”

“Funnily enough, I HAVE caught a rabbit before.”

“I didn’t think he’d even have these…” Stan trailed off as Bill flipped through the album again, quietly taking in the graying pictures. Bill stopped on the last photo of the punch-soaked teenagers. He heard a quiet chuckle behind him.

“Ford said somethin’ real stupid to a girl at prom, so she dumped her drink on him,” Stan reminisced. “The guy made a robot to practice his kissing skills but couldn’t even hold a conversation with a broad.”

“What about you? Did you also insult her?”

“Nah: I threw my own punch on me so we’d match.”

“Why? So you could both be sticky and smell of artificial fruit syrup?”

“So we’d both stand out together.” Stan reached over Bill’s shoulder and closed the cover. “Ok: end of the viewing party. Let’s find you a costume. There’s gotta be something up here.”

The box was carefully put into a lone corner. Bill had a feeling that Stan would be coming back to it on his own time.

They continued rifling about, uncovering more forgotten junk. The amount of small cages Ford had stockpiled at some point could be considered somewhat alarming, even if the guy was a scientist who studied living creatures.

Bill had just pulled out a long, sheer, dark purple scarf that felt pleasant to the touch when Stan exclaimed, “So this is where I put it!”

Bill looked over just as Stan pulled a golden yellow fabric out from a garbage bag. Stan held it by the edges and whipped it about to unfurl it to its true shape. Once unbunched, the poncho-like clothing came to a triangular point in the front. Familiar black symbols swirled around the edges of the fabric, and when Stan flipped it around to show the backside, a large, slitted eye stared back at Bill.

“That’s mine,” Bill managed to say, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the weight of the eye. Like it could look back at him if it so wished.

“Yup; you showed up on the porch only in this,” Stan flapped the fabric again. “Still don’t know how the hell you ended up like that…”

Bill bristled. “I told you I don’t remember! I must have just seen the shack and knew I needed to come here! When you’re freezing to death in the middle of the woods, you would want shelter, right?!”

“Yeah, but it can’t be as simple as that,” Stan pointed out, staying more level-headed. “You had to be dumped there somehow. And we still haven’t found out who you actually are. No matches in the system for a blonde guy named Bill or William or even Liam, even after two years. Guess you have no one out there looking for you.”

Bill went over and yanked the poncho from Stan, clutching it possessively to his chest. “We don’t know anything about what my life was like,” he hissed. “So shut your disgusting face hole about it.”

Stan raised his hands up in surrender. “Easy, Cyclops. We’ll figure it all out some day.” He paused before adding. “If you even want to.”

“...why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, when a guy is dumped in the middle of nowhere in the dead of winter with only one piece of clothing…he has enemies. Enemies who didn’t expect him to live long in those conditions.” Bill determinedly avoided Stan’s gaze as he focused on smoothing the wrinkles on the collar. “Take it from a guy who has had quite a few of those in his life.”

“Enemies? Me? Please! Who’d want to kill me?” Bill made himself laugh, as if the thought were preposterous. “I’m a delight! A silly little guy!”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Stan tied up the garbage bag and set it aside so they’d have a clear space to walk around. “I think you’ve found enough to work with for now. I’ve got some big curtains I can hang up, and we can go from there to add some magic props. You want a wand or something?”

“Soothsayers don’t use wands,” Bill snorted, bundling up the cloak and scarf as he followed Stan out of the attic. “I can find some stuff in the forest to decorate.”

“As long as it doesn’t get the customers violently ill or try to eat them.”

“A guy picks a bad mushroom one time and can never live it down, can he?”

~

In preparation for Bill’s first day, Stan decided to vandalize the town with dozens of fliers so that the word would get out. But first, he had to design the poster. Bill was busy fixing up the parlor and handed the task off to Stan, vaguely telling him to just “don’t make me look like some cheap fortune teller or an oracle with seven eyes”.

At the moment, Stan was just doodling some designs to get a feel for what he wanted to go for in his office. He focused on the memory of Bill posing in his performance gear that they had agreed upon. The billowy silhouette, Bill’s piercing wide eye, and dramatic gestures were some features that had really caught Stan’s attention at the time. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Bill would be a great performer. A sharp whistle drew him out of his groove.

“Oh, boy, I hope you drew me pretty!” Suddenly, Bill was right in front of his desk, peering over the papers and turning his head to see the poster right-side up. Stan went to cover them up, but Bill swiped them before he could. He could only watch self-consciously as Bill inspected each of Stan’s work, inwardly bracing himself for Bill’s bluntly honest takes.

“Oooo I like THIS one,” Bill held out the drawing that Stan had taken more creative liberty on, making it look as if Bill was stepping on the stars joined together in constellations together, holding up a ball of light as if he were creating the celestial bodies. “It really screams “I’m a god and the center of your universe”! I really make a good muse, and you’re a genius at this art stuff, Da Vinci!”

Stan eyed Bill, automatically distrustful of the compliment. “Eh, I can slap a couple of lines together. Genius is pushing it, Curly.”

“Hey, I’m only saying it as it is. You’ve got the makings of an artist, Doodle Master. Have you ever done anything with it?”

“Lil’ Stanley” and its immediate rejection flashed through Stan’s mind. “Nope, never have and never will.” He looked away and shrugged nonchalantly, gathering the rest of the papers, but he could tell that Bill wasn’t sold. “It’s just a little hobby.”

As he thought, Bill didn’t accept that weak excuse and his hand slammed down on the desk over the papers.

“Listen up Pines and listen good: there’s many things in this world that I hate, like venetian blinds and ‘The World is Small Ever After for Always’, but at the top of the list is wasted potential. People who got that spark but never lit it up. Always telling themselves it ain’t worth it to even try, so they’re out for the count before they even start! Those people are losers, and you, Stanley Pines, are not a loser.”

“I’m…not?” Stan asked Bill, a bit guarded.

“Nope! Well, at least you won’t be! Not on my watch!” Bill grandly held out his arms. “I refuse to let my partner sit here and deny that he’s got what it takes. Because you do got something, and there are people out there who want what you got.”

“What I got? You mean being able to make stupid little sketches?”

Bill flicked Stan harshly on the forehead. Stan quickly covered the area. “OW! What’s wrong with you!?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me! What’s wrong is your attitude towards yourself. NEVER talk down about yourself. You can’t be your own worst enemy. With the world already against you, that’s something you can’t afford.”

Stan focused on the grooves in his wooden desk, tapping the tips of his fingers together. Why did Bill have to make sense all of a sudden?

“I just…I don’t know where to start,” he admitted, more truthful than he’d like, eyes flittering back up to Bill. “If I try, and I mess it up big time, I don’t know if I’d be able to do it again.”

“You will,” Bill spoke, sounding completely certain. “You haven’t given up on the portal, no matter how many times we messed up a calibration or couldn’t find a part. You found a way to make it work and kept going. What’s the difference?”

“There is a difference,” Stan insisted. “I can’t give up on the portal. I have to save Ford!”

“There it is,” Bill poked at Stan’s chest. “You just gotta put an ounce of that determination towards yourself.”

Stan stared up at Bill. This confidence he had in Stan was strangely alluring. “You…really think I can do it, huh?”

Bill grinned down at him. With his gums exposed and every tooth visible, it was like he was wearing a fun mask. But it was so Bill that Stan didn’t mind. “Oh, I know you can. But if you ever need a reminder, I’ll whack you on the head and shout in your ear so you can’t forget.”

Stan chuckled, a warm feeling overtaking him. The words sounded pretty, that was for sure, and while he wasn’t completely sold on them…a small part of him couldn’t help but hope they were spoken truthfully. That there was someone out there who actually thought he had potential. That he could do something worthwhile. Did he ever truly have someone like that?

“Do that and I’ll whack you back.”

“So violent~ Anyways, let’s talk more about my propaganda. Let’s see…”

~

The next day, Bill was putting up the last finishing touches of his little hideout. A large, lumpy cushion from an old couch was covered with multiple blankets to give Bill a raised, but comfortable seat on the ground. They had removed the door between the parlor and the hallway and replaced it with curtains that blocked out any lights so the atmosphere was more dim and sedate. The fireplace was lit, but Bill has got some “special wood” (he just soaked some logs in algicide from the pool supply store) that caused the fire to burn a deep emerald, creating a murky aura that suited the vibe Bill was going for.

Along the walls, separated from each other by various mirrors, hung a bunch of tapestries Bill and Stan had found vandalized in a large plastic bag in Ford’s private study the other night.

Yeah, that’s right: they found the secret lair! Stan hadn’t even realized the place existed until Bill started pressing some random buttons on the elevator one night. Nice try, Ford, but you can’t out-slick Bill! True, the same code hadn’t worked since they went that first time, so it probably changed each time someone entered, but they found what they needed.

The room held most of the genuine oddities of Gravity Falls since they were the subject of Ford’s research once upon a time. It was also the most disorganized space. Stan didn’t touch the place much beyond looking for portal clues, citing it as Ford’s “Wacky World”, so the mess was all due to the original owner of the house. Clearly, the guy was going manic right before he left. The various blood spots staining the vandalized area made that clear. Was he mutilating himself? Performing a sacrifice ritual? There was a space in here that reminded Bill of a prayer circle, but he couldn’t find any idols.

Hidden behind one of the desks had been the bag of tapestries. There was clearly meant to be something displayed on one side of the fabric, but it was vandalized with black paint, completely covered over with a dark puddle. Stan raised his eyebrows as he showed them to Bill.

They were the same color and fabric as his cloak. Bill did not point that out to Stan, but he knew that Stan knew that Bill knew. The two of them were always on the same page, whether the other liked it or not.

“I’ll take ‘em,” Bill declared, making gimmee hands until Stan handed it over. “The backs are still good, right? I can paint my own designs on.”

“Sure. Have at it,” Stan shrugged, moving along to the portal room for another night of quantum physics and debates. Bill followed behind him. They never entered that private study again.

Now that they were displayed properly, Bill was pretty proud of what he made. He had written various messages in the same coded alphabet he knew from the portal instructions, but they were all just malarkey. Most of them read “You suckers can’t even read this!” and “Sacrifice the family dog!” or “Reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold!”. They looked like an ancient, mystic language, and that’s all that really mattered to tourists.

There was room for improvements, but it was enough for now. If the act was a success, proving to Stan that he could be just as good, if not better, of a con man, Bill would spruce up the space and personalize it a bit more. Add a few skulls of questionable origin here and there.

Bill checked his reflection once again, knowing that in a couple minutes, Stan would be leading the first tour group of the day down the hallway. If he wanted to make any changes, he’d have to do it now.

He had adorned the cloak after giving a quick wash so its vibrant color wasn’t dulled. It totally concealed his body, especially when he sat down, and the hood casted a nice shadow over his face. Very comfortable. He used the scarf to wrap around his neck and over his mouth, obscuring the lower half of his face. As for his empty socket, he just wore an eyepatch over it, but it felt a little bland.

Then he heard a door swing open a bit aways and scrambled to sit down, purposefully seating himself in a criss-cross position and punching his thumb and pointer finger together. Who was the picture of omnipresence and power? This guy!

Stan’s booming voice raised in volume as he herded the sheep to slaughter, aka the gift shop.

“Of course, folks, my Mystery Shack is inhabited by timeless creatures, beings so ancient and wise that the secrets of nature are theirs to share with a select number of lucky guests! For an additional fee, of course.”

That was Bill’s cue.

“All who wander are not lost,” he projected, throwing his voice out smoothly so that it filled the parlor and echoed out to the group. “The stars will always guide those who uptake the journey and seek to find themselves. Enter, if you dare, and see where they will take you.”

A murmur of excited whispers overlapped each other. Bill’s scarf hid his resulting grin. Perfect. Hook, line, and sinker. The customers were always suckers, after all.

“Oh, I think we have our first traveler,” Stan announced. “Eager, aren’t cha Mrs.Ramirez? Just put the money in my mystery sack, perfect, and now you may enter!”

A short, older woman with dark frizzy hair and a hooked nose tip-toed in. She oooed to herself as she took in the space and Bill inwardly preened. Showtime!

“You came here with a purpose, my friend. You walk with much determination, but you need a little guidance, don’t you? Come, join me.” He gestured for her to sit on the cushion opposite to him.

“You’re right,” she responded, kneeling down slowly as she smoothed her dress over her knees. “There’s something that keeps me up at night, and I don’t know what to do.”

And you came here to fix it? Bill wanted to blurt out. No, he had to play it cool and nice. Friendly but distant. He couldn’t say everything that wanted to pop out of his mouth, even if his personalized advice was better. Apparently, he had to abide by normal social conventions at least 76% of the time.

“Family matters are never easy to resolve,” Bill nodded thoughtfully. It was a bit of a leap, but what else did older ladies worry about? Maybe their cats. Cats counted as family, right?

The lady’s eyes twinkled. “You’re right: they aren’t.” She looked into Bill’s eye, almost challengingly. “What should I do about my daughter? Is she making the right choice? Should I stop her before it’s too late?”

…was that all she was gonna give him? Geez, slim pickings for the first meal of the day. Well, here goes nothing!

“She’s a stubborn one, all right. Runs in your family. She wants to make the decision herself and find her own way. Let’s ask the stars what they have to say.”

Bill’s magnum opus was the small projector he had hidden. When he hit the secret button next to him, it would turn on and project the night sky above him. Thankfully, there were no technical complications, and it went on without a hitch, the bright lights a bit grainy but still identifiable. Bill heard Mrs. Ramirez gasp in awe before continuing.

He pretended to trace an outline of something only he could see with intense focus, before allowing himself a “Eureka” moment.

“The bright illumination I see shining from them is clear. If she wants to be stubborn, you may have to accept it. Love influences people in ways we cannot control, so she’ll believe what she wants to believe. If you stop her, she may grow to resent you for not letting her live as she wants. What you need to ask yourself is whether or not you want to be in her life when she makes a decision she may regret, like creating a hairless gopher child. She’ll need you if that happens.”

Yes: Bill was making it up as he went along. From what he could tell, most mothers felt their daughters were going down the wrong path in life. At least that’s what The Duchess Approves showed him.

Mrs. Ramirez nodded slowly in thought. “I never thought about it that way before,” she admitted. “I just don’t want her to get hurt. And if she gets hurt, I will hurt him. Badly.”

Bill clasped his hands together. Whoever that man was, he’d have to be careful or else this 5-foot Latina mother bear was going to kill him. “May the stars guide her well.”

The petite woman shot to her feet with surprising speed. “I knew there was something about you,” she declared. “As soon as I saw that poster. You’re the real deal, even if you’re working with that phony out there.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve seen a lot of mystical arts over the years, so I know a fake when I see one,” she elaborated. “It’s so nice to have a genuine oracle in town again. I’ll recommend you around town.”

“Soothsayer,” he reflexively corrected. “I divine from nature, not tell twisted prophecies. I’m much more helpful.”

“Yes,” she smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Mystique. I may come by again.” “You know where to find me,” Bill returned the smile from under his scarf as she left through the curtains. Her excited exclamations of Bill’s guidance revved up the crowd and the next person pushed their way in. Sweet success. Even sweeter was when, at the end of the week, Stan had to admit defeat, though he wasn’t too torn up about it.

“If I knew how much of a hit your future bullshit would be, we woulda done this ages ago,” Stan cackled in delight, sounding as unhinged as Bill as he dumped several stacks of money on the living room floor. He plopped himself on top of it and started making money-angels. Bill also liked partaking in displays of gluttony, so he joined Stan on the floor.

“It’s a nice gig,” Bill admitted. “People worry about predictable things most of the time, and the times they aren’t, you just gotta think outside the box a bit! I’m like a life coach or savior to them!”

“Honestly? Listening to you reminded me of the shrinks they’d make you talk to in prison. Maybe you were a therapist at some point.” Stan rethought that. “Or you were in therapy for a very long time to learn their language.”

“Or I really can predict the future, and I’m unlocking my god-like abilities with each reading until I become enlightened and rise to a higher realm.”

“Don’t get too delusional,” Stan poked Bill’s forehead. “You work at a tourist trap, bozo, don’t forget it.”

“Ugh, maybe I should start up my own business: ‘The Castle of Secrets’. Does that have a nice ring?”

“Hell no.”

After fooling around for a bit, they sat up. “But seriously…good job today,” Stan said, rubbing his neck. “You’re a natural con man. Maybe even as good as me.”

“Maybe?” Bill teased, kicking Stan’s leg. “Give me more than that, Slick.”

“Okay, fine: as good as me. Happy?”

“I’ll take it. But one day, you’ll have to admit that I’m better than you,” Bill declared, swiping a couple of bucks from the pile. Stan swatted at the offending hand, and the two got into a slapping fight until Stan gave Bill his “fair” share.

~

A month later, Mr. Mystique was an established part of the Mystery Shack. Mr. Mystery’s partner in business. And crime. Bill would usually “bless” a couple of people per tour while the rest of their group milled around the gift shop. With him tied up in the parlor during that time, they had to hire a local teenager to work the register, whom Bill and Stan loved to push around, though it usually culminated in them giving the poor kid conflicting orders. The new hire probably wouldn’t last long with such demanding bosses.

The day had just finished, and their cashier had already run out the door once the closing duties were complete. Stan made sure to close out the register and ensure that every dollar was accounted for while Bill critiqued his reflection in the nearby window. He twirled around and hit several poses, frustrated.

“Something’s missing,” he whined, head tilted left and right.

“Besides your eye?” Stan was quick to quip, and Bill just flipped him the bird back.

“There has to be something I could do to elevate my appearance,” Bill clarified. “For the act! All those fake oracles have a crystal ball or an off putting piercing.” He gave himself a look over again. “This eye patch ain’t cutting it! It’s too mundane. Where’s the pizzazz? The character?”

“Hey, don’t diss the patch! It’s a classy look,” Stan jumped to the eye patch’s defense. “The pirates knew what was up.”

“You wear it if you love it so much,” Bill grumbled. “Should I bedazzle it? Draw on it with magic ink?” He then lifted the fabric and pried open the two lids to expose the empty socket. “Or tape my lids open so everyone gets a good look at my extra face hole?”

“I told you to stop doin’ that creepy shit.”

Bill let his eyelids snap close. “Don’t you get it, Fez? I need to cement my image now. When people think of me, I need to have the key elements set so that I’m always identifiable. So that I’m remembered. You got it with that unflattering hat and the suit. I need more.”

Stan contemplated that response, playing with his fingers and cracking his knuckles. “You really wanna make a name for yourself, don’t cha?”

Bill tugged at his collar, pulling it away from his throat. Mr. Mystique was the one thing that was truly his. That he created alone. He wanted it to mean something.

“You don’t have to worry about cementing your image, Bill. You’re already recognizable enough. There’s no one in town like you,” Stan commented, closing the register. “Whatever else you add is just extra at this point.”

Bill watched his reflection’s eye blink. No one like him, huh? That felt like the truth.

~

That following Sunday, Bill joined Stan with grocery shopping, insisting that he have more of a say in the food that they ate at home. Plus he was out of that nice-smelling skin moisturizer, and Stan never bought the right stuff. They had spent almost an hour bickering up and down the aisles, with Bill on principle rejecting anything that Stan wanted, even if Bill wanted it too.

“What the hell do you have against toffee peanuts,” Stan demanded, cradling the bag to his chest like a baby. “They’re delicious! Sticks to your gums and everything!”

Bill shuddered. “Exactly! I hate my food like I hate my exes: clingy. I tried only ONE, and it was stuck on my tooth for the whole day. It was like a medieval torture device.”

“Guess you can’t handle them,” Stan dropped them into the cart and pushed onwards. It was filled with an uncomfortable amount of jell-o cups, alcohol, juice, cigars, and silly straws. The picture of health, these two.

They made their way to the only available checkout lane, with only a girl with a dark ponytail manning it.

“I still don’t know why we gotta get so much cranberry juice, though,” Stan grumbled, heaving the half gallon onto the conveyor belt.

“You won’t let me drink too much wine, and I like to think I’m guzzling down blood,” Bill explained, taking another out of the cart. “But without the iron, the flavor profile is lacking.”

“You’re sick.”

“Diagnose me, then, Doctor Pines.”

“Um, excuse me,” their cashier interrupted as she finished ringing them up. “But are you Mr. Mystique?”

Bill blinked, a bit taken off guard. He hadn’t been approached by anyone out of costume about his act yet, but there’s a first time for everything. Stan was right: people did know who he was!

He wasn’t wearing his face scarf, though, so he kept his smile fixed in a polite, closed grin. He had been told by Stan that his typical smiles looked like he was about to bite a baby’s head off.

“I am when I’m working! Why? Wanna private reading? Get a glimpse into your future? See if you’re destined to break the curse that has befallen this land?”

Her eyes widened. “This land is cursed?”

Stan let out a booming laugh and clapped Bill hard enough on his back to send a clear message to Bill. “No more than any other land, Miss! Unless you want it to be. Don’t mind my partner, here: he’s the superstitious type, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Ok…well, there’s actually something I totally want to talk to you about,” the girl admitted, not even checking the cash (which was actually Stan Bucks) that Stan passed her as she absentmindedly put it into the register. “No reading needed. My lunch break starts in five minutes, so if you could wait a second?”

Bill considered it. A private audience with him? Odd, but why not?

“Fine,” he relented. “Deal. Let’s hope you actually have something worthwhile to say.”

She instantly perked up. “Really? Thanks, dude! I mean, uh, I’ll meet you outside! Oh- hello sir!”

Stan forced a bag into Bill’s arms as the cashier went on to greet the newly self-christened Manly Dan who dropped several steaks at her station. As they left the store, Stan side-eyed Bill.

“She really wants to talk to you about something, doesn’t she?”

“Your tone right now is very suspicious,” Bill leaned away from his shackmate.

“Ugh, you’re so dense,” Stan grumbled. “She’s into you, man!”

Bill froze at those words as Stan finished putting the majority of the bags into the trunk. He didn’t even consider that option before. But now…”Well of course she’d be into me! I’m gorgeous, intelligent, funny, and mysterious. The total package! She probably thinks that our meeting was destiny, and who could blame her? I’m as irresistible as they come!”

“Well she’s in for a rude awakening.” Stan slammed the backdoor closed harder than necessary. “What are you gonna do? Go on a date with her if she asks you out?”

“As if!” Bill gagged at the suggestion. “Like I’d ever want to tie myself to some boring meat pile.”

“You say that as if you could do better.” The taller man leaned against the Stanmobile. “Here she comes now,” he nodded over to the exit door of the market.

Sure enough, the young woman had just stepped out and rapidly looked around the parking lot until she saw Bill and Stan. She awkwardly jogged over, almost getting hit by Lazy Susan’s car along the way.

Stan slapped Bill’s back a bit too hard, making the smaller man jolt forward. “I’ll leave you to it. Remember: women like compliments, but also be mean to them. It’s weird, but it works. And show her that you have money.”

“I’m not using any of your advice,” Bill retorted as Stan walked away, who pulled out a pack to smoke in the meantime.

“Thanks for staying,” she commented as she got close enough, slowing to a halt in front of Bill.

“Might as well get this over with.” Bill folded his arms critically. “Ok, kid, wow me. What do you wanna say to me? It better not be a love confession or else I’m getting a restraining order against you.”

“What?! Ew, no, not at all! I’m engaged!” Her face immediately twisted in horror at the implication that she was into Bill.

“Well damn you don’t have to say it like THAT,” Bill replied, incredibly insulted and feeling foolish. He should have known better not to listen to Dumbo’s stupid ideas, especially about romance.

“Sorry, it’s just-no. I wanted to say that I’m actually engaged thanks to you. My mom finally gave my boyfriend her blessing after you talked some sense into her.”

Bill snapped his fingers. “Ah, you’re Mrs. Ramirez’s girl. Engaged, huh? That’s a step.”

“Well, it’s more of a promise ring, because he promised he’d get me a real engagement ring soon,” she gushed, holding out her left hand so Bill could see. It looked exactly like those 25-cent toy rings you’d get from the prize machines outside of the grocery store.

Bill nodded as if he was convinced. “You’re going places, kid.” And by places, he meant the engagement limbo, because that man was not gonna marry her if this was the best he could scrap together. He didn’t need to be Mr. Mystique to predict that.

“Thanks!” she giggled, already getting lost in her fantasy world, her buck teeth on clear display. “It was either him, the digital man who lives in the arcade, or the mysterious yet intriguing red-hooded guy who sometimes lurks outside our house at night who’s in a cult.”

“Wha-”

“Oh, my lunch break’s over! Thank you again, magic man!” Ms. Ramirez ran inside before Bill could even absorb that last sentence. A cult, huh? That may be worth looking into.

~

“This could be…good,” Stan said after Bill explained the end of the conversation to him during the ride home.

“You think it’s a bad idea because I could remember the horrible shit I must have been involved in,” Bill scoffed, trying to put his legs up but Stan pinched his thigh before he could.

“Look, let’s not beat around the bush here Bill: whatever my brother got himself involved in, what made him so paranoid that he reached out to me of all people to hide his work, is also tied to you,” Stan laid it out. “You know the same codes he wrote in, the cloak I found you in matches his destroyed belongings, and I know you recognize the portal even if you don’t know why. Even if there’s no evidence of you two ever meeting, you must have been linked somehow. A secret cult could make sense!”

“All the more reason why I should try to remember if we wanna fix the machine,” Bill shouted, agitatedly pulling at his hair.

“You have no idea what it’s like to have no clue who you are. Relearning everything. Having to rely on someone like a useless child. I’m supposed to be better than this! And every time I think I understand, more questions just pop up. I just want to have answers so I stop feeling so lost.”

Stan stayed quiet as Bill breathed heavily, trying to get his stupid lungs under control. Stupid, loose, blabbering mouth. Stupid stinging eye. Stupid empty mind. Stupid body. He hated it. He hated it so much.

A hand held his shoulder, warming his body. “Just breathe in and out, okay? That’s all you gotta do.”

Bill followed the instructions, using the grip as an anchor as he just breathed. After a couple of minutes, he came back to himself. They were already in the Mystery Shack’s parking lot.

Stan let go of Bill’s shoulder and pushed the curly bangs that Bill had been tugging on out of his eye softly. “Better?”

No; now he felt burning hot. “Yeah,” Bill lied. “I…just forget I said all that.” How embarrassing it was to have a meltdown like that.

“No,” Stan shook his head. “You’re right: they’re your memories. If you want to remember them by researching a cult, go for it. I won’t stop you. You may not like what you find out, so be careful.”

Bill instinctively touched where his other eye was missing. “Probably not. But I still want to know.”

“Fair enough.”

“Also I want a fake eye.”

“Hmmm, I may know a guy.”

Chapter Text

Stan outlined a particular route that would take them through Nevada. “We’ll go down the West Coast first. Vegas is always a good first stop, right?”

Bill looked over the map, not sure how to feel. It suddenly became real seeing everything on paper. Their new life plan. Their future. His stomach tightened.

“This is gonna be fun,” Stan said, unconvincingly, with a too-big smile on his face. Like they were willingly planning this. “We shoulda done this years ago when our backs weren’t aching. Whaddya think, babe? Should we get an RV or something?”

The blonde tapped his pen against his notepad, where he had been planning out their finances. “I wouldn’t mind a larger space,” he commented. “But Stanley, isn’t there something we could do? Something to change your brother’s mind?” He asked, now that reality was settling in and the initial rage he felt began to simmer again. “Can’t we just-”

“Nope,” Stan cut him off, knowing where Bill was going. “This is how it’s gonna be. So let’s just enjoy the fact that by the end of the month, we’ll no longer be stuck in this hick town! We’re meant for better places, Bill!”

Bill knew who those words were meant to reassure, and it sure wasn’t him.

Bill tapped his partner’s shoe. “Okay, fine, whatever. Are you really okay with all of this? Because if you are, I will be too.” It was the truth. In time, Bill would adapt, even if he wasn’t sure how. This life was all he ever knew.

Stan nodded, not looking Bill in the eye. “Never been better! Now, what do you think about…”

Bill was not happy with the changes the last month of the summer had brought upon the house. Or rather, Ford’s house, as Ford pointed out very often. And loudly. Nevermind that it was Bill and Stan who had been keeping the place afloat with their own funds plus tax evasion for over twenty-five years.

Ford was someone Bill held very mixed feelings towards. He knew of the man long before he met him thanks to the first journal, stories from the forest’s residents, memorabilia around the shack, and Stan’s anecdotes.

Bill had learned a lot from that first journal since it was the only book they had until this summer. He probably read it over a hundred times over the past twenty-seven years. It was more than just the keeper of the portal’s blueprints. It opened the door to the mysteries of Gravity Falls, but it also allowed Bill to peer into the mind of one Stanford Pines directly. Through the pages, of course.

What he found was a man who thought very highly of himself and expected much from his future. The oddities of Gravity Falls engaged his mind immensely since he had a clear love of learning about the abnormal. It probably stemmed from a feeling of being an outcast due to his physical differences. But Ford’s ambition meant that he was always looking for the next big thing, with the end of the book proclaiming his resolution to find an even bigger discovery than those of the past. While the journal let Ford present himself as a capable, well-meaning scientist, Bill knew that there was more to the man.

When he first ventured into the woods of Gravity Falls all those years ago and became acquaintances with the people there, one line of conversation he always brought up when he could was the shack’s previous resident. Stan at the time had suggested asking them since it was clear that Ford interacted with the cryptids around the lake more than the humans in town. Bill had received an array of responses.

Most agreed that Ford, while annoying, was pretty harmless. He didn’t actively try to maim them or anything, but he did try to capture a lot of them with butterfly nets and various other traps they learned to avoid. This was so he could document their characteristics, interview them, or run benign experiments on them. It wasn’t painful so much as it was degrading and inconveniencing. Some of them had plans, you know! Imagine you were on your way to the bar to catch up with your old college roommates, and some nerdy human jumps you out of nowhere and asks what your allergies are. It would ruin your day, too!

The house also held clues as to what the six-fingered scientist held near and dear to his heart. There was a lot of nautical decor that was hung on the walls, making Bill sometimes feel like he was living in a cabin on a ship rather than a shack in the forest. Stan had also unearthed a large moth collection from one of the spare offices, fondly commenting that “Of course Poindexter kept these creepy shits around”. Many objects that Ford found strange were lovingly preserved, sealed, and kept secure in bindings and other containers. Stan would use the more innocuous ones in the Mystery Shack tours, like the jar full of eyeballs or the disembodied “hand of evil", but kept the others hidden behind the vending machine.

The last, and certainly most biased, source of information was Stanley, who felt a contradictory mess of emotions concerning his twin: love, anger, admiration, inadequacy, but most prominently guilt. Guilt that would tear Stan in half, and then stitch him back together just to repeat it all over again. Again and again and again. So just as Stan became his rock during the bad dreams and debilitating episodes of derealization, Bill started showing up for Stan as he sobbed apologies in the middle of the night to people who were no longer in his life.

Years ago, once they started being more open with each other, Stan slowly started telling Bill more about his life before Gravity Falls: the days when he was a kid living in Glass Shard Beach and the later years when he was a drifter bouncing across the continent. One moment, Stan would be laughing about the time he had his pet racoon trained to shank people that made fun of him and Ford, then the next he’d be muttering about the science fair project, how it was one mistake and Ford was willing to throw him aside for it so easily-

Yeah. If there was one thing Bill got out of all of that, it was that Stan’s relationship with Ford was complicated to the max. Inseparable for all of their childhood due to being outcasts in different ways, with Stan serving as Ford’s loyal protector and Ford leading them on adventures. Only being able to rely and trust one another despite the invisible cracks in their relationship growing as they aged. Resentment being bred as they live in each other’s shadows, always conjoined. Then all of it shatters apart with one accident, with Ford using it as an excuse to do what he must have been secretly desiring all along: detaching himself from Stan and pursuing his dream of being important. At least, that’s what Bill got out of it.

“I wouldn’t have stopped him, ya know,” Stan had mused about a decade ago as they sat on the shack’s sofa on the outside porch, watching the stars dot the darkening sky. It was June 16th, which meant Stan couldn't stand to be sober that night.

“Look, I might have been in denial, but I wasn’t dumb. ‘Course Ford was gonna do amazing things one day. Go to a great school. Become a famous scientist. If it was gonna happen to anyone, it’d be him. I thought the Stan ‘O War was our dream, but if school made him happy, I wouldn’t have ruined it for him on purpose…” Stan trailed off. “How could he think so badly of me? When did I ever hurt him like that to make him believe…” he sighed, frustrated with himself. “He didn’t even let me explain.”

Bill knew better at this point than to heap on insults about Ford, even if they were meant to make Stan feel better. Despite his bitter feelings of betrayal and hurt, Stan didn’t take kindly to someone badmouthing his absent twin. He had nearly knocked out Bill’s teeth the first and only time he did so. It was best just to listen and comfort best he could.

“And then after ten years of no contact he calls me here just to send me away from him forever,” Stan finished grumpily, taking another swing of his beer. “Not to talk or catch up or at least know how I’ve been or ask if I was okay after all this time.” He swirled the remaining liquid around the sides of the bottle. “I was such a moron, thinking that he had changed his mind about our childhood dream. Sail around the world adventuring, my ass. All I had ever wanted was to be with him, to have some place in his life like I mattered, but he couldn’t get rid of me faster if he tried.”

Bill let Stan hide his face in Bill’s neck, pretending not to feel the “not-tears” drip down his throat.

Then, a whispered, broken question was uttered. “When did he stop loving me?”

Now that wouldn’t do. Bill pulled Stan closer, wrapping his arms around Stan’s neck and petting his graying locks.

“I don’t think he ever did,” Bill whispered back, thinking back to the numerous entries in the journal that referenced a childhood with Stanley, only to be crossed out hastily. The various decorations harkening to a life on the water that never occurred. Ford’s clear yet unstated desire for companionship Bill didn’t have to try hard to read in-between the lines to find.

“It was there. Even if it didn’t change much. Besides, the last time you saw him, his noggin clearly wasn’t screwed on the tightest, but he still reached out to you to protect his precious research. No man who hated his brother would do that. I think.” Bill muttered that last sentence under his breath, but Stan still chuckled wetly when he heard it.

“Bet he’s gotta hate me now, with the whole pushing him through a portal to another dimension,” Stan muttered.

“Which you are trying to save him from,” Bill pointed out. “You coulda skeeved off after that but you didn’t.” He patted Stan’s head perhaps a bit too hard. “And we’re gonna get him back because we’re not losers.”

“Hear hear,” Stan intoned, pulling out of the embrace and looking straight into Bill’s eye for deceit, but he didn’t find any. He wiped his face, letting out a disgusted noise at the gunk he wiped from his eyes. “Ugh, my old-man eyes are leaking again. Is that normal?”

“Fez, I’m the last person who’d know about normal bodily functions,” Bill quipped, glad to see Stan rise a bit out of his funk. If he were to take a test on being a good partner, he’d ace it!

“Don’t I know it.” Stan flung his beefy arm around Bill’s shoulders and practically dragged the smaller man into his side. Bill relaxed into the hold, content to stay there for the rest of the night. And they did.

Flash forward to August 2012. Now that they accomplished their mission and reactivated the portal to successfully save Ford, even though the portal broke in the process much to Bill’s dismay, things were not…the best.

This was supposed to be Stan’s greatest achievement, but instead it was giving him the greatest grief. Bill had underestimated the amount of resentment Ford had clung onto for thirty years. Maybe he should have known better since Stan was also one to hold onto the past tightly, but still!

Stan had given Bill the run down of their initial meeting once they were alone together in their room. Bill had been too busy distracting the agents to be there when the portal opened. Apparently, Ford had punched Stan, chastised him for opening the portal, and acted as if Stan had messed up his life all over again. No “thank you” was uttered.

Bill soothingly rubbed Stan’s back where he was tied up earlier at the jail, letting him spill about his disappointment and hurt, but inside Bill was seething. This was the guy that they had worked so hard to bring home? That Bill expected answers from? That Stan gave up his identity for? That Stan reworked his entire life for? All that tireless effort and unwavering devotion was wasted on Ford.

Ford being angry that Stan pushed him into the portal would have been expected: he had been stuck who-knows-where for thirty years. But he was also angry that Stan got him out? Make up your mind already, which is it?! And that resentment definitely grew when Ford saw the tourist trap Stan had converted his house into, disgust blatantly obvious on his face when he first made his rounds around the Shack and saw the furniture flips. Bill quite liked the dinosaur-head table, thank you very much.

But the crux of the big blowout between Stan and Ford was, surprisingly, Bill. Thankfully it happened in the privacy of the parlor once Stan had stopped his brother from incinerating Bill and herded them in there.

It amounted to this: Ford was insistent that William Birch was actually Bill Cipher: the three-sided dream demon and harbinger of chaos. The triangle whose image was in every room of the Shack, the one item Bill originally owned, and constantly popped up around Gravity Falls. The evil terror described in various entries in the third journal, with warnings that had made Bill question the author’s sanity for a bit when he first read it. Ford’s old nemesis. Even after everything they had gone through, it was the strangest thing Bill had ever been accused of. And here he hoped he was going to have a lifetime of questions answered from his last lead.

Stan wasn’t convinced at all by Ford’s words, who would be, even when Ford’s demands to not trust Bill turned into pleas, begging his brother to see that he had been tricked. That Bill was going to ruin them all and destroy the world. Stan brushed these concerns aside, despite how unnerved he was to witness Ford’s blatant desperation, since his brother couldn’t give a solid explanation warranting his paranoia. Then Ford told them they had until the end of the summer to find somewhere else to stay. To pack up their entire lives and get out. So Stan left him with a warning of his own: to stay away from the rest of the family and to not spread his wild conspiracy theories about Bill to the kids.

After the disastrous private conversation the three adult inhabitants of the shack shared, there was a clear division in the household. Ford had made the basement his dominion, only coming up to the main level for food and other necessities before returning down below, much to Dipper’s dismay. He was always wary, triple checking hallways before he walked down them and making sure to keep his back away from windows or doors. As if he were behind enemy lines and waiting for a violent confrontation.

The vigilance was exhausting to watch, especially since most of the suspicion was directed towards Bill. Fine: uglier four-eyes didn’t trust him. Thought Bill was some evil omnipresent being from another dimension and all that. That didn’t bother Bill, despite the very harsh words that had been thrown his way. In fact, it was a bit flattering that after traveling across the multiverse, Ford deemed him to be a powerful, intelligent opponent. So what if Ford couldn’t tell him his true origins? He knew who he was, right?

It was how Ford treated Stan that really made Bill want to sink his nails into his flesh.

When the two were in the same room, which was rare, Ford would either pretend that Stan wasn’t there at all, or make a biting comment as casual as commenting on the weather. This, of course, would get to Stan and make him grumpier than usual, snapping back nastily or storming away with a huff. And after the night of Ford’s return, after Stan raged about their reunion, he had somewhat regressed back to the same emotional distance he kept all those years ago. He’d be clearly upset or thinking about something but kept waving off Bill’s offers to “share icky gross heart stuff” like nothing was wrong, instead throwing himself into planning the next stage of their life.

As if Bill believed that! So now BILL got upset because everything was not how it should be. This was supposed to be a good summer! But the heavy tension was ruining everything! Ford was already making his brother leave the home he had lived in for thirty years once August ended and the kids went home. Did he really have to make the rest of their stay here miserable? Especially with Dipper and Mabel still visiting?

…would Ford have let Stan stay if Bill wasn’t around?

Probably not. Ford was already upset enough at Stan before he found out about Bill. In the grand scheme of things, nothing really would have changed.

It was late afternoon, and the last tour bus had just pulled away, signaling the end of the working day. They had re-opened the shack once the damage from opening a portal to another dimension was repaired. Bill and Stan used their acts nowadays as an escape, as if nothing was going to change and they’d be doing these stunts for years. It’s kind of funny how it all started: Mr. Mystery spawned from Stan’s on-the-spot idea to make Ford’s house an attraction to make money. Mr. Mystique was crafted by Bill to prove to Stan that he could put on a popular act and it just stuck. Their time outside of working on the portal started to become just as important as the time that was. But the routine they had built together, their home, their lives were ending in a few short weeks. Better enjoy it while it lasts. Make another buck. One last hurrah.

Stan’s showman grin dropped once the last customer went out the door, groaning tiredly and twisting to crack his back. He made his way to Bill’s parlor and pushed back the black-out curtains at the entryway to reveal Bill sitting on a plush cushion. His long black gloves already discarded, Bill pushed his glass eyeball out of his socket and lazily disinfected it as Stan took off his eyepatch and covered Bill’s sensitive flesh.

“Tell Wendy to rearrange the price signs so that the higher prices are hidden. Harder to back out once they find out at the register.”

Bill hummed in acknowledgement, unwrapping the silver scarf from around his mouth, then untying his Milky Way-themed tunic and slipping it over his head.

Stan patted his curls appreciatively. “Thanks, toots.” He then left, clearly headed towards the kitchen for a pick-me-up. Bill got up and put away his performance items before going to the gift shop where Wendy was doing her end of the shift duties.

“Where’s Dip ‘N Dops and Mabel-leaf,” he asked her as she wiped down the counter.

Wendy shrugged. “I think they went to town with Soos to pick up some craft stuff for Mabel and more ‘thinking pens’ for Dipper. Poor dude bit his last one too hard and got ink all over his face.”

“He never learns,” Bill mused fondly. “Make sure to rearrange the signs before you leave, ‘kay Wendy-bird?”

Wendy gave a thumbs up, so Bill left the gift shop and entered the privacy of his home. It was still his home for now.

A quick glance showed him that Stan had migrated to the living room: tie undone, fez lopsided, and girdle gone. The picture of beauty as he belched after taking a sip of Pitt Cola. And he was Bill’s partner. All his.

Even though Stan should have been relaxing and cheering on the fighting babies playing on the fight channel, Bill could tell that his mind was elsewhere. He had a far-off look in his eyes, and he was quietly fidgeting in his seat, tapping the arm of the chair and bouncing his leg. He was anxious.

Bill knew how to fix it, at least temporarily. If talking wasn’t working, then this would.

After unbuttoning the top of his shirt a bit to expose more of his chest and fluffing up his hair the way he knew Stan liked, Bill prowled into the living room with a mission: making his partner feel better. Lucky thing he was wearing his tightest pair of black jeans. Stan did love his assets, after all.

If Bill’s footsteps didn’t garner Stan’s attention, then standing in-between Stan’s knees as he gave him a sultry smile sure did. Stan did a double-take, eying Bill up and down, and after liking what he saw, did it again slowly. Stan let out a wolf-whistle as he reclined and appreciated the view.

“Well hel-lo, hot stuff. You look like you got something in mind,” Stan flirted. “Am I gonna like it?”

“Guess you’re gonna have to wait and find out. Make some room for me, big boy?”

Stan smiled widely and spread out his legs so that Bill couldn’t slip next to him. “Sorry, ain’t got no room. But I know an even better seat you can have right here.” He gestured grandly to his lap.

Bill wasted no time straddling Stan’s waist and sitting, placing both hands on each of Stan’s biceps and running his fingers up and down the muscles. Stan also couldn’t keep his hands off Bill, his naughty hands immediately going from the prize and squeezing Bill’s ass.

Bill smirked. It always felt nice to be adored and desired. And Stan’s big palms felt so good, even with the numerous rings adorning his fingers. He could feel the heat from Stan’s skin and coldness from the metal through the fabric. “Someone’s impatient. Keep touching me like that, and I doubt we’ll make it upstairs.”

“Like the good ol’ days, right?” Stan chortled. “We did it everywhere, back then. What changed?”

“You started needing your orthopedic back pillow every time,” Bill deadpanned. “Plus this summer the kids are usually around.”

“But they aren’t here right now. It’s just us.” Stan brought his hands up to Bill’s hips and guided them down, making the lithe man grind on top of him. Bill gasped, already starting to get excited as he peppered a flurry of kisses along Stan’s chin, interspersed with a few biting nips. It had been a while since they had let off some steam, so that was probably why they were so eager to jump each other’s bones.

“How about you work your magic quickly right here, and then I’ll give you a show of my own upstairs,” Stan whispered in Bill’s ear. “Extended version.”

Bill cackled without restraint in delight, and was just about to show Stan how much he liked that suggestion when the sound of glass breaking came from the entrance to the living room.

The two partners whipped their heads around to see that the source of the noise was none other than Ford, who must have come out of the vending machine at some point while they were distracted. His hand was outstretched like he was supposed to be holding something and surrounding his feet were many pieces of what had been a glass cup seconds prior. But that barely registered compared to Ford.

The Indiana Jones wannabe was as still as a non-magical wax statue, totally frozen in place. His face was contorted into an expression of pure astonishment, but quickly flashed through a series of other emotions: disgust, anger, repulsion, disappointment, and…envy? Bill probably got the last one wrong. No one spoke for a moment before Bill felt the uncontrollable urge to break the silence.

“Beat it, nerd. This ain’t a public show. VIP only.” Bill sneered at Ford, already pissed because he could feel Stan tensing uncomfortably underneath him. Fuck: there goes his plan. “And you can’t afford a private viewing.”

Ford immediately snapped in response. “H-how dare you-” He couldn’t even finish his sentence, and after sputtering incoherently several times, he whirled around and stalked away. Probably going to hide and cry about getting no game for thirty years. Unless he had a thing for alien genitalia.

Even though he knew it was likely a useless endeavor, Bill turned back to Stan and gently gripped his chin. “Ah, who cares if he doesn’t like our freak. We can still have fun,” Bill offered, trying to revive the mood. Stan shook his head and just sighed heavily.

“Nah. Just…stay with me here?”

Bill held his vicious tongue that wanted to tell Stan to stop rolling over for Ford, to fight him in a way that mattered and stand up for them. Why was he letting Ford get the final say again? But he knew that Stan wasn’t the real issue here. It was Ford. Always Ford.

“You got it, Lee.”

So Bill squished himself against Stan as they both looked at the TV, neither watching anything. As Stan minutely trembled beside him, a seed of an idea rapidly took root in Bill’s mind. Time for him to have a one-on-one “chat” with the author of the journals.

~

Bill set his plan into action that very night. He figured that in his distraction, Ford had forgotten to get anything from the kitchen during his latest trip. He’d probably come up in the dead of night to avoid running into anyone. Good thing Bill had insomnia: staying up all night, and even the next few nights need be, didn’t bother him. Bill did have to carefully detangle himself from spooning Stan, but after that delay, he sat himself down at the kitchen table and liberally poured himself a glass of wine (don’t tell Stan). The lights stayed off for dramatic effect, but the night sky’s brightness through the window was enough to illuminate the surroundings. All there was to do was wait.

His patience rewarded him after a couple of hours, just before 3 AM. The witching hour. Bill heard the tell-tale whirring of the hidden elevator below the floors and careful footsteps before the characteristic sound of the vending machine opening came from the gift shop. Bill internally applauded himself. So predictable.

Bill could see the shadowed form of Ford cautiously looking around the connecting foyer between the living room and the kitchen, pointing a gun-like machine in circles around the area. Don’t tell him that it was that stupid life-form scanner or something. Ford must have gotten really spooked after walking in on his brother and his brother’s lover. Bill would roll with it.

“Someone’s paranoid~”

Ford immediately pointed his machine directly at Bill, who took a sip from his glass.

“Cipher,” Ford growled, sounding menacing. He shared his brother’s large frame, though more streamlined, and when he bristled with fury, he resembled a dangerous predator ready to pounce. And considering the not-so-thinly veiled animosity he held towards Bill…maybe this wasn’t the smartest plan Bill had come up with. Ford could seriously hurt him given the chance. Only Stan, and maybe the kids, sleeping right upstairs served as a deterrent to Ford going ape-shit on Bill.

“That’s not my name, so feel free to wear it out!”

The oldest Pines twin came into the kitchen and flipped the lights on. The glare reflected on his glasses obscured his eyes, but the deep frown adorning his face couldn’t be hidden. He seemed to actively calm himself down as he got closer to the table, exuding a collected persona as he focused on Bill. Bill forced himself to also appear relaxed and remain in control. No weaknesses.

“You’ve obviously been waiting for me. It’s just us, now. You don’t have to pretend to be clueless when we both know you’re not,” Ford accused. “I don’t know why you’ve taken this convoluted route, but I will not let you trick me into believing you’re innocent in all this! Not like you’ve done with Stanley.” He spat the last part out.

“Wow, can’t a guy just sit in a dark kitchen at 3 AM alone anymore? Bill shook his head in mock disappointment. “And me? Trick Stanley? The guy sniffs out bullshit better than anyone and is one of the most suspicious people I know. If I did have a hidden agenda like you say, he’d have found out years ago,” Bill replied. “It comes with our line of business.”

Ford slammed both of his hands on the table, clearly trying to put on some weird alpha-male display of dominance to make Bill cower. “Not if you played with his feelings,” Ford shot back. “Stan always was too emotionally invested in the idea of a lover. And you’ve obviously seen this weakness and have been trying to seduce him!”

“News flash, IQ, but ‘trying’ implies that it’s a work in progress. I’ve already seduced him, as you saw earlier. You’re about a fourth of a century too late from stopping him from tapping this ass.”

“I meant to your side,” Ford blushed in embarrassment at the turn the conversation took. “You-wait, a fourth of a century? How long have you been here?”

Bill twirled his glass by the stem as he thought back. “It was the…winter of 1984? No, 1985. So twenty-seven years. Wow, I’m getting old.” Bill shuddered in genuine horror.

“Three years after I fell into the portal,” Ford purposefully emphasized. “You have very particular timing.”

“Wha-oh. Three? Because triangles have three sides? Oh, give me a break! I’ve got nothing to do with Bill Cipher but that's a failed conversation for another day.”

“Is it now?”

“Yes, because I’m holding an intervention right now,” Bill proclaimed. “You can obsess over your weird little conspiracy theories about me all you want down in your nerdy man-cave, but you’ve got to do something about your pissy behavior. It’s unbecoming of an over-middle aged guy.”

“Now just wait a minute-”

“I’ve waited a minute far too long with you, you Carl Sagan rip-off,” Bill interrupted. “For the sake of everyone’s sanity in this house, talk to Stan. ACTUALLY talk to Stan. No debate or lecture or woe-is-me monologue. I’ve seen gnome fights more sensible than you two.”

Ford looked caught off-guard by Bill’s request, but recovered quickly. “Did he put you up to this?”

“As if,” Bill snorted. “The man hates to talk. I decided to intervene on his behalf, so let’s keep this between us, ‘kay?”

Ford simply watched Bill, silently.

“You can sit down, ya know. Little awkward having this distance between us.”

Ford slowly drew out the chair and sat down, keeping his hands under the table. “I have talked to Stan. It’s him who’s being bullheaded and unwilling to listen to reason.”

“Yeah, I know. I was there, in case you somehow forgot. He just wants a ‘thank you’,” Bill raised his eyebrows. “That’s what you call being unreasonable?”

“After everything he’s done to me? Absolutely.” Ford scoffed. “I’ve been fair with my treatment of him, but if he thinks I’m going to be grateful that he completely altered the trajectory of my life, he’s sorely mistaken.”

Bill rolled his eye and took a long swing of wine, glad he had chosen the alcohol. He didn’t want to be sober for this. The guy was looking like a lost cause.

“And now he’s got himself entangled with you,” Ford brought the conversation back to Bill, predictably. He had such a huge chip on his shoulder when it came to Bill.

“You couldn’t get me on your side, so you had to involve yourself with my brother in the most foul of ways. Does it make you feel better? Knowing that you lost one Pines twin but at least you got the other one? Even if he serves very little purpose to you?”

Bill blinked at that. Was Ford implying what Bill thought he was implying? That would make some of the journal entries, especially the coded ones, make sense at least.

“You had a thing with the triangle demon?”

“What?! No, of course not!” Ford immediately rejected Bill’s accusation, but the tips of his ears grew a bit red. “Our interactions were strictly-”

“I don’t care about your toxic romance with a geometric shape, as pathetic and hilarious as that is,” Bill cut him off. As much as he’d like to needle and annoy the guy, which he was really tempted to do with this new piece of sensitive information, it would also open a can of worms that implied that Ford once was into a being he was convinced was secretly Bill. No thanks! One Stan twin was enough for him!

“You really think I’m doing all this just to get back at you? Living three decades in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Oregon? Conning tourists with fortune readings and hybrids of taxidermied animals? Fucking your twin? This is my life,” Bill emphasized. “The only one I have. I wouldn’t waste a second of it obsessing over a man I don’t even know. Plus, why are you acting like you’re some sort of prize? You have no money, no job, and you stink. Three strikes: batter OUT!” He mimicked swinging a bat with his empty hand.

Ford’s face was now flushed red from anger, teeth visibly clenched as he sat still in his seat.

Bill leaned forward, maintaining eye contact with the other man. “You wanna hear a little secret?”

“No.”

“I actually feel grateful towards you,” Bill admitted. The shocked silence that emitted from Ford was delicious.

“Think about it: the reason I have this life is because Stan needed someone to help him with the portal instructions. If you hadn’t written in those codes, Stan would have never let me stay initially. So, we became roommates. And then we became partners, lovers…I had nothing before I met him, but now I have a family. A family you so easily left behind to follow your dreams.”

Bill emptied his glass. “And now, you have nothing. So, I just wanna say thank you.”

Ford abruptly stood up, making the table rattle and the chair he was sitting on to nearly topple over.

“You’re just as hateful as you’ve ever been,” Ford sneered, his cool completely gone. “You can change your name, change your appearance, change your mind, but you’re still exactly the same. And I will always be there to stop you. Especially when it comes to protecting MY family.” Ford went to leave, but must have remembered that he still needed food, so he furiously walked around Bill and just grabbed as much of the fridge’s contents as he could before exiting.

Bill let out a low-whistle once he was alone. “Well THAT was threatening. I’m sure I have nothing to worry about.”

He went back to bed, sneakily slipping behind Stan and gathering the larger man in his arms as he rested his head against Stan’s back, sighing heavily.

It would all work out, he reassured himself. They’d stay along the coast and rebuild themselves. Steal an RV and go cross-country. Make Las Vegas their bitch again. Visit Dipper and Mabel. The possibilities were endless! As long as he had Stanley by his side, all would be fine. Screw Stanford Pines and his doomsday warnings about Bill Cipher.

But when he closed his eyes and managed to drift off to sleep, he awoke in that in-between place again. He could see the Mystery Shack in the distance, but most of the space was a reflection pool as far as the eye could see. It was surprisingly tranquil for his mind. He had thought there’d be more arson.

He glanced down, expecting to see his reflection peering back at him, but was instead greeted by the image of who must have been Bill Cipher. The yellow cyclops had three sharp points and wore a spiffy get up complete with a top hat and bowtie. His eyelashes were on fleek, too.

Bill jolted back, instinctively splashing at the image. Ok: maybe Ford did know what he was talking about when he warned him and Stan that Bill Cipher was still looking for a way into their dimension. Was he trying to influence human Bill now? He could try, but Bill wouldn’t fall for it!

But the reflection merely copied Bill’s movements, mimicking the gestures to a T and eye expressing the same features Bill was sure his face was pulling. After a moment, Bill tested the reflection and performed a bunch of intricate dance moves. It passed with flying colors. He and the triangular reflection were one and the same.

Before he could think more on that implication, Bill could distantly hear the sound of his and Stan’s alarm growing louder, shaking the mindscape. His triangular counterpart in the water slowly got disturbed by the ripples as Bill woke up. Stan groaned tiredly before he reached over and pushed the clock over.

“Mornin’,” Stan yawned, stretching so his wife beater rose over his stomach. Bill patted the exposed skin fondly before feeling something poking out from below. He grinned deviously.

“Morning,” he purred, pushing the odd dream out of mind. Especially since Stan seemed a little excited this morning. Time to make up for yesterday’s failure.

Bill teasingly tugged at Stan’s boxers. “Can I make it a good one for you?”

Stan considered the offer with faux casualness. “I guess I can spare some time.”

“Wow, how generous of you.” Bill pressed a kiss on Stan’s “tattoo”, delighting in the shiver that ran down Stan’s spine afterwards. He got to work, determined to make it the best morning Stan had in a while. Make the little moments last a little longer. What else could he do?

Chapter Text

Last night wasn't a good night. Nor the night before that. And the one before that one… which marked the eighth bad night in a row for Bill. This might have had consequences concerning his mental stability.

Bill was a self-diagnosed insomniac. The act of going to sleep was something his body was pretty resistant to. Many nights, he’d either roam the labyrinth halls of the Shack like a specter, stare at Stan in his sleep and contemplate smothering him with his pillow, definitely not watch that old lady black-and-white TV channel, or lock himself in the basement and comb over the ciphers and equations. Once his body would run out of steam, he’d crash into unconsciousness.

Dreaming was always a toss up for Bill. Sometimes, he was in complete control of his surroundings and amused himself by creating scenarios beyond his wildest thoughts, like drawing a smiley face on the North American continent from space or running around a roulette wheel in Vegas as Stanley wins the grand prize.

Other times, not so much. He’d be subjected to odd situations: stuck in a white room drawing blue and red triangles endlessly, swimming around in a fish tank, or being harassed to buy DVDs from a very suspicious fellow he does NOT want to do business with thank YOU very much.

The other other times were not pleasant.

In a majority of them, everything is burning. Everything. Even the empty space isn’t spared from the cyan flames and he can only watch and listen from above as everything below him ceases to exist. He can only cradle what remains, a mere speck of dust, as gently as he can while static rings through his ears. Accusing him. Haunting him from inside.

Why…did..you..do…it?

I didn’t mean to. I just wanted you all to see.

In another fraction of them, he’s stuck in an endless void filled with the stuff of nightmares. The nightmares don’t actually bother him. It’s the fact that he knows that he can’t get out that bothers him. He’s stuck there. And while he’s stuck there, he doesn’t exist. He needs to get out. He needs a way out. But how? The answer seems so close yet he can’t grasp it.

The worst ones include Stanley. Even though he can’t remember the man’s features once he wakes up, he knows it’s Stanley.

His partner is watching him while the same blue flames from before consume the Shack’s living room around them as Bill’s fear reaches a crescendo. Stan’s expression is resolute: nothing Bill could say will move him, even as Bill glitches in and out of existence. What did Bill do to him to deserve this agony? And then Stan draws back his fist, and the next thing Bill knows, he’s falling apart, splintering from his eye down the rest of his body. In his last moments, he pleads to above. One more chance. This can’t be the end.

Then he would wake up in his bed, feeling wrong wrong wrongwrongwrong. Even if his nightmares were unbearable, he was at least still himself as he shattered. But awake, he didn’t feel the same. Everything was heavy and free, yet weightless and constricting. Something fundamental had changed. Like he was an entirely different person. His hands, feet, brain, molecules, atoms, quarks…even his soul must have been reshaped. Even though he knew logically that didn’t make sense, that this was all he ever could have been, he still believed it.

What was real? What wasn’t? Bill didn’t know. Sometimes, he didn’t know if he was alive or dead; he felt so detached from everything. And that terrified him. Thus, no rest in sleep, no rest in wake.

If such episodes happened in the summer, they were easier to shake off. The endless crowds of tourists and the brightness of the day chased away any lingering dark thoughts. But the darkness and pervasive cold of the empty winter meant they were nearly all-consuming. He’d be eaten alive.

~

Stan did his best to help with these episodes. Sometimes, he was able to make up some task the two had to complete immediately and drag Bill to help him, usually concerning the portal or a future attraction. Or they’d go to the local bar in disguises to play some card games or sing karaoke (not Stan’s choice) despite being banned over six separate occasions. Terrorizing people was a reliable way to make Bill cackle with glee.

There was even one time Stan willingly hung out in the library all day so that Bill could spend the day examining every nook and cranny for books with obscure contents, usually focusing on the paranormal or religions in the region.

But Stan couldn’t fight the nightmares every time, especially the ones he haunted. Bill would lock himself in his room and scream at Stan when he’d attempt to check in on him, calling the other man every unflattering name under the sun so he would leave him alone. Stan had learned when to push it or not, so he’d have to wait for Bill to make the first move.

Come the next day, Bill would silently seat himself at the kitchen table, body injured in one manner or another, like bloody scratches running down his legs or fingernails nearly pried off. Stan would simply have to patch him up, carefully treating the wounds so as to not spook Bill further and betray his fragile trust. Once that hurdle would be cleared, Bill would slowly become more vocal as the day passed until he returned to “normal”, neither discussing what happened. He’d also leave a weird offering for Stan outside his bedroom door, almost as if apologizing for his disturbing behavior, like animal teeth he found in the woods. Stan wished he didn’t do that.

A nightmare after a long string of bad nights must have been what broke the camel’s back, because Bill hadn’t left his room since the previous night. And since Stan was a betting man, he’d wager that he would have to patch up Bill again once he revealed himself. This routine was getting old, though. It had been occurring since the beginning of their arrangement, and while Stan could admit it had decreased in frequency and intensity, he was slowly reaching his breaking point. He had his own endless nightmares to deal with. Bill’s nightmares added a whole other level of stress. But what could he do to get to the bottom of it?

Laying tensely on his bed, listlessly staring at the ceiling after he spent most of the evening down in the basement, Stan was so lost in his unorganized thoughts that he nearly missed the sound of the door creaking open. He turned slightly to see a blue eye peering in, then returned to looking up at the ceiling.

“Don’t you know how to knock?”

A quiet huff was hardly heard.

“Look, if you wanna come in then come in. Don’t stand there like a creep.”

“I am a creep, though,” Bill murmured, voice a bit hoarse from the rough treatment his throat endured. “You said it yourself.”

“Don’t always gotta act like it.” Stan shifted over and patted the empty space on his mattress. After a moment, he heard the floorboards creak closer and closer to him before a weight on the edge of his bed made it dip slightly. Bill always weighed very little.

They don’t speak for a bit. Stan had thought Bill wanted to say something, but it was looking like he’d have to make the first move.

“Why do you always hurt yourself? After your nightmares?”

Stan immediately cringed to himself. Well that wasn’t subtle at all! He could have done better than that.

By some miracle, the invasive comment didn’t scare Bill off, who normally avoided any mentions of feelings or emotions like the plague. Instead, he seemed to seriously consider it. Maybe he wanted to understand, too.

“It’s just…when I wake up, everything that was horrible followed me and nothing I feel makes any sense. I don’t feel like myself.”

“That’s pretty normal. I wake up and don’t know what’s going on all the time.”

“No,” Bill rebutted, biting his lip too hard in frustration, leaving a dent in the pink skin from his sharp canine. “Everything feels so wrong. Like this body isn’t me. Like I’m not even a person.”

Stan scrunched his eyebrows together as he took that in. Heavy stuff, that was. “So why hurt yourself?”

Bill rubbed his throat, which drew Stan’s eye to the area. The scratch marks there were already a deep red, and his arm was covered in bloody skin flakes. “A lot of the time I don’t really think of it as hurting myself. It’s more of a reminder that I’m here.”

“The pain is a reminder?”

“I guess,” Bill shrugged.

Stan thought back to the first few months they began to live together. How Bill thoughtlessly mutilated himself nearly every day. “What about when there were no nightmares?”

Bill let out a deep sigh. “I don’t need to have nightmares to feel like this. They just make it worse. They make me remember that this fleshy husk has an expiration date, and I have no clue when that is.”

Bill then shifted, bringing his legs onto the bed and reclining on his back next to Stan. They both faced the ceiling.

“The idea of it is unnatural,” Bill concluded. “It doesn’t make sense. It can’t happen.”

“Dying?” Stan rolled that around in his head. He guessed most people’s fears centered around that, even if they manifested in different ways. “Isn’t that feeling normal? We’ve always been like this. Not knowing when or where it’ll happen.”

“Not me,” Bill whispered. “I’m not supposed to die.”

“Maybe that’s why you hurt your body so much,” Stan tried to make it make sense, internally wondering what the fuck must have happened to Bill in the past to create this line of thinking. Was it some weird God complex?

“You hate your body for being able to die, right? So when you want to feel connected to it, you hurt it. People who feel pain can’t be dead.”

Bill considered Stan’s words seriously. “Is that why I’m like this?”

“Do I look like a psychologist? I don’t know for sure, but it’d kinda make sense, right?”

“It kinda does,” Bill hummed, relaxing a bit onto the sheets.

“But you can’t keep going on like this. One day you’re really gonna mess yourself up, and I’m not gonna be able to do anything to fix it,” Stan tried to redirect the conversation. This could be his chance to get rid of the behavior. Or reduce it at the very least. “It’s the feeling that's important, right? To feel alive?”

Bill side-eyed him. “I suppose…”

“Does it really have to be painful? Couldn’t you go the opposite route and use something that feels, uh, pleasurable instead?”

“Pleasurable?” Bill scrunched his nose. “Why?”

“So you stop hurting yourself, you dolt,” Stan rolled his eyes. “I get that it’ll be hard to kick bad habits, but maybe once you treat your body better, your other issues will get better, too.” Stan paused, contemplating his own advice. “I’m not sure if that makes sense.”

“No, it does,” Bill sounded thoughtful. “The mind and body are connected. Studies have shown that a healthy body supports a healthy mind and stable psychological state. Maybe if I follow your advice, my mind will also get better…eh, what do I have to lose?”

Bill turned to the side to face Stan fully, propping his cheek on his hand. “So, what pleasurable thing should I do instead?”

“Hell if I know,” Stan grumbled. “What makes you feel good? Physically.”

The blonde licked his lips. “...beating you at poker.”

“That doesn’t count,” Stan shot back. “Come on! Something like takin’ a bath, going for a walk, eating your favorite food, masturbating-”

“Masturbating?” Bill interrupted. “Really?”

“You telling me it doesn’t feel good?” Stan shifted to face Bill. “All that kind of stuff. Kissing, touching, having sex: it’s meant to feel good! And there’s always a demand for it. But then again-” Stan looked over Bill critically, making the other man unconsciously squirm, “-I don’t think you’ve ever done that stuff.”

“You don’t know EVERYTHING that I do!” Bill snapped, face flushing a deep red in anger, embarrassment, or both. “I’ve done it!”

“Lie a little better, and I may believe you,” Stan sniggered.

“I MIGHT have done it before,” Bill amended. “We can’t deny that!”

“But you can’t prove it either,” Stan pointed out. “That basically makes you a virgin in, like, everything.”

Bill growled in annoyance. “Like you get around.”

“Oh, believe me, I did,” Stan smirked cockily as Bill seethed. “Everyone wanted a piece of me.”

Okay: that wasn’t necessarily true, even in the best of times Stan had, but Bill didn’t need to know that. Especially since it got him so riled up.

Then, in a moment of feeling extra confident, Stan leaned close to Bill, so that their noses were nearly touching. “Want me to teach you?” Stan purred, meaning for his words to come out taunting, but instead they sounded very inviting. Oops. Old habits die hard.

Stan didn’t think Bill could turn even more red, but somehow he did, flushing a color as deep as blood. He watched as Bill’s eye glanced down to his lips before meeting Stan’s gaze. Stan suddenly found himself feeling very unexpectedly hot.

“W-well, let’s see what you got, big guy. I’m not some floozy you can pick up at the bar,” Bill challenged as he got impossibly closer, their lips brushing against each other. He waited there, clearly signaling for Stan to make the leap if he dared. Well…he DID offer, jokingly, but still. Did either of them even want this? Or was this just another game to see who could one-up the other? If so, Stan didn’t want to lose.

So, he did the only thing he could have done and kissed Bill.

At first, Bill did nothing but stay as still as a statue, and Stan was just about to pull back and gloat that clearly Bill didn’t know what he was doing, but then Bill copied the movement of Stan’s lips and returned the kiss. A jolt of pleasure electrified Stan’s mouth, and he felt his face pool with even more heat. It had been a while since he had been touched like this, okay?! So, he stayed put and deepened the kiss, hand curling around Bill’s neck, right where his curls met the nape, and pulled him in closer.

Bill let out a gasp at the sensation, but didn’t back down, running his own fingers through Stan’s hair and sharply tugging. He used his teeth more than he used his lips, as if he was trying to consume Stan whole, biting at Stan’s tongue and tearing at his gums until the two of them started going at each other’s throats. It was rough, stinging in ways that made it painful, but addicting. Making Stan want more, even as it took his breath away and made him light-headed.

His one-eyed companion must have felt similarly because as they broke apart to catch their breaths, a mixture of spit and even blood lining their mouths, Bill rolled himself on top of Stan, seating himself firmly on the bottom man’s lap. They both groaned at the sensation, both shaking with need.

This was going too far, Stan thought dizzily to himself. If they continued, then they couldn’t go back.

But as he looked up at Bill, who was watching him from his seat on Stan’s groin, chest heaving as his hips uncontrollably rocked back and forth, he found his resolve weakening.

Stan could admit that Bill was decent to look at. He had nice, slender features and a full head of golden, curly locks. His eye could easily keep people entranced, with its striking blue coloration and long eyelashes. Usually, it was his grating and irritating behavior that distracted Stan from paying attention to his beauty. But now? With the scratches on his neck joined by blossoming bite-marks and flushed skin all the way down his throat and with him looking so desperately at Stan in the pale moonlight shining through the window…he was the most gorgeous person Stan had ever seen.

Stan gripped Bill’s hips, stilling any movement.

“What-” he managed to rasp out, “-do you want? Cause if you keep going-“ his hold tightened even further, “-I won’t be able to stop,” he admitted.

“Then don’t.” Bill leaned down low enough that his hair tickled Stan’s forehead. “Make me feel good, Stan-ley~”

The last of Stan’s restraint snapped, and suddenly their positions changed, with Bill trapped in between Stan’s thighs as Stan caged him in. Bill bucked up against him, but Stan remained firm.

“Let me show you some tricks I’ve picked up, then,” Stan whispered in his ear, making Bill shudder. Stan let an unhinged grin spread across his face, which seemed to excite Bill even more if the wanting expression on his face was any clue. They were in for a wild time.

~

About an hour later, once the two of them had got everything out of their systems and could only slump against the pillows on Stan’s bed, the post-nut clarity hit Stan in the middle of him smoking a cigar. Hard.

That was one of the better sexual encounters he had. And it was with a man. With Bill. If you had told him that even a day ago, he would have laughed right in your face before slugging you.

He didn’t feel like doing either of those actions now, looking over at Bill who was teetering in and out of consciousness right next to him, his eye still irritated from how much he cried during their fun. Stan shoulda figured the guy would get overstimulated easily. The blanket barely covered his lower half, so Stan tucked the fabric higher to give Bill some semblance of decency and to hide from his own actions.

Where to go from here? Stan wasn’t a stranger to one night stands, but every other time he was able to drive away in the middle of the night and never have to worry about seeing them again once the deed was done. This wasn’t a one night stand, though: this was his roommate. His living companion. His partner! Things were good between them at the moment: they understood each other and worked well together. He had Bill figured out. Stan hadn’t had anyone this close to him for so long, and he didn’t want to mess it up over something that occurred in the heat of the moment.

So he couldn’t run away from this, even though he felt the urge very strongly. Better do damage control, fast.

“Look…this doesn’t hafta change anything, ya know?” Stan hesitantly offered when he was sure Bill was semi-coherent. “We’re two guys in our prime, so we gotta let off a bit of steam now and then.”

Bill didn’t react for a while. Just as Stan was about to speak again and babble whatever came to mind to fix the awkward situation, Bill reached over and took the cigar from Stan, taking a puff and blowing the smoke over Stan’s face.

“It helped. Ground me, I mean,” Bill clarified. “Your idea worked.”

Stan was lost for a second before it clicked. Right. The suggestion that kickstarted all of this.

“Oh, did it now?” Stan smirked in satisfaction. “Guess I made you feel reeeeally good, huh?”

Bill shot him an unamused look. “Golly, now where did you get THAT idea? When we humped each other like dogs? When I scratched your back just trying to cling on? Or was it when I came on your-“

“Okay!” Stan cut off his bed partner, who sniggered at Stan’s blatant embarrassment.

Stan cleared his throat. “I’m just saying that things don’t have to be weird after this. We can just move on and act like this never happened.”

Bill didn’t seem to like that offer very much. In fact, he looked downright insulted.

“Never happened?! You want to pretend that the most action you’ve had in years didn’t happen?! That you didn’t take my virginity?!”

“Oh so NOW you’re a virgin? And don’t be so dramatic,” Stan shot back, defensive. “People do weird shit together all the time and end it once it’s done.”

“Why does it have to end, then?”

“Huh?!” Stan must not have understood that correctly. “You want to do it again? Is that what you’re saying?” he clarified.

Bill traced the outline of a hickey that Stan placed on his collarbone. Stan’s eyes couldn’t help but track the movement. “I told you: it grounded me. If I could do this instead of harming myself in less-than-fun ways, I’d choose this. Besides-,” Bill smiled devilishly at Stan, “-you enjoyed yourself, too, so it’s not like you’d get nothing out of it. So why not do it again?”

“Bold of you to assume that I need to sleep with you to get off. I’ve got plenty of options in town!”

Bill just looked at Stan with a “That’s bullshit” expression.

Stan glanced away. “Okay, fine, it wasn’t the WORSE I’ve ever had-”

“Oh, don’t you lie right now-”

“-so I guess I’d be open to doing it again.” Stan then smirked. “Since you need me so badly.”

“As if!”

“Is my dick like therapy for you? Or a type of medication?”

“You know what, nevermind! It’s not worth having to deal with you like this every time.” Bill sat up and began to untangle himself from blankets twisted around his legs, but Stan wrapped his large arms around Bill’s thin waist and held on.

“Aww, Sugar Pie, don’t be mad! Didn’t you like Mr. Mystery's special tour of his Shack?” Stan cooed mockingly, pressing his face against Bill’s lower back, for some reason pleased when he felt the slim man shiver.

“Don’t bring the house into your weird sex innuendos,” Bill scolded Stan, but settled back into bed in Stan’s embrace. Neither man moved to change their positions.

“...so you’ll do it?” Bill asked to confirm.

“Sure, why not? Just let me know when you’re feeling shitty.”

“Okay.” Bill then added, “And if you ever want to…do it, for your own needs, I’ll do it too.”

“You don’t have to. I’ve gone this long dealing with it myself. Or I can find someone, even if you think I can’t.”

“If you have me, you won’t need someone else.” Bill shut that down quickly. “Look: it’s only fair. You scratch my back and I scratch yours, right?” Bill rationalized, holding out a pinky.

Stan shrugged and linked the pinky with his own. “Fine by me.”

“Okay, now get,” Stan unwrapped his arms and gave Bill a nudge. “I’m gonna try to get some shut eye before morning comes.”

“But it’s cold in the hallways,” Bill whined, digging himself more into Stan’s side. “You would heartlessly throw me to face the elements like this?! I’ll become a meat popsicle!” He batted his eye with a pitiful expression.

“Hey, I pay good money to heat your room, so appreciate it!”

“Aw, come on! It’s just one night.”

Stan sighed, exasperated and feeling the call of sleep beckoning him. It wasn’t worth it to continue this argument. “Fine, whatever. Just one night.”

Just one night. Nothing more. It wouldn’t be anything more. It couldn’t be anything more.

Chapter Text

Bill fiddled with his gold ring as he sat in the Piedmont County Hospital’s parking lot. His partner sitting next to him was currently wrapping his hands in bandages to hide the missing appendage that was expected of Stanford Pines. This would be their hardest con yet: a family reunion.

Bill had never met the rest of the Pines family. The longest interaction he ever had with Stan’s older brother, Sherman, was when he once accidentally picked up the phone without checking the caller ID years ago the few times the man would call to check in on “Ford”. When asked who he was, he had introduced himself as Stan’s partner. It was the truth, after all. But Shermie seemed to take it in another way. Once the phone was passed to Stan, he got berated for not telling the rest of the family he had gotten hitched. No amount of denials from Stan could convince Shermie otherwise, so it was a bit ironic that a few years later they did actually get married, even if not through the most legal means in Vegas.

Now, here they were. Shermie had called yesterday, apologetic for not keeping in touch, but wanting both Stan and Bill to come meet his grandchildren when they were supposed to be born the next day. Twins. Stan had agreed immediately. Now, the ramifications of the act he had to keep up were overwhelming him.

“He’s gonna see right through me.” Stan shifted agitatedly in his seat, pulling down his mirror for the hundredth time to check that the contour Bill added on his chin gave him a realistic-looking cleft. “He’s gonna know.”

“It’s been over thirty years since he’s seen either of you,” Bill reminded him, deciding to give his mascara a bit of a touch up while he had the chance. He wanted to make a good first impression on his brother-in-law. Or was it the second impression? Did phone calls even count? “He probably barely remembers the differences between you two.”

Ten large fingers suddenly appeared right in front of Bill’s eye. “I think he’ll notice this difference very easily, Bill!”

Bill pushed them out of his face. “I told you to wear the gloves, but you can make the surgery excuse work if you just spout a bunch of medical jargon. Confound him with big words.”

“You don’t know Shermie. The guy can sniff out bullshit from a mile away. He always knew when Ford and I were up to trouble, and he’d always come get us.”

Stan then tacked on, “Well, when he was there, at least.”

Bill capped his mascara shut and reached over to tug at Stan’s earlobe.

“Ow, stop it!”

“Look, you worrywart: it’s the birth of his first grandkids. He’s gonna be focused on them, not us. We’ll come in, say our hellos, gush over how cute the tiny flesh meatballs are, then leave. We’ll blend into the background of this momentous and joyous day. The number of fingers you have and whether or not you have a butt-chin will be the last things on his mind.”

Stan sagged in his car seat, looking far older than he should as each wrinkle emphasized his deep frown. “I just…I don’t want this to go wrong.”

“It won’t,” Bill insisted. “I foresee this going very well. I’d bet my wedding band on it.”

“I’ll hold you to it. That was 24-karat, y’know.”

“I’d be more impressed if you had actually paid for it.”

“If I had to pay for it, then you’d never have it.”

~

Stan peered down into the small hospital cradle. Nestled against each other were two brunette newborns, bundled in the hospital-provided blankets and caps.

“Twins, eh?” Stan spoke aloud, a bittersweet feeling overtaking him.

“Yup,” a voice behind him responded, almost making him jump, but he relaxed as his older brother laid a hand on his shoulder and joined him in looking at the babies. “Aren’t they the cutest?”

“Yeah, they coulda been uglier,” Stan mused, then winced when the grip on his shoulder tightened. “Ow, Sherm! Fine, they’re adorable! Now quit it!”

Sherman Pines chuckled and relaxed his hand. “I’m just messin’ with you, Ford.”

Stan made sure to keep a smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He cleared his throat. “Now, how about you let these grunkles hold the little suckers?”

“Grunkle?” Bill, who had come over after introducing himself to Stan’s nephew, made a face at the made-up word.

Shermie raised an eyebrow. “YOU want to hold a baby?”

Stan inwardly winced. Right. Ford never liked holding their nephew when he was young. He’d get too uncomfortable, preferring to hover over Stan’s shoulder and watch.

“What can I say? I’ve changed. Love the kids! Right, Bill?”

“Oh, absolutely. He’s great with the little rascals that visit the Shack.”

“Hm.” Shermie thankfully didn’t push. “Alright. Their parents could use a breather anyways. Both of you wash your hands first, though.”

A couple of minutes later, Stan had the girl twin in his big arms as he sat in the too-small chair. Bill had the other one cradled to his chest in the next chair over, somehow not being too bad at it. The new parents had passed out in the cot, tired from a very long day. Shermie stood in front of them, letting them have their moment but also unable to keep himself away from the babies. He was clearly enamored with them.

“Uh…are newborns supposed to be this color?” Bill asked Stan’s brother, eyeing the boy whose eyes were shut tightly and face had a bit of a blue tinge to it.

Shermie gently patted the baby’s head. “Poor Mason here was born with the cord wrapped around his neck. He’ll be fine, though. But check this out,” he pushed back the little hat covering his forehead.

“A birthmark, huh? Looks like one of those star constellations,” Stan noted as he took in the red mark.

“The Big Dipper,” Bill gazed softly at his grandnephew as he lightly traced the lines. Of course he’d like that.

Watching Bill hold such a small baby stirred up a flurry of unidentifiable feelings in Stan’s abdomen. His lover looked good like this. It felt right, but also so overwhelming. Complete, but with a sense of loss. Or maybe it was just gas.

Stan pushed down the sensation and focused on the other babe, who had already awoken from her nap and started making little cooing noises.

“And who do we have here?” he asked, rocking her slightly.

“Mabel,” Shermie answered. “She came first. Very loudly, too.”

Stan chuckled. “Did she, now?” As he held her, Stan hoped the ache he felt in his chest wasn’t a heart attack.

“Brings back memories,” Shermie casually remarked, watching his little brother with his granddaughter. Bill immediately side-eyed Stan, not yet worried but alert.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You and your brother were just as small when you were born,” Shermie smiled fondly. “You were always so loud. I had to sleep with the pillow over my head for the first year.”

“I still have to do that,” Bill joked. “He snores like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I believe it.”

Stan tried to return the smile, but it came off more like a grimace. “Guess twins run in the family, yeah?”

Shermie winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine, Shermie,” Stan cut him off. “I get it. Really.” Bill’s toe tapped the tip of his shoe, and he returned the gesture. It was fine. He had expected it to come up.

They all stayed silent, watching the two youngest Pines. They had so much life ahead of them. Stan hoped they would be together throughout it all.

“Alright, times up, boys.” Shermie announced. “Lemme hold my grandbabies.”

“Hey, just wait a minute-”

After bickering for a bit and taking a few photos all together, the couple acquiesced and let Shermie hold the babies until they started crying for food. They then left the room to give the new mother some privacy and ended up standing in the hallway.

Bill shifted, clearly restless, and Stan felt a pang of guilt that he was basically using his partner as a buffer. As much as he wanted to avoid it, it was time for a one-on-one chat with his brother. He caught Bill’s eye and gave him the “all-clear” signal. Bill frowned, but seeing the determined expression on Stan’s face, acquiesced.

“I need to fix my hair,” Bill announced. “The humidity here is absolutely murdering it. Where’s the nearest restroom?”

Shermie gave him the directions, and Bill was on his way. The two Pines watched as he disappeared down the hallway.

“I like him,” Shermie declared. “He’s good for you.”

“Oh?” Stan wasn’t expecting that. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do. You need someone who can keep up with you, and even if he’s a little unconventional, he seems like he’ll be there for you. And you clearly trust him, or else you wouldn’t have brought him with you.”

Shermie then sighed dramatically. “If only I was invited to the wedding.”

“Shermie, I told you, there was no wedding!”

“But you are married,” his brother shot back. “Don’t think I don’t see those wedding rings. And that’s good quality gold, too.”

Stan blushed. “Hey, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, alright?”

“That’s how the saying goes, I suppose.”

Stan watched as a contemplative expression took over his brother’s face. “Hey, what’s eatin’ at you? You were all smiles a second ago.”

“I guess I feel a bit guilty,” Shermie admitted, fiddling with his own wedding band. “I got to see our boy become a man and start a family, and she can only watch from the other side. I get to grow old and change while she just…stays the same.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve accepted it by now, but it’s milestones like these that remind me she’s not here.”

Stan swallowed. Shermie’s girl had gotten sick towards the end of Stan’s senior year. Ma started watching the baby overnight so that Shermie could juggle working and caring for his wife in the hospital. Things never got better. “You’re allowed to miss her.”

“I know I am,” Shermie turned to look Stan in the eye. “What about you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you let yourself miss him?”

Stan shoved his hands in his pockets, the nerves jumping up again. “Please! As if I’d miss that screwup. He was always messin’ up my life.”

“You don’t have to pretend for me, Stanley.”

Stan froze. “I think you just mispronounced ‘Stanford’, Sherman. Or are you havin’ a senior moment?”

Shermie stepped closer. Stan shrunk back. “Do you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell my own brothers apart? You can only hide your hands behind so many bandages or in your pockets. And that ridiculous makeup rubbed off within the first five minutes of you getting here. Identical you may be, but you two are completely different.”

Stan couldn’t speak even if he tried. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

“What happened, Stan?” Shermie pleaded. “Have you been pretending to be Ford all this time? Why?”

“He asked me to come to him seventeen years ago,” Stan choked out. “Said he got caught up in some trouble. I came to him and then he left...” He paused, trying to steady himself. “I couldn’t let his work get destroyed while he was gone, but Stanley Pines didn’t have the cleanest record. So I became Stanford Pines.”

“By killing Stanley Pines,” Shermie finished grimly. He sighed heavily. “I didn’t even go to the funeral with Ma.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Stan said bitterly. “Nothing to mourn.”

“I should have, though. If I couldn’t have been there for you in life, I should have at least been there for you in death,” Shermie rebutted. “But you ARE alive and never let us know. No wonder you usually dodged our calls.” He shook his head. “What do you mean by ‘gone’, though? He’s not dead?”

“Right,” Stan confirmed. “He’s just far from home. I’m gonna get him back, though.” He paused. “Wait, so you actually believe me?”

Shermie shrugged tiredly. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“But why? Wouldn’t it make more sense if I…” Stan trailed off.

Shermie raised his thick eyebrows. “That you what? Killed Ford and took over his identity?”

Stan looked away. “Not hard to believe, right? Stanley Pines couldn’t make a name for himself, so he took his brother’s in cold blood. Most people would buy it.”

“Well most people don’t know Stanley Pines like I do.” Two hands came and held Stan’s shoulders, turning him to face his older brother.

“Stanley Pines loves his family more than anything in the world,” Shermie spoke firmly. “He’d never knowingly hurt them or ruin their lives. He may have made bad decisions in the past, and that’s gotten him into trouble, but he overcomes them. That’s the person he is. So no, I don’t believe you killed Ford for your own benefit. If you say you’re gonna bring him home, then by God you’re gonna do it or die trying,” he finished with a wink. He looked just like their Ma.

Stan sniffed loudly, trying to keep it together. “I didn’t break it on purpose.”

Shermie nodded. “I know.” He pulled Stan into a hug.

Stan melted right into it. Suddenly, he was a little boy again, holding onto his cool older brother who was larger than life. Who made everything feel better.

“I missed you, Stan,” Shermie whispered into his ear. “So much.”

“Same here, Shermie.” Stan hid his weeping eyes in the front of his brother’s jacket.

After a few moments, they pulled back. Shermie’s eyes were glossy while Stan kept rubbing his.

“Your coat scratched my eyes,” he grumbled.

Shermie snorted. “Sure it did.”

Then something occurred to Shermie. “Wait, what about Bill? Does he know about all…this?”

Stan paused before nodding. “Yeah, he knows everything. I met him back in ‘85, and he’s been helping me with finding Ford and running the Mystery Shack since. He’s my partner in every way, I guess.”

Shermie nodded. “I’m glad that you’ve had someone by your side, at least.”

“So am I.”

Stan checked his watch. “Well, wouldja look at the time! We better head back soon. The Mystery Shack’s not gonna open itself tomorrow.”

“Already leaving? I guess I was lucky you even came,” Shermie looked Stan over. “There’s a lot more we gotta talk about. But later, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Stan replied. “I’m pretty busy, though.”

“Let’s at least call every six months,” Shermie wagered. “For my own peace of mind. It’ll be good to stay in contact.”

Stan smiled. “You got it, Sherm.”

~

Bill waited by the exit as Stan went on his own bathroom run before they started the long car ride home. Everything went pretty smoothly! The kids were healthy, the parents were happy, the grandfather was proud, and the grunkles were glad to be included in this special moment. Just like he told Stan it would go. That paranoid man had to stop doubting Bill.

“Oh, Bill! I’m glad I caught you before you two left!”

Sherman Pines waved him down, quickly making his way over to him. Bill flashed the guy a smile, making sure to keep it contained and normal-looking. This was one person he absolutely had to make a good impression on or it would destroy Stan.

“Looking for me, Shermie? How can I be of service to my favorite brother-in-law?”

“At least you don’t deny that the two of you are married,” Shermie laughed. “I just wanted to say that it was great having you come. I’m glad the family was able to be together for this, and I’d really like for the twins to have their grunkles in their lives.”

“Of course,” Bill agreed genially, practically dripping with satisfaction. He was considered part of the Pines family by the patriarch! “We wouldn’t have missed it for the world. And we’re honored to be their grunkles.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” Shermie then added, “I also wanted to thank you, specifically.”

“Me? For what?”

“For being there for my brother for all these years.” Shermie shifted on his feet, now looking a bit solemn and regretful. “I wasn’t as present as I could have been, even with the complicated circumstances. At the end of the day, he’s my little brother, and I should have made more of an effort to be there for him even if he didn’t make it easy for me. But you were. When there was no one else.”

Bill felt a warm glow tingle in his chest. “Well…he’s all I got, too,” he replied, almost bashfully, which was weird because William Birch was never BASHFUL. “I can’t imagine life without him.” Because he couldn’t. His life kickstarted with Stanley Pines peering over him as he laid frozen on the porch. And every single aspect of his life since then had revolved around Stanley. “He’s…everything.”

Shermie looked Bill straight in his eye. “He feels the same way about you. I’m sure of it.”

Bill huffed, feeling very flustered. This was getting too mushy and genuine for him. “He better.”

“Alright, now give your brother a hug before your journey home.” Shermie held out his arms, and after a moment’s hesitation, Bill entered the embrace. It felt…nice. Was this what it was like to have an older brother? He relaxed into it. No wonder Stan missed it.

“Thank you, Bill,” Shermie whispered. “For taking care of Stanley. I really appreciate it.”

“Always,” Bill promised.

Shermie pulled away and gave Bill one more smile. “I gave Stan my goodbyes earlier, so I’ll be heading back up now. Take care and don’t be a stranger! I already made Stan agree to call me every six months, but don’t be afraid to ring me whenever you’d like.”

“Will do, Sherm,” Bill flashed him a peace sign. Sherman Pines chuckled again, obviously endeared to Bill because who wouldn’t be, before heading towards the elevators. It wasn’t until he was gone that it dawned on Bill what Shermie had said.

“Oh, fuck he knows.”

Guess he did lose the bet, in a way.

~

Stan let Bill fiddle with the car radio as they crossed over the border from California back into Oregon, but neither of them were really listening to the music. Both of their minds were still stuck in that hospital.

“So…” Bill tried to casually start up a conversation that had been brewing in his mind since they first got the call about the twins. “Babies. Let’s talk about them.”

Stan snorted, trying to cover his nerves. “What about babies do you wanna talk about? Most things about them disgust you.”

“It’s different when they’re a part of the family,” Bill insisted. “Other people’s spawnlings? Couldn’t care less about the little parasites. But when they’re our nieces and nephews? They aren’t so bad! Besides, I saw how much you didn’t want to put that baby-”

“Mabel.”

“-Mabel down. Look at you already correcting me about their names! You love them.”

“Course I do,” Stan agreed gruffly, almost embarrassed to admit the vulnerable truth. “And it looks like Shermie wants us to be a part of their lives, even knowing the truth.”

“As he should,” Bill preened. “We’re good-er decent influences!”

“Uh-huh.”

“We own our house and surrounding property, run a successful business that’s been around for over a decade, and we have a great relationship,” Bill listed off. “Perfect for a kid. Honestly, we could have one of our own if we wanted to.”

There it was: the unspoken question finally verbalized.

Stan resolutely kept his eyes on the road. Bill resolutely kept his eye on Stan. When it was clear that Stan wasn’t going to say anything, Bill continued.

“I mean, neither of us have the proper organs to go about it the old fashioned way, but there are children out there who need someone,” he pitched. “Imagine it: raising them, letting them run around the Shack, teaching them all the ways to commit fraud…it could happen. They, whoever that may be, would be ours. Not someone else’s, not your brother’s, ours. I saw how you looked at me when I held Mason. You yearn for it too. So why not?”

“That’s not how it works,” Stan exclaimed. “You can’t just have a kid because you want one.”

“Shouldn’t people who actually want kids be the ones to have them instead of people who don’t?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what do you mean, Stanley?! We could do it!”

“NO, I COULDN’T.”

The words rang loudly in the Stanmobile.

Stan swallowed, knuckles white as they tightly gripped the steering wheel. “...I don’t want to be a dad,” he admitted. “I don’t want to be like him.”

“Oh, come on, you’re nothing like your shitty old man!” Bill protested in defense of Stan’s character. “Just focus on your mom as a role model if anything!”

Stan chuckled bitterly. “I love my Ma, but she ain’t winning any award for raising us. Besides, I already got his big ears and nose and old fez and suit. I see him every time I look in the mirror. A kid is one step closer to becoming him.”

Bill put a hand on Stan’s thigh, trying to be comforting. “Not gonna happen,” Bill proclaimed. “Worrying about that kind of stuff is something your sorry excuse for a sperm-donor would never do. Plus, I’d kill you before I’d ever let you act like Filbrick Pines.” Bill shuddered at the mere thought.

Stan shook his head. “He’s all I’ve ever known. Even if I didn’t mean to, it could slip through. I don’t want that. I don’t wanna make another me.”

“I wouldn’t mind another you hanging around, but that’s just me.” Bill rubbed circles into the meat of Stan’s leg. “...Well if you’re haunted by the memories of your dad, what would you call my case? Haunted by the missing memories? With nothing to look back on, where would I even start?”

“Bill-”

“I wonder what they must have been like, sometimes, in order to create someone like me. I’m rather unique, so they must have been too, right? If they even existed. I’m probably just another kid who slipped through the cracks of the system. I’m a ghost.” Bill chewed his lip. “But sometimes, when I wake up, I can feel myself missing someone. And I know it’s them. How can my mind forget yet still remember?”

Stan laid his hand on top of Bill’s, where he was still caressing Stan’s thigh. “You loved them,” Stan squeezed the thinner hand beneath his. “That feeling can’t really go away. So it sticks around as something else. And it feels terrible, but that means that it was real.”

“That’s very reassuring,” Bill tried to joke, interlacing his fingers with Stan’s. “The love of my probably-dead-slash-estranged parents continues to haunt my soul.”

“It’s already a very dark place, so they fit right in.”

“I’ll have to get a VIP section designated just for them.”

Stan huffed, thumb rubbing over Bill’s knuckles. “Are you gonna hate me for this?” he asked. “For not wanting to bring a kid into our family?”

“Nah, it’s not like I planned a future around it. It was just a thought to entertain, y’know? Besides, there’s two kids we’re gonna be seeing more of in the upcoming years, and I’ll be happy just being Grunkle Bill to them.” Bill shrugged. “It’s for the best.”

Stan brought Bill’s hand to his lips and pressed a rough kiss across the back. “For what it’s worth, and it may just be pennies to you, but if things were different, I’d be happy to have a baby. If it’s with you.”

Bill’s ears turned red at the corny yet sweet gesture, and a toothy smile took over his face. “Starlight, that sounds like gold to me.”

~

That night, as Stan laid Bill across their bed and crawled in between his legs, he started to admit, “What you said earlier…”

“Hm?” Bill couldn’t recall what exactly Stan was referencing, mind fogged over with desire as he stretched on the sheets and reached up to cup Stan’s prominent chin. Stan leaned into the touch.

“About not being able to have a baby the old-fashioned way.” Stan’s eyes gleamed. “It’s a shame. I kinda like that idea.”

He leaned down and nipped at Bill’s throat, making the blonde gasp and arch off the bed. “Would you wanna have my baby?”

“Yes,” Bill breathed, feeling Stan’s hand descend lower and lower down his torso until it splayed across Bill’s lean stomach. It burned so good, branding him through his shirt. “More than anything, Lee.”

“Show me how much you want it, and I’ll give you one tonight.”

Bill had never ripped off their clothing faster.

Chapter Text

The cashier never clocked in that morning, and neither Stan nor Bill trusted Durland with the register, so Bill had to hang up his cloak for the day, throw on the Mystery Shack employee t-shirt, and take over manning the gift shop. Boring. At least he could convince the tourists to buy more merchandise than they would have if he weren’t there. He was convincing that way.

Currently, Stan was rolling out the whole wax museum spectacle, which Bill was sure was actually alive, to the crowd of tourists that had gathered outside. And Durland was outside hammering…something. The guy liked to hammer stuff. It was the only thing he could do, as evidenced by the still dissembled freezer sitting in front of Bill, tool box contents strewn about on the floor. Ugh, Bill HATED doing menial labor, even if he knew how to do it, but he was gonna have to fix the stupid appliance. Durland probably wasn’t going to last long as their employee. However, Bill wasn’t alone.

Bill glanced up from revising another paper and noticed that some little hairless gopher child had wandered into the shack, peering up at the shelves. He looked familiar…And perched on his hair was a birthday hat. Was someone having a party? Here? That was definitely a choice.

“Hey, pal, you looking for something? Where are your adult overlords?” Bill called out to him. The boy startled at Bill’s voice, but turned to him with a smile.

“Oh, hey Mister! I’m here with my grandma. It’s my birthday, so she said I could come here and pick out a present!” He exclaimed excitedly.

“Well that’s CERTAINLY a reason to celebrate, and you couldn’t have chosen a better place to spend it at,” Bill gestured around the store. “What are you in the market for, buddy?”

“Oh oh! Is the newest Lil’ Stan comic out yet?” The little guy ran up to the counter and looked up at Bill pleadingly. Bill definitely knew that nose. “I never get it when it first comes out.”

They had, in fact, sold out that morning, much to Stan’s delight. The series had garnered a dedicated following over the years after becoming a staple in the newspaper and had graduated to being its own stand-alone magazine about a year back. Bill always felt a burst of pride each time a new installation was published. As such, he always swiped a few from the stock to save for the future.

Bill peered down at the kid, contemplating. “You’re Jesús, right? Ramirez? Your granny is Mrs. Ramirez?”

“You can call me Soos,” Soos answered automatically, before his eyes widened in shock. “Wait, how did you know that?! Are you a mind reader? A wizard? A prop-oh my gosh, you’re Mr. Mystique!” the boy shouted, gasping at the revelation he made. “I didn’t recognize you without your mystical outfit!”

Bill bowed grandly, matching the pose from his iconic poster. “In the flesh! You a fan, pork chop? I think you are~”

Soos nodded, bouncing in place. “My grandma talks about you! And I see you when you come over for your readings but I always listen in from the hallways because I don’t think I could handle the sheer awesomeness of your future powers.”

Ah, to be so wide-eyed and filled with wonder. Kids really had a way of making you into a god. Give them a good story and they latch onto anything with their endless imagination! It had to be cultivated and tended to.

“Maybe one day you’ll be ready to receive a reading! But until then…” Bill reached under the counter and whipped out the newest comic volume from his private stash. “I think this belongs to you! Happy Birthday, kid! Go wild.”

Soos accepted the stack of paper as if he was receiving the Holy Grail, preciously cradling it. “It’s everything I ever imagined and more.” He carefully held it in one hand and dug into his pocket with the other. “How much is it? I got birthday money from my uncle!”

Bill waved it away. “None of that, pipsqueak. How about you just buy me a piece of candy from the vending machine and we’ll call it even. Your granny’s been a loyal customer of mine for years, so it’s only fair that I reward that loyalty with a birthday special, no?”

Showing favoritism bred even more loyalty, too. Plus the candy was worth about the same as the comic, so it wasn’t like they were actually losing a profit if Stan got huffy about it.

Soos practically had stars in his eyes as he gazed upon Bill. “So generous! I will get you that candy!” He quickly made his way over to the vending machine and fed it a few coins as Bill watched.

Then two kids burst through the window next to him, ninja style. Bill stepped back out of instinct, but saw that there wasn’t any danger besides breaking-and-entering. He leaned over the counter to get a better look at the brunette children, staying quiet for a second.

They appeared to be twins, a boy and a girl, with the boy wearing the same pine tree symbol Stan would cycle through on the baseball caps, though the coloration wasn’t one they ever made. The girl was wearing a pink sweater with a donut on it. Had he seen them before? He felt like he had before. But where…on the fridge? What was on the fridge…

The two didn’t seem to register Bill’s presence as the boy made a beeline for the screwdriver. “Hah! Bingo.”

Many pictures of Stan caught off guard Bill found funny, their Vegas shot-gun wedding, Bill’s candids he took around the forest doing crazy side quests, the latest photo of Shermie’s grandkids, Bud Gleeful’s crying face when they ruined his semi-annual semi truck sale…Wait a minute. Could they really be them?

His guess was confirmed correct as he caught a glimpse of the boy’s unique birthmark on his forehead as he wiped the sweat from under his bangs. Which meant that they were…

“Mason? Mabel?” Bill asked aloud. The two jolted around, as if caught red handed. Now that he had a clearer look at their faces, he could see the resemblances to the toddlers. “It is you two! But you're about ten years too early to be looking like that.”

“What the-Grunkle Bill?! You know us?” Mason stuttered, nearly dropping the screwdriver. “Also I go by Dipper.”

“That is a much better name to go by.” Bill raised his eyebrows at him. “And why wouldn’t I? I may be lacking an eye, but I can still see fine.”

“Woah, your hair is so dark,” Mabel mused, coming closer and reaching up to tug at one of Bill’s curls. “It gets really white in the future when you don’t dye it.”

Bill self-consciously touched his locks. “I really look like an old hag that quickly? I thought I had more time. Speaking of time,” he turned the conversation back towards them, “How the hel-heck did you two even get here? Is time travel mainstream in the future? That’s faster than I expected…”

Dipper laughed a bit too nervously as he continued to unscrew a tape measure. “I don’t think that’s something you have to worry about, Bill.”

“Oh, I know that guilty tone anywhere: you’re breaking the law already, aren’t you?,” Bill gleefully noted. “Keeping the family business alive and well! Stan must be so proud. Lemme see that?”

He held out his hand, and while Dipper looked a bit reluctant to, he handed it over to Bill.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Dipper denied, watching as Bill started playing with the inner machinations. Engineering degree, don’t fail him now! “...okay, yes, at first it was on purpose for a good cause, but we haven’t done anything since! At least in relation to breaking ‘time laws’, whatever those are.”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me kid,” Bill dismissed. “If you say it was worth it, then it was worth it. Laws are meant to be broken when the time comes,” he continued, putting the cover back into place. Suck it, McGucket: anyone could fix a toaster, but here was Bill fixing what was probably a time machine!

“Even ones relating to the awful fourth dimension that we humans cannot navigate.” He gave the time tape back to Dipper almost mournfully. The chaos that the little machine was capable of was so tempting, like going back to teach the dinosaurs how to play Jurassic poker, but it seemed to be what the twins needed to return to their correct place in the timeline before whatever time cops Dipper implied existed found them. “Hey, maybe if you break enough of them, you can enter a time duel and win a wish or something.”

The male half of the duo groaned in frustration. “You always say stuff like that that either ends up being super relevant later in the day or not at all! How do you do it?”

“What can I say? I’m an inconsistently consistent guy,” Bill blinked. “That was a wink, FYI.”

“I could tell, Bill,” Dipper sighed, exasperated. “Okay, thanks for your help. Mabel! We think we got this thing to work!” He called out to his sister, who ran to his side excitedly.

Bill was pulled away from his eavesdropping by a bunch of packaged candy being placed onto the counter. “Here you go, Mr. Mystique! I wasn’t sure what you liked, so that girl helped me get a bunch of them!”

Ah, right. The other kid. Absent-mindedly, Bill reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair playfully under his party hat. “Thanks a bunch, kiddo. You paid for the comic and more with this. And just call me Bill or Mr. Birch when I’m not wearing my uniform.” Soos beamed up at him brightly.

“You’re welcome, Mr. M-Birch!”

With that, Soos walked up to the t-shirt display of the Mystery Shack staff uniform, clearly admiring it. Good, he was distracted. Bill meant to go talk to the twins again, but then Mrs. Ramirez walked into the gift shop, immediately zeroing in on Soos.

“Mi precioso,” she cooed, going over to him. “You keep wandering off.” She held out her hand and Soos grasped it. “You don't want to be late for your big day.”

“Sorry, Abuelita,” Soos apologized, comic book in hand as he held it up for her to see. “Look what Mr. Birch gave me in exchange for candy!”

“Ah, you’ve been wanting that!” Mrs. Ramirez noted, turning to smile at Bill. “Thank you for watching him, Billy.’

Bill ignored the quiet snort and the repeated “Billy?” from behind him, smiling widely at the two Ramirezes. “Hey, anything for my oldest customer and the birthday boy!”

He waved goodbye as the two left. He had a feeling he’d be seeing them, especially the kid, soon.

“Big day?” Mabel repeated as if a realization just hit her. “This could be the birthday where that personal biz went down. We could finally find out why Soos hates his birthday!” she told her brother.

Dipper checked the time tape. “Alright. But let's be quick.”

Mabel grabbed Dipper’s free hand and dragged him after Soos. “Bye Grunkle Bill! See you in the future! Unless you see past us before then!”

Bill guffed, sending them a little salute. “I’m looking forward to it, Mabel-leaf. You, too, Dip ‘N Dops!”

Dipper sent him one last questioning glance before he was tugged out of the building.

Well, at least that proved that Stan and him were involved in the kids’ lives in the future, just like Shermie wanted, especially if they were acquainted with Soos so well. Which meant Soos was around the Shack a lot…Bill would put a pin in that thought. The tour group had just left the wax museum, which meant their next stop was the gift shop. Bill straightened himself up and plastered on a commercial-friendly grin. Show time.

~

Later in the day, Stan had enough of Durland bumbling around and breaking more things than he fixed, which was zero. He pushed the pathetic-looking man outside, spending him sprawling to the ground. Bill watched over Stan’s shoulder, judging.

"That is it!” Stan shouted. “You are single handedly the worst handyman I've ever seen." With those harsh words, Durland fled. Good riddance. It was time for a change in staff.

“Uh, hey. Excuse me sir-” And look who came at the perfect time. Didn’t Bill say that he had a feeling he’d see the kid soon?

Stan pointed to Soos, who was holding the same screwdriver Dipper had never returned to Bill earlier. “Hey you, gumdrop. Think you can fix a golf cart?”

“Well, uh. I don’t know if I–” Soos stuttered, because obviously a twelve-year old boy wouldn’t know how to fix a golf cart. But Stan didn’t wait for a clear answer, gesturing for Bill to hand him a very familiar shirt that he then threw at the kid.

“Boom. You’re hired. One size fits all. Bill will teach you,” Stan snapped a finger at Soos as he went to greet the latest tour group that had crowded out in front. “Step right up to the Mystery Shack folks, step right up!”

That was Bill’s business man, all right. Even if he did just volunteer Bill to basically take on an apprentice.

Bill walked over to Soos as he gleefully held on to the shirt and smiled in Stan’s direction. Looked like Mr. Mystery had a new fan. “Let’s see how it looks on you, kid.”

Soos nodded eagerly and threw his new uniform over his dinosaur shirt. “How do I look, Mr. Birch?”

Bill looked the boy up and down. The fabric swallowed his short frame, but he’d grow into it soon enough. “Lemme tell ya, handyman, I foresee you being a very valued member of the staff.”

Soos’s eyes somehow went even wider. “Was that a prophetic vision?”

Bill “winked”. “Make of it what you will. Remember, Soosie, the Mystery Shack is where dreams come true! What’s yours?”

Soos glanced in Stan’s direction again. “I don’t think I’m psychic, so I wanna be like Mr. Mystery!”

“…If that’s what you want, sure. And who knows? Maybe your psychic abilities are just waiting to be unlocked. Now come on, I’ll give you a staff-special tour of the place.”

Look, it’s not like they could hire the kid, but he knew that Mrs. Ramirez was having trouble staying afloat raising a kid from scratch. Watching the kid in exchange for him doing a few chores would work out for both parties.

Did this make Stan and him glorified babysitters? Did he really want to subject himself to a child he didn’t really know? Willingly?

He watched as Soos bounded up the hall and into the parlor room once he gave his consent, ooo-ing in awe at the space. “Dawg, that fire is purple! That’s amazing!” He whirled around, gesturing wildly at everything he could see, enthusiasm gone wild. It was…endearing. Cute, even.

Well, he had thought about something like this once upon a time, right? Might as well see how well he could tolerate it for an extended period of time.

Chapter Text

Bill kneeled on the backyard’s grass that surrounded the Mystery Shack, watching as Dipper opened the cardboard box that held his new Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons game. Bill had never played before, but he was sure he’d catch on quickly enough. He was great at games! Hell, he even went FCLORPing with Soos before the group banned him after he got a bit too into his “evil warlock” character and gave Toby Determined a poisoned apple that sent the man to the hospital for five days. He had just wanted to create an immersive environment, but whatever; their loss!

What he was getting at was if Dipper wanted to do a fantasy roleplay with dice, Bill was willing to go along with it if it made the boy happy. Dipper had been twitchy around Bill these past few weeks, even before Ford had returned, so Bill was hoping that this would help ease him from whatever freaked him out. With the added bonus of also distracting him from the current situation in the Shack.

Ford had definitely not listened to Bill’s demand thoughtful request, instead endeavoring to hole himself in the basement and only coming out at the most obscure times when the rest of them were busy. In retrospect, Bill could have definitely gone about the surprise talking ambush better, but he wasn't opposed to seeing Ford even less than before. That guy was easily at the top of Bill’s list of “People Whose Lives I Would Ruin in a Heartbeat”, dethroning Bud Gleeful from the number one spot after a 20+ years streak.

Stan, believing this to be in response to Ford walking in on the couple, was annoyed but had expected it considering the very strong opinions Ford held about their relationship since the very first night. That didn’t mean he wasn’t secretly upset at the further downward turn his relationship with his twin had taken. Bill couldn’t find it within himself to admit to Stan that it was more due to his actions that Ford was avoiding them more than ever.

Mabel was disappointed since she had wanted to make Ford a special “Welcome Home” sweater, but wanted to do a color match to ensure that it “flattered his old man color palette.”

It was Dipper, predictably, who was the most outwardly and vocally torn up about Ford distancing himself from the family. Apparently, since he had found the third journal in the beginning of the summer, the kid had been obsessing over who the author was. And now the author was literally living underneath their feet, but Dipper couldn’t talk to him. Most of this ire seemed to be directed at Stan, though, who had forbidden the boy from seeking out his twin.

But, um, hello?? Stanford Pines only spent six years in Gravity Falls, and that was thirty years ago! Bill knew WAY more about the town, the land, and the mysteries that lurked in every shadow. He was even on a first-name basis with the shadows! You don’t spend your free time in the forest for twenty-seven years and not learn anything. Bill was way more qualified about the abnormalities in Gravity Falls than Ford could EVER wish to be.

“Ok, so you’re ACTUALLY going to play Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons with me, Grunkle Bill?” Dipper double-checked, a bit skeptical. “No making fun of me like Stan and Mabel?”

“Jeez, kid. Ye of little faith. I may be morally ambiguous with anarchist tendencies, but I’m not the kind of guy to trample on his nephew’s love for nerd games.” Bill picked up a piece of graph paper from the pile Dipper provided.

“Besides, I may not flaunt it a lot, but I do actually like math and writing. Wouldn’t have gotten my degrees if I didn’t.”

Dipper suddenly looked suspicious. “Did you ACTUALLY earn them or did you, I don’t know, commit academic fraud? Is that even a thing?”

“Oh, it’s definitely a thing,” Bill confirmed, “And me? Commit crimes? What ludacris insults you have laid upon me!” He bemoaned dramatically, and his antics drew a snort out of Dipper. “But believe it or not, I’ve never committed that particular offense. Remember, Dip N’ Dops, Stan and I spent years fixing that portal. That meant learning a lot of science, math, and engineering. The classes I took for my degrees contained a lot of the stuff we needed to know, and then I taught Stan how to do it. “

“Grunkle Stan? Math? They don’t belong in the same sentence,” Dipper scoffed, setting up the 38-sided die that the game called for. “He’d never.”

“But he did, because he had something that was worth doing math for.” Bill took the die from Dipper and rolled it to determine…his statistical analysis power orb? He wasn’t sure, but he got a 33.

Dipper scribbled down the number and then took the die back for his turn, frowning in thought. “All for Ford…” He clenched the die in his fist. “Who Stan acts like is a nuisance living in the house. We barely see the guy!”

“Which is mainly because of Ford and his whole ‘I work alone’ schtick,” Bill shot back. “Look, buddy, Stan is very happy to have Ford back, don’t doubt that. It’s everything else that’s complicated. It can’t be fixed till they both wanna talk it out, but I wouldn’t bet on that happening any time soon.”

Bill gestured to the die Dipper had yet to roll. “You and Mabel just focus on having fun the rest of the summer, okay? And if you want, I could show you mind-blowing secrets that none of those journals have whenever you want! Now roll that die with an unreasonable amount of sides!”

Dipper seemed to lighten up a bit. “Ok, Grunkle Bill. Here I-” At that moment, Gompers had trotted up to them and decided that Dipper’s die was his next snack. “Hey, give it back! Come on, Gompers, let go!” In an attempt to make the goat release the plastic, Dipper pulled too hard, falling backwards and dropping the die under the porch.

“Aw man, my 38-sided die!” Dipper complained. Bill was about to speak but Dipper was already on the move. The boy crawled under the porch, and though Bill couldn’t see what happened, he did hear the familiar scream of a prepubescent boy in terror before it cut off abruptly.

“Aw man, the Shack ate Dipper…” Bill pet Gompers thoughtfully as the goat bleated. He shuffled over the hole under the porch and called out, “Your body still functioning kid? Or do I need to throw down the emergency rope?”

“I’m…fine!” Dipper responded, sounding a bit distracted. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Ok, move your butt! I’ll be waiting.”

And wait, Bill did. All morning into the afternoon. And as he sipped from a can of Pitt Cola on the porch sofa, Bill realized he had been ditched. Purposefully, or accidentally? He had already checked that Dipper was no longer down in that hole, so what gives? Did something abduct the boy? Bill would have heard if so.

Did Dipper get out and just…not come back? Psh, please! They were just about to play a game! And Dipper loved hanging out with Bill. He was a delight to be around! Some third option must have happened that logically explained why Dipper hadn’t returned…oh who was he kidding the boy probably ditched him. That stung.

Dinner wasn’t the most upbeat occasion that night, with Stan pouring over the newspaper for used RV ads with a grumpy expression on his face while Bill barely touched his food, sideyeing Dipper’s empty seat. Ford’s prepared dinner plate still sat on the counter. Mabel added a heaping serving of sprinkles as per usual to her food and scarfed it down quickly, clearly busy with whatever new project she was itching to get back to. She hopped out of her seat and grabbed at Bill’s poncho he typically donned at night when the summer chill set in.

“Come on Mr. Frowny,” she declared. “I have to knit a new sweater for the Duck-tective tomorrow! Let’s work in the parlor all together!” She then extended the invitation to Stan as well. “You, too, Grunkle Stan.”

“Eh, pass,” Stan muttered, a bit too absorbed in his browsing to get up from the table. Mabel shrugged and continued to tug at Bill’s clothes for him to move.

Bill sighed. “You’re persistent, Mabel-leaf; I’ll give you that.” He got up and let her drag him down the hall, ruffling Stan’s hair as he passed behind him and left the room. He caught a glimpse of the other man’s lips quirking upward as he turned out of sight.

Mabel laid down on Bill’s cushion and began to knit as she hummed a pop tune to herself. Bill decided to unwind by reading over Stanley’s glorified fanfic of “The Duchess Approves” that included two self-inserts that were basically Stan and Bill in the 1800s. Why the man felt the urge to write this, Bill didn’t know, but Stanlarius Pinesworth and Wilhelm Birchington were having a very sordid affair for the time period. And the romps the two would have in the stable…well Bill could tell that Stan drew influence from real-life.

“Grunkle Bill, does this scream ‘quackity and brilliant’ to you?” Mabel asked, holding up the new sweater design so that Bill could see. He squinted at it in the dim light but signaled his approval with a thumbs up.

“You never miss, honey,” he assured her.

She beamed at him. “Perfect!” She dropped the garment next to her. “I was gonna make a matching one for Dipper but he was busy all day. I haven’t seen him since you two played that mathy nerd game.”

“You haven’t?” Bill asked, aiming for casual but sounding a bit too curious. Thankfully Mabel didn’t seem to notice.

“Yup, I guess he found something that really caught his interest. Dipper always spirals when he gets obsessed with something,” Mabel shrugged, not too bothered, though a bit miffed that her brother wasn’t partaking in the festivities for the big event.

Something that took over Dipper’s attention and distracted him from his game with Bill? That stung.

And it stung even more that night as he roamed the halls as he normally did during his insomnia episodes. They had been lasting longer recently, probably due to “stress”, with stress being spelt as “F-o-r-d”.

He was just passing through the attic as one does, definitely not to snoop, when he overheard Dipper excitedly recounting something to Mabel. Could you really blame Bill for sticking his ear against the door and eavesdropping? You’d do it too!

Dipper had just stopped talking when Mabel spoke. ”You're, uh, spending a lot of time with old Fordsy lately, huh?” Hold the phone - what?! Dipper was with Ford this entire time?! That hole would connect to the basement, wouldn’t it…

“You have no idea. I knew the author must be cool, but he's better than I imagined! And, he doesn't make fun of me all the time, the way you and Grunkle Stan do,” Dipper commented, a hint of bitterness entering his tone at the last comment.

“But I thought Grunkle Bill was gonna play with you,” Mabel pointed out. “Or, omg, did he and Ford bond over their love of sciency-fiction games and learn to accept each other?!” She asked excitedly.

“Um, not exactly…” Dipper trailed off awkwardly, the sound of his writings picking up pace.

“Dipper,” Mabel gasped. “Did you ditch Bill for Ford?! Does he know?! Aw, that's so mean!”

“Mabel, come on! I’ve hung out with Grunkle Bill this entire summer, and I only got a few weeks left before we leave Gravity Falls and may never see Great-uncle Ford again,” Dipper defended himself. “Ford doesn’t seem to like Bill a lot and vice versa, so I couldn’t play with both of them at the same time! I had to choose one or the other, and I had to choose the author, ok?”

Mabel huffed and the bed creaked as if she had rolled over. “It still wasn’t nice,” she replied. “He looked kinda sad earlier.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive,” Dipper ended the conversation as he dove back into his writing.

Bill just stood silently outside the door. So Dipper chose Stanford over him, huh? His lifelong family member over some antisocial, feral wanna-be Nicola Tesla who Dipper only knew through some dirty old diary secrets. That didn’t just sting. That…hurt.

And as much as he wanted to go down to the basement and give Ford a piece of his mind, or tell the boy himself not to mess with the old prehistoric calculator, Bill knew that would just make Dipper resent him. The kid could hold a grudge, especially when he perceived something as stupid or unfair. He was kind of like Stan in that way.

Bill didn’t feel like going to bed after that, instead pulling himself out the window and up to the tallest point of the roof he could comfortably sit on.

He let out a loud sigh, staring up at the endless streams of light that occupied the heavens. This was ridiculous, right? Pouting like a baby when he didn’t get his way. Bill knew he wasn’t the most mature of people, but even he could admit that getting upset with a kid for wanting to spend time with another family member was childish. Childish and pathetic.

It couldn’t last long, right? Ford was just the current novelty. Once he didn’t have anything special to offer Dipper or got sick of having a child constantly badgering him, the kid would come back. And Bill would be there to make things better. This was Bill’s family, after all. Stanford Pines could take away his house and uproot the only life he’d ever known, but couldn’t destroy the relationships that Bill had cultivated with the other Pines. They were his, he consoled himself. They’d always be his. A cloudy pink nebula hung over him as he repeated these assurances to himself.

He must have fallen asleep like that or blacked out for hours under the starlights, coming back to awareness as he felt the familiar sensation of Gompers shewing on his pant leg. He had the weirdest dream that he was stuck somewhere while his family went farther and farther away from him. He kept calling out to them, trying to get their attention, that he was still here, but they either didn’t notice or didn’t care. They left him behind.

Then a voice called out to him. “Hey, Mr. Birch? What are you doing?”

Bill snapped upright.

He quickly recentered himself before he tipped off the roof. Despite the rest he had gotten, he felt awful. Every bone felt like it was poking through his thin skin, and his head felt stretched out and sticky like taffy.

“Woah, are you okay?”

He looked down at the ground. A familiar furry hat and long red hair entered his line of vision.

“Wendy-bird,” he chirped, waving down at her. “What a wake up call! I could have plummeted to my death! Stan would have sued you.”

The teenager just continued to look at him weirdly. “And why were you up there sleeping anyways?”

“Wow, someone’s super nosy today! I’ll have you know that I was simply enjoying my favorite pastime last night and just decided to spend the night outside,” he sidestepped the main issue.

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyways, take the day off, Freckles! The Shack’s closed for today. Guess Stan didn’t tell ya, right?”

“Oh, sweet. Guess I’ll see you later.” Wendy turned to walk away, but glanced back up at Bill. “...stay good, man, okay?”

Bill managed to conjure up a less-fake smile. “Don’t I always?”

With that, the girl departed, texting rapidly on her phone. The insomniac sighed deeply once she was gone.

He was lucky that Stan had the Shack shut down to celebrate the finale of Duck-tective today. He had a feeling that Mr. Mystique wouldn’t be providing any readings even if he wanted to.

Bill had just slid himself down to the ground with the makeshift pole he added some years ago when heard Mabel and her deep voiced human monster friend Grenda chattering excitedly about their favorite show from inside the house. He opened the door to see that the two girls had each donned the iconic duck’s hat as they turned to him.

“Grunkle Bill! I was just about to look for you! You’re just in time for the Duck-tective finale!” Mabel cheered, pointing at her appropriately-themed sweater for the occasion. Bill managed to send her a toothy grin and nodded. At least one of the kids wanted to include him.

At that moment, Stan descended from their room upstairs, all suited up in his Mr. Mystery get-up.

Stan’s smile froze when he saw how horrible Bill appeared: clothes rumpled, eye bags carrying more than their weight limit, and a smile that was quickly becoming an ugly grimace. Bill looked away, breaking eye contact, embarrassment welling up in him. He probably looked like an escaped asylum patient, all because of one small late-night spiral. Typically it took a week-long spiral to get him to this point.

Before Stan could say anything, Mabel immediately engaged with him. “Hey-hey, look at you! Someone's all dressed up.”

Stan continued to eye Bill critically, looking for more cracks in Bill’s demeanor, but responded casually to his niece. “It's a big night. I think we all remember where we were, when we learned Duck-tective was shot.” He took off his fez in respect of the distinguished waterfowl, looking up at the ceiling as if Duck-tective was looking down at him right now. Mabel and Grenda looked down solemnly in agreement. Bill didn’t even remember the damn bird getting shot. He must have missed an episode or two. The grandfather clock then donged, signaling that the next hour had approached.

Mabel gasped, “Viewing positions, everyone!” She and Grenda ran to the living room, Stan lagging a bit behind them as he shot one more look at Bill that screamed “I’m onto you”. Bill quietly huffed, annoyed yet pleased at the attention.

His train of thought was then derailed as he watched the three stop and gasp in horror at the sight in front of them. He peered around Stan’s shoulder, and the view also disturbed him. In more of a punch-a-hole-through-your-heart kind of way.

The living room was completely covered with layers upon layers of graph paper, like a stationary store had vomited all over the place. Sitting smack center of the mess surrounded by charts were Dipper and Ford, both leaning over the playing board in anticipation as Ford prepared to roll the dice.

“Ah! Graph paper!” Grenda screamed, stomping on the offending paper. “Kill it! Kill it!”

Mabel, visibly upset at the set up, went over to her brother who couldn’t take his eyes off the board. “Dipper, could you maybe move this to another room?”

“No dice!” Ford cut in. “We ran out of room in the basement, and we're going for a world record! Now, dice!” He rolled the 38-sided dice, watching eagerly as it came to a stop.”Thirty two, yes! Seven thousand points damage,” he cheered.

Dipper laughed, unrestrained and joyful, while the duck-obsessed trio groaned in the background.”You got me!”

They were really happy together. Dipper was happier than Bill had seen him in a while. Bill felt his heart get pummeled even more, tuning out the rest of the room with his self-pitying thoughts. Was there a little boxer beating up his heart or something? Was he really feeling this bad all because Dipper would rather play a nerd game with Ford and not him? Or was there more to it? He must have really let his cold, black heart of misery go this summer.

Despite that growing urge to fire up and show them what they were missing by dissing Bill, for taking him for granted, the desire to burn everything quickly fizzled out watching the boy’s joy. He couldn’t let out his rage on Dipper. So Bill just felt…tired. Probably from sleeping on the roof.

He needed to get out of here, Bill told himself. He didn’t want to see anymore of this. He wandered off to the parlor to enclose himself in the familiar, dark space, as Stan and Ford squabbled over the television.

~

“I’ll mock all I want: it’s my TV room!

“It’s my house, you-” Ford cut himself off, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose over his glasses. “Listen, Stanley, did it ever occur to you that if you joined us, you might actually have fun?”

Ford’s words that were meant to be conciliatory just sounded condescending to Stan. “What? As if! I don’t like this stuff. That’s why Bill was supposed to play with Dipper!”

Several things clicked into place for Stan at that moment: Bill being pissier than usual during dinner and moping around the backyard yesterday, not coming to bed after his usual rounds around the house, looking unwell and quiet this morning…and now he was nowhere to be seen when he typically loved to be the center of attention. It was unnatural!

Ford furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Bill? Play Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons?”

Stan turned to look at his nephew, frowning deeply at the boy. “What? My partner’s not good enough to play with you? He’s as nerdy as they come!”

Dipper at least had the decency to look ashamed. “Grunkle Stan, listen-”

“No! Now you listen to me!” Stan wrenched his brother's bag from his grip. This stupid junk had caused more problems than it’d ever be worth. “As long as I live I will never-” he spoke over their combined protests, “-ever play your smartypants nerd game!” He threw the bag on the ground to make a statement. Then everything got weird.

~

“Grunkle Stan, that was amazing! How did you know that you would win?”

“Hey, a gambler never reveals his secrets.” Stan picked up the die, unsticking the old gum wad he had stuck on the bottom of it. Oldest trick in the book! Real life solutions worked in fictional roleplay games; who knew! He stuck a new piece of bubblegum into his mouth and started chewing.

Amped up from their victory, Mabel exclaimed, “Man! That was fun for ages 8 to 80! Or a million or however old you guys are!”

Stan decided not to take that last part personally.

He leaned down to get eye-level with Dipper, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Y'know, I'm sorry for making fun of your game, kiddo. Sure, it might be too nerdy for me, but it's just the right amount of nerdy for you and my brother. And someone else,” he raised his eyebrows meaningfully at Dipper.

Dipper looked down at his feet, feeling chastised. “It was only one time. Is he actually that upset about it? I thought he was just playing along to make me feel better.”

“Exactly, squirt: he was doing it for you. And then you wanted nothin’ to do with him, so he got upset. Happens more than you may think. He’s a secret softy.”

The boy nodded, a determined expression overtaking his face. “I need to make things right.” He took off, with Mabel and Grenda not that far behind him so they could catch the second showing of Duck-tective.

Stan went to follow after them, but paused when he noticed how still Ford was standing out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head to get a better look at his twin, Stan immediately clocked the too-blank facade Ford had put on. Since coming out of the portal, Ford definitely seemed to have a tighter handle on himself than he ever had when they were teenagers, but Stan was quickly catching on to whoever his brother had become. Ford was obviously agonizing over something, and it wasn’t very hard to guess what. Or, more accurately, who.

Ford noticed Stan after a few seconds. “What? Is there something wrong, Stan?”

“Oh, just come out with it, Ford. I know you have something to say, so do it here while the kids are busy,” Stan told him, already bracing himself.

Ford took a moment to collect himself. “You...truly believe that Bill cares about the kids. About the family.”

Offense immediately flared up in Stan’s chest on Bill’s behalf, but he managed to keep his voice to a low growl. “Yeah, I do. Because he does.”

“You have a lot of faith in him,” Ford noted. “Trust. Respect.” He hesitated, but added begrudgingly, “Love. You…you love him.”

Stan nodded, a slight feeling of hope rising in him. Was Ford finally coming to his senses about Bill?

“It’s like I told you: he’s my partner. In every way. That’s not gonna change,” Stan said firmly as a reminder.

Ford rubbed his chin in thought, already getting lost in his thoughts again. “I see,” he murmured. “I have to rethink some things. I’ll leave you to your…very sophisticated show.” Ford whirled around, trench coat following the movement, as he marched deeper into the forest, muttering to himself as he pulled out his journal.

Stan watched him go, not knowing what to feel. That was a step in the right direction, yeah? Hopefully now Bill would feel better, even if Stan could definitely understand the ire that comes with competing with Ford. You could never win against the guy. He always was able to one up you…

Stan shook himself and went after the kids, ready to immerse himself in the Duck-tective finale. Everything was going to work out, even if he didn’t know how.

~

Dipper entered the Shack, wondering where to start first. Probably the parlor, right? That was Bill’s designated place even when he wasn’t Mr. Mystique. Hyping himself up, Dipper made his way down the hallway. As he got closer to the room, a soft song started to fill his ears. A light voice was accompanied by piano, the words becoming more clear as he stood just outside the dark curtains. Dipper quietly pushed them apart.

There, tucked in the corner sitting at a small piano was Bill. Now that he was paying attention, Dipper could see that Bill clearly wasn’t his normal self. The engaging, mischievous spirit he usually exuded was nowhere to be seen. The boy felt a pang of guilt at the thought that he was to blame for upsetting his grunkle like this. Bill continued to sing softly, the lack of loudness almost disturbing.

“Who said that wishes

Would be heard and answered

When wished on the morning star?

Someone thought of that

And someone believed it

And look what it’s done so far

What’s so amazing

That keeps us stargazing?

And what do we think we might see- what the-?!”

The fingers on the piano lost their way, randomly hitting a couple of keys that threw off the rest of the melody. Bill swiveled on the small bench he was perched on, eye widening as he realized he wasn’t as alone as he thought. “Dipper?! What are you doing here?”

Dipper swallowed and walked deeper into the parlor. The light of the ever-burning fire, now a deep lilac color, spilled onto his shoes. “Nice song,” he started off casually, trying to ease his nerves. “Your performances are always great.”

“You don’t need to kiss my butt, kid,” Bill sighed, taking his fingers off the piano and pulling down the wooden cover over the keys. “If you’re here to say sorry, don’t. You wanted to hang out with Ford, so you hung out with Ford. Him over me. That’s how it is. I won’t get in your way.” He was aiming for casual indifference, like this was all beneath him, but the bitterness was still there.

Dipper flinched at the words, and Bill instantly felt like the world’s biggest douchebag. What was wrong with him?

“Sorry,” Bill apologized, the word never easy to say but necessary. “I guess I let old Fordsy get under my skin more than I should have. It’s really not your fault, honey.”

“No, I’m sorry, Grunkle Bill.” Dipper came over and slid onto the bench next to Bill, leaving a bit of room between them. “I like hanging out with you! And I like hanging out with Great-uncle Ford, too, but I shouldn’t have left you like that. You and Stan are always there for Mabel and I, so sometimes it’s hard to remember and appreciate that.” He leaned against Bill’s arm, and Bill automatically wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “...why do you and Great-uncle Ford not like each other so much, anyways?”

“Grown up stuff, Dips,” Bill answered, squeezing Dipper’s shoulder lightly. “It started off as a misunderstanding, but now I’m not happy with how he’s fighting with Stan, and he doesn’t like my attitude. Can’t handle my sparkle and all that. And the fact that I helped Stan reopen the portal in spite of the danger. Typical stuff that you,” Bill poked the tip of Dipper’s nose, making the boy scrunch up his face,” -don’t have to worry about.”

“Ok, ok,” Dipper pulled away. “So we’re cool, right?”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “I am. Are you?”

“Yup.” Dipper got off the seat and offered Bill a hand. “Now how about a little mindless fun? The Duck-tective finale should be on.”

Bill took the small hand in his, mood improved, and stood up. “Beats sitting in the dark by myself in the middle of the afternoon!”

As he let his nephew lead him to the living room where the others were waiting, though, Bill still felt a small ball of unease reside in his chest. Something told him that his worries weren’t going to be dispelled so easily. Like this wasn’t the end of Ford messing with Bill and his place in this family.

~

A couple of hours later found Dipper in the basement once more, this time with approval from both Stan and Bill, watching as Ford explained the interdimensional rift to him. Him alone.

“I've contained it for now, but it's incredibly dangerous,” Ford emphasized. “Dipper, I don't want you to tell anyone about this. Not Stan, not even your sister, and absolutely not Bill. You understand?”

Dipper nodded slowly. “Oh-uh, of course, but…Great-uncle Ford? Why not tell Stan and Bill? Wouldn’t they be able to help? Especially Bill since he knows a lot about this stuff…” he trailed off at the resolute look Ford wore. “Why do you dislike him so much?”

Ford clasped his hands behind him, stepping away from Dipper as he turned to face the dismantled remains of the portal. “Dipper, in my time I’ve made many powerful enemies. I’ve learned how to recognize potential threats, and when to be appropriately suspicious of someone.” His hands clenched into fists. “And Bill is not someone I would ever willingly reveal sensitive information to.”

Ford whirled around to face his great-nephew. “Tell me, boy: has Bill ever done something or acted in a manner that worried you? Made you fear for your and others safety?” He leaned over Dipper, his six-fingered hands grasping his shoulders tightly but not painfully.

Dipper wanted to come to his grunkle’s defense, to immediately tell Ford “Never!” That Bill, while careless and capricious at times, always wanted the best for him and Mabel. And that was the truth! But…

Dipper was still plagued by nightmares. Of horrible dreams where Bill Cipher never got out of his body, and delivered on all of the painful promises he had made while wearing his face. Where Bipper defeated Mabel at the sock puppet show and never left. Where all Dipper could do was scream and scream, and no one could hear him. Where he wasn’t real anymore.

And in those moments, with the triangular demon’s cackles echoing in his ears and one eye mocking him, he’d be viscerally reminded of someone else. Then Bill Cipher’s visage would be overlaid by William Birch’s, the two laughing in hideous harmony as they mocked him for being so stupid.

Dipper had been jumpy around Grunkle Bill once those nightmares began to pop up, despite trying to logically soothe himself. So what if the two Bill’s very uncomfortably similar? Just because they both shared a name, had one eye, conned people, and were “yellow” didn’t mean there was a deeper connection between them! Dipper was just being paranoid, right?

Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Grunkle Bill to even compare him to the tricky dream demon. Dipper already felt guilty for not trusting Grunkle Stan about the machine, even if the situation was very suspicious on the surface. Was this not the same situation occurring all over again? Hadn’t he learned to be more trusting of his grunkles?

The last memory of his private conversation with Bill, with the man looking relieved that he and Dipper had resolved their issues, replayed in his mind and cemented his decision. Be more like Mabel.

“No,” Dipper shook his head earnestly, trying to be convincing. “Grunkle Bill loves us. Sure, he’s not a model citizen, but that comes with being Grunkle Stan’s partner. He’s on our side,” he finished firmly. Ford gave Dipper one more look-over and let go of him, straightening up to his full height.

“For all our sakes, I hope you’re right. Remember, Dipper: I trust you with this secret. Tell no one.” Ford rubbed Dipper’s head through his hat. “Now get yourself to bed. I have much research to do.”

“Goodnight, Great-uncle Ford,” Dipper waved good-bye as he walked towards the elevator.

Ford returned his wave. “Goodnight, Dipper.”

Once the boy was gone, a frown reappeared on his face as he placed the rift into a secret compartment. Safe, but for how much longer? He needed to take further precautions. His family wouldn’t understand now, but they would soon. Everything was going to work out. Stanford Pines would make sure of it.

…how did this mess even start in the first place? Why did it have to be like this?

Chapter Text

Bill scrutinized the photo of a tubby, buck-toothed baby Mrs. Ramirez had given him. “Y’know, I think you’re the first person to ever ask me to do a reading for a baby who isn’t even physically here.”

“Humor me.”

“And not that I care about what’s considered ‘healthy’, but constantly requesting mystical readings of the future to help dictate your life choices can’t be good.”

“Do you want to be paid or not?”

“I’ll start right away.”

Mankind, for all its scientific advances, were still so superstitious. Hoping that useless things such as “fate” or “destiny” or “god”, all of them scams by the way, would guide them.

This was seen with Mrs. Ramirez, who startled at black cats, avoided broken mirrors, and kept multiple crosses in every room of her house. She seemed to consult Bill for nearly every big event that occurred in her family, especially once he started offering home visits to get some extra cash. In this specific instance, it was the birth of her grandchild. Bill “foresaw” the child living a totally average life, good luck Reggie, and it seemed to put her at ease.

She wasn’t the worst company to be in, though. They ended up snacking on her homemade cookies and watching mindless reality television as they gossiped about her co-workers at the elementary school. Who knew teachers had such messy personal lives! It made Bill almost jealous that she got the front seat to all this entertainment.

“What about you,” Mrs. Ramirez asked, dunking her cookie into her milk a couple of times. Bill copied her actions, imagining that he was waterboarding the dessert for information. “You’re doing that degree program, yes? And how is the Mystery Shack?”

You heard correctly: William Birch was a college student. Yeah, he couldn’t believe it either. But there was a reason that he was subjecting himself to this banal experience. The theoretical and engineering work that they needed to comprehend was just within Bill’s reach, but he was lacking in key foundational knowledge. The local community college basically accepted everyone who applied, no background checks necessary, so at Stan’s urging, Bill had started last Fall. He managed to test out of all of the basic classes, so he was diving straight into engineering and physics head-first. It felt familiar, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet, at least.

“Finals are coming up, so that’ll be over with soon,” Bill started to list out. “We still have the same cashier working part-time, but we can’t find a reliable handy-man, so Stan and I have to handle most of that stuff. Tourism is starting to pick up again which means I’m getting more pocket change to redesign my wardrobe. Mr. Mystique needs an extreme makeover.”

“And is everything good with Mr. Mystery?”

Bill tapped his cookie against the rim of his glass. “Oh, we’re great. Swell. Two peas in a pod. Couldn’t be closer.”

“Uh-huh,” Mrs. Ramirez narrowed her eyes, leaning in closer to Bill to give him an appraising look. Bill did not make eye contact. Grandmas had some sort of weird clairvoyance.

“Something’s changed,” she concluded when Bill kept fidgeting. “You’re still…intimate with him, yes?” She smiled cheekily at him. Damn nosy old wench. Always snooping on other people’s personal lives.

Yeah, he and Stan weren’t as careful as they could have been when they first started their “arrangement”. Mrs. Ramirez had immediately clocked the hickies Bill tried to hide with a higher neckline back when she went to the Shack for another reading. And she didn’t believe him when he claimed it was a really sexy vampire that lived in the woods that did it either. At least she wouldn’t spread it around town. Last thing Bill wanted was more people knowing. This was just meant to be between him and Stan; that’s it.

“Yes, I’m still ‘intimate’ with him,” Bill rolled his eye and crossed his arms defensively, cookie still in hand. “What of it?”

“And that’s it?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “I don’t think so.”

“You want all the dirty details? You’re more naughty than I thought~”

“Stop hiding behind words. You really don’t have any other feelings for your partner?”

“Oh, Mrs. Ramirez, this isn’t like the telenovelas you love to watch,” Bill cooed, mockingly patting her shoulder as she shot him a nasty look. “Not everything’s gotta have a deeper meaning. Stan and I’s…physical relationship is purely part of our business. We help each other out. That’s all there is to it.”

“Don’t be in denial,” she tutted. “Business partners don’t do what you two do.”

“Oh? And what’s that? Enlighten me with your real-world life experiences and wisdom.”

“Grocery shopping, eating dinner together every night, hanging out at the public pool, pretending to get engaged at a restaurant to get a free dessert, having sex with each other-”

“Of course we do all that stuff together! We’re partners! Who else do we have?” Bill shouted, having grown increasingly uncomfortable with the items she added to the list.

“It doesn’t have to be each other,” the older woman pointed out. “You two choose to be like this together. It’s almost cute…in a way.”

“Don’t ever describe Stan and I as cute. We are not cute. If anything, we’re charming and sexy.”

“So that’s what you think of him?”

“Stop twisting my words, you damn hag!” Bill went to fling his half-eaten cookie at her but a stern glare was enough to dissuade him.

“Ah, Bill! It’s not gonna hurt any less when you lose him to someone else,” she huffed, moving away from Bill to the other end of the couch to start folding the mountain of baby clothes she had purchased for her youngest grandchild.

Bill scoffed at the mere thought. “Stan? Go out? With someone else? What kind of twilight zone are we talking about here? Besides, Stan doesn’t need anyone else. How could they possibly measure up to me and what I give him?”

“No: what if he meets someone and falls in love?” Mrs. Ramirez clarified. “It could happen. He’s been married before.”

“And there’s a reason he’s not anymore. The guy couldn’t stay in a relationship even if you hot-glued him to it,” Bill shot back, a bit taken aback at the truth bomb that had been dropped on him. Stan was married at some point? Bill thought the ex-wife jokes were just jokes, but apparently not. The thought of Stan falling in love with someone else now felt much more real. And threatening. Only because then Stan might kick him out of the house if he ever got hitched because the new Mrs. Pines told him to! No other reason.

Thankfully, Mrs. Ramirez dropped the line of conversation and moved on, somehow knowing that Bill was reaching his limit with it.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? I’m making tamales. You’re welcome to invite your partner over as well,” she offered.

“He’s probably gonna be taking a nap, but I doubt he’ll say no to any leftovers,” Bill suggested, knowing just how screwed up Stan’s sleep schedule was due to running the Mystery Shack and working on the portal. Not that his was any better, so hey, they matched!

Dinner was good, as to be expected from the old lady. Not that she took any of his limited culinary advice he kept calling out, but that was her loss. Bill swore to outdo her next time when he Bill-ified the recipe, even if he couldn’t properly fold any of them.

After Mrs. Ramirez packed a plate for Stan, she ushered Bill to her room. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you for a while but I always seemed to forget,” she mused, opening the door to a room that was overly decorated with that old lady lace, aged photographs, and crystals of various shapes, sizes, and colors. It was very on theme for her.

She shuffled over to a jewelry box sitting on her dresser, opening to the hatch and shifting through the compartments. Bill eyed her open closet as he waited, specifically the accessories that were hanging on the door. Those long gloves looked rather classy…

“If you can fit in them, you can have them,” Mrs. Ramirez told him, not looking up from her excavation. “My fat arms don’t fit in them anymore, and we both know that mi hija doesn’t care for fine clothing.”

“It’s like she’s allergic to anything that’s not a t-shirts or jeans,” Bill snorted, helping himself to the black velvet material and slipping them on.

“How do they fit?”

Bill turned and twiddled his fingers at her. “Like a glove.”

“Oh, they suit you so well, Billy,” Mrs. Ramirez cooed, and despite that awful nickname, her words made Bill feel nice. Not like the usual flattery that Mr. Mystique’s customers piled on him after receiving a reading. It was like the times Stan would tell him he did a good job today when they closed up shop or praised him for solving an equation they had been pouring over for hours. He felt…seen.

Bill cleared his throat to gather himself. ”Everything suits me,” he sniffed. “Now whaddya got?”

Mrs. Ramirez fished out an old locket from the box and let it hang from her stubby fingers. “This old thing’s been sitting in there for so long. It reminded me of you.”

Bill held out his hands and let her drop the necklace into them. The golden metal appeared hand-crafted into triangular sides with engraved symbols looping around, around, and around in an endless phrase that could only be read by Bill’s eyes.

“I grow maddened,” he murmured, tracing over the words on the outside lightly.

“I figured you’d make something of it,” Mrs. Ramirez nodded knowingly.

“Where did this come from? Who gave it to you?”

“Oh…I don’t know,” she furrowed her forehead, trying to concentrate but clearly having difficulty. “But I do know that I got it near the old church.”

“The old church?”

“Yes, the one abandoned in the woods somewhere,” she waved a hand casually. “No one knows what religion it was for.”

Bill clicked open the locket. There were no pictures or other keepsakes tucked away, but engraved on the insides was a small eye on each side, as if they would watch the secrets that would be hidden inside. Bill knew this eye. He wore it nearly every day on his back.

“That’s a shame,” he clicked it shut. “What a mystery.”

She glanced out the window at the setting sun. “It’s getting dark.”

“Darkness is my old friend,” Bill assured her, leaving her room, grabbing the to-go bag, and unlocking the door. “Best time to travel, honestly. With the moon and the stars as my guides, how could I be led astray?”

“Like the time you ran over a rock and got flung into my garage?”

“NEVER HAPPENED BYEEEEE.” The door slammed behind him as he ran from Mrs. Ramirez’s chuckles. He put on his helmet, gotta protect his most precious organ, hung the bag from one of the handles, and started his moped. He sped off into the dying light, following the familiar road back home. To the Mystery Shack.

~

Stan was peacefully, or as peacefully as his dreams would allow, sleeping on the living room chair, letting Cash Wheel serve as the background white noise. Then that peace shattered with the front door opening with a bam!

“Honey, I’m hoooome!” Bill held up a plastic bag and swung it teasingly. “Got some grub. Maybe I’ll give you some if I’m feeling generous.”

“Asshole,” Stan muttered under his breath without too much heat, rubbing the sleep gunk from his eyes. “You went out to eat?”

“Mrs. Ramirez insisted on feeding me after the reading and sent me home with some leftovers. Beats whatever slop we throw together.”

“Whatever slop you throw together,” Stan corrected. “At least I can follow a damn recipe. You always gotta change the ingredients.”

“I upgrade them! Chefs tweak recipes at their discretion all the time!”

“Like that time with the meatloaf?”

“...don’t mention that monstrosity. Even I admit that I went too far. Never again.”

Stan got up and stretched, his spine cracking as the bones shifted from staying in the chair for too long. Bill’s eye couldn’t help but watch as Stan’s shirt rose a bit too high off his stomach. “Yeah, yeah, you won’t hear a peep outta me. Now give it here.”

Bill quickly snapped out of his daze and held the bag out of Stan’s reach as he went to grab it. “Now, now, what’s the magic word, Mr. Mystery?”

“Gimmee.”

“Nope!”

“Now, Bill.”

“...ugh, you’re no fun when you’re hangry.” Bill surrendered the food to Stan, who took it into the dining room to dish it out. As they walked through the house, Bill shivered at the chill that hung in the air. He should have kept on his poncho.

“Why is it so cold in here,” he grumbled, rubbing his exposed arms as they entered the kitchen. “You didn’t turn off the heat, did you?”

“Yeah, I did,” Stan opened the dish cabinet and frowned at the lack of plates. Looks like it was a bowl dinner night.

“What?!” Bill stomped over to stand behind Stan, poking his back harshly. “Why the hell would you do that?! There’s supposed to be a snowstorm hitting later in the week, Dumbo!”

“It’s almost May! That’s basically summer, and I ain’t never paid for gas in the summer. How was I supposed to know that a freak snowstorm was gonna happen?”

“We just lived through the coldest winter we’ve ever had,” Bill groaned. “At least since I’ve been here. That should have tipped you off.”

“Oh, boo-hoo, I’m not a weatherman. Just grab some blankets, make a fire, and suck it up.”

“Only my parlor has a fireplace,” Bill pointed out. “What are you gonna do?”

“Technically, since this is my house, that’s also my parlor. That I let you use outta the goodness of my generous heart.”

“Oh, you are so full of shit!”

“Just relax, Goldilocks,” Stan popped his dish into the microwave and turned it on. “There’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

He then turned around and wiggled his eyebrows at Bill. “Besides, we’ve shared smaller spaces.”

Bill told himself it was anger that was making his body feel inflamed. Just anger. Not anything else.

“Just don’t mess up my setup,” Bill sniffed, sitting himself down at the table. Stan opened the microwave right before the timer went off, juggling the hot dish from left to right as he quickly put it on the table.

With Stan occupied with eating, Bill did what he loved most: talking. Especially when the other person just sat and listened. And Stan, for the most part, was content to shut up and let Bill blab until his voice turned hoarse. Neither of them liked silence. So Bill got to recount his day, complaining about the end of the semester and how he was better than all of those lackluster, two-rate humdrums that called themselves professors, the cryptic locket Mrs. Ramirez gave him, and how tomorrow he was gonna check out the old church.

“It’s the strongest lead I’ve ever gotten,” Bill finished, taking a sip of Stan’s Pitt Cola that he had snatched from him earlier. “I should have asked the old broad earlier. Figures she’d know about weird symbols and artifacts.”

“You’re actually gonna go into a creepy, old, abandoned church in the middle of the woods? And just check it out? Alone? I’ve seen horror movies with the same plot.”

“That’s why I’m taking one of your guns.”

“Oh, are you now? You never take them when you go into the woods.”

“That YOU know of,” Bill winked, but it came off as a blink. For obvious reasons.

“Liar.”

“Look, I feel completely safe there! But who knows what could be lurking around the church, waiting in the shadows to get the jump on me. So I’m just taking it as a precaution. Can’t let this pretty face get ruined. It wouldn’t attract customers half as easily!”

“Ohhh, I see now,” Stan smirked knowingly at Bill. “You don’t wanna get scuffed up so you look good for the witchy ladies that visit you. Well, in that case, go for it.”

“Wh-HUH?!” Bill choked on Stan’s drink. “What did you just say?!”

“Hm, though I guess I can’t really see you looking for a girlfriend…or anyone really. Your standards are way too high for the poor chicks around here, even if you could get them to eat out of your palm.”

Bill stared incredulously. “Why would I willingly trick myself into falling for the biggest scheme in human history whose sole purpose is to encourage procreation before we turn to dust?”

“Or are you into cougars? Is that why you like Mrs. Ramirez and her sewing club?” Stan teased, ignoring Bill’s look of disgust.

Bill gagged at that one. “SHE COULD BE MY MOTHER! That’ll NEVER happen! Why? Do you WANT me to want her?!”

“I didn’t say that!” Stan defended himself. “I don’t want anything, capiche? But it could happen, right? You two get along well, so why not? Love happens when it happens.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Bill dismissed harshly. “And I wouldn’t listen to a divorcée preach about love.”

“Oh, pullin’ out the receipts, are ya? At least being divorced is better than never being in a relationship. Would you even know if you were in love?”

“Oh fuck you; I would know!” Bill snapped. “And stop making assumptions about my past! A charming guy like me has probably been around MUCH more than you!”

“That’s not what our sex life has shown,” Stan said snidely, picking up the empty bowl and dumping it into the sink. “Damn, that woman sure can cook. Maybe you should just date her if it means getting fed like that every day.”

Bill pushed himself up and stormed out the kitchen, heading up the stairs despite Stan’s calls. He locked himself in the bathroom and turned the shower on the hottest setting before shucking off his clothes and stepping in. The scalding water was cleansing and intense, but its temperature only fueled the heat boiling under Bill’s skin.

How dare that mouth-breathing carnival barker! Acting like he knew soooo much more than Bill just because he has more than two-decades’ worth of memories on him. So what if Stan actually remembered the people he had been involved with? Bill didn’t need to recall the definitely-long list of lovers he’s had in the past to be good at romance. Not that he’d ever let himself feel such a vile emotion called love: people just couldn’t help but fall for him! Annoying, prying Mrs. Ramirez. Stupid, irritating Stanley.

Bill tilted his head back so that water streamed through his hair, looking up at the ceiling. Why was Stan harping on Bill’s love life, though? He supported Bill finding a lover? How could he want that for Bill?! Bill wouldn’t want Stan to find a girl and make her wife number who-knows-how-many! To center his world around someone new and leave Bill high and dry. To ditch him or kick him out. To no longer be his closest confidant. His partner.

Maybe this was Stan’s way of showing that he wanted Bill to leave, Bill hypothesized as he lathered his hair. It had been four years, and while Bill knew that Stan couldn’t have achieved half of what he had done without Bill, it still wasn’t enough to reactivate the portal. Damn those missing journals. Maybe now Stan didn’t want Bill around as much after seeing how lackluster his progress had been, despite their promise. Maybe this was his way of hinting to Bill to go out and build a new life away from Stan. Maybe Stan just wanted Bill to come into work as Mr. Mystique, rack in the money, solve some equations, and leave at the end of the day. Just co-workers. Nothing more, nothing less.

Bill clenched his fists around his conditioner bottle, squirting the product all over the walls. How could he?! Bill was the best thing to ever happen to the big lug since he came to Gravity Falls! Without Mr. Mystique, the Mystery Shack would be ranked lower than “The state’s most misshapen orange” and “the splinter that’s been living in some guy’s knee for three years” in “1988’s Best Tourist Traps in Oregon”. Without Bill, those ciphers would have taken years to crack. Without William Birch, Stanley Pines would be alone. Didn’t that count for anything?!

After his gloomy and long shower, Bill bundled himself in his warmest pajamas, tied on his robe, and dragged as many blankets as he could down to the parlor. He didn’t feel like working on the portal tonight. Hopefully he’d get lucky and his insomnia would let him fall asleep before Stan finished up down there, if Stan even came to the parlor tonight. Maybe if he had any sense he’d leave Bill alone and freeze his ass off in his room.

Bill made the room as comfortable as possible, letting the fire glow its natural orange and arranging the cushions and blankets to make a big nest in the middle of the room. He used the extra bedding to block any drafts from the windows and the hallway. Looking around after he was done, he nodded in satisfaction. Very cozy!...and very boring. What was he gonna do in here?

He spun around in a circle, looking for anything that needed fixing or that could catch his attention. He had already finished his library books, and the thought of studying now wasn’t appealing at all, so that was a bust. There was no TV in here. Nor a radio. What could he do to entertain himself?

Normally, at this time, he and Stan would be watching a show, working on the portal, workshopping a new act or attraction, or…partaking in other activities.

Okay: so they had sex pretty often now, even when he didn’t need it to ground him; sue him! It was all in good, meaningless fun! Sweaty, intense, pleasurable fun.

Stan…knew what he was doing, Bill grudgingly admitted. He knew how to make Bill feel good. Knew how to make Bill feel so overwhelmed he would cry from the sensations. Knew how to make Bill pant, and beg, and moan, and plead for him. Stan knew Bill’s body inside and out and knew exactly how to treat it.

In return, since he refused to be one-upped, Bill devoted the time to get to know Stan’s body. It wasn’t the easiest task because Stan always locked himself up real tight when he felt too vulnerable. The guy wouldn’t mind the rough touches, but couldn’t handle the gentle caresses. But Bill could play the long game when he wanted to. And he wanted.

He wanted to make Stanley squirm and unravel. To gaze upon his weakest spots and poke them just because he could. To bring Stan to the brink of mind-breaking exhilaration. The highest highs and lowest lows. To embed himself in the experience so deeply that whenever Stan looked back on the best he ever had, he’d only be able to think of Bill.

And Bill knew Stan must have had flings in the past, but actual lovers? Wives?! Did they make him feel the same way Bill made him feel? Not that he WANTED Stan like that, of course! It would just be a mark of how great he was that he’d even bring Stanley Pines, the most paranoid and wary man he ever met, to his knees. To control him with sex! These were all just physical, monkey-brain, primal urges. And yet…

His eye suddenly focused on something in the corner. Oh, how had he forgotten about that! Stan had found it in the dump and “fixed” it up for him as a “birthday” present…

Bill walked over to the wooden desk, unclasped the wooden cover, and peeled it back slowly as it creaked. Black and white keys were revealed as the piano part of the desk was uncovered. Stan had claimed that it suited Bill, so he had liberated it from McGucket’s scrap yard. Bill had yet to do anything with it, so might as well start now, right?

Bill sat down at the bench, placing his fingers on the keys in a manner that looked right. No pressure. No need to perform. Just do.

He just started off with pressing random keys, wincing at the notes that they played. They were out of tune! That was to be expected from a piano found in the garbage. It was a bit of a fixer-upper, but hey, most things in the Shack were. Still, Bill kept on playing, progressing to little chords he had heard on the radio. Letting his mind drift. Since when did everything get so complicated? Why was he feeling so horrible when he thought about Stan? Before he knew it, a little melody had picked up and the hums shifted to words as they spilled out of his mouth.

“I can see it in your eyes

That you despise the same old lies you heard the night before

And though it's just a line to you, for me it's true

And never seemed so right before”

He let the note hang for a moment, a bit surprised at how light his voice sounded as he sang. A whistle of surprise broke him out of his musings and he turned to the source of the noise.

“You didn’t tell me you could actually play,” Stan commented, having just pushed back the curtains. Silently asking for permission to enter. Bill simply turned back around to the piano.

“I would have if I had known,” he responded smoothly, ears extra sensitive to the sound of Stan’s footsteps drawing nearer. “Saves me some lessons.”

“Just need a better piano and maybe you could play some tunes for the tourists. Didn’t realize this one was such a piece of crap. Every other note is shit,” Stan commented, now leaning over Bill’s shoulder to inspect the keys. It wasn’t any different from any other interaction they would share, but Bill felt like he had trouble breathing.

“I’m not giving up on it, even if it is a piece of crap. It just needs a tune up,” he managed to respond. He felt Stan take a step back.

“If that’s what you wanna do.”

“It is.”

“Okay then.”

The sound of a heavy body flopping on a cushion filled the room as Stan made himself comfortable in Bill’s nest. Bill couldn’t find the ire within him to chastise his partner from messing up the cushions. So he did the only thing he could do and continued playing the piano.

“I practice every day to find some clever lines to say

To make the meaning come through

But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late and I'm alone with you

The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and, oh, the night's so blue

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’ “

Bill sang softly, almost embarrassed to be saying the words aloud for some reason. He continued to play the melody, feeling like pins and needles were sticking into his arms and legs, a sensation he had actually indulged in before. What was this feeling?

“Look, I didn’t mean to get on your case earlier,” Stan suddenly spoke up. Bill looked over to shoulder to the sight of Stan cocooned in Bill’s blankets. The other con man looked so peaceful, a relatively uncommon sight.

“You get it, right? I was just jokin’ around,” he continued, watching the fire flicker as it consumed the wood that housed it. “I got carried away.”

Bill watched the flames color Stan’s face, casting a warm glow off of his richly-colored hair. “Sure, yeah, joking.”

“I mean, even if you were into her, she’s outta of your league anyway. Like, she’s major league and you’re not even in the minor league,” Stan chuckled, shifting a bit closer to the fireplace. “She could do better.”

Something fragile inside Bill snapped suddenly.

“Yeah, because I’d be such a shitty partner she’d have to be paid or forced or threatened to be with me, right?”

“Huh? No, that’s not-”

“Is all I’m good for is a con that gets you a few bucks and free fuck for a night of fun?”

Stan sat up quickly. “Bill, what the fuck?! What are you saying?!”

“I don’t know!” Bill slammed a fist down on the keys, hard. The discordant sound bounced off the walls. “I don’t even know anymore. Just forget it!”

“No, I’m not, because you're wrong!” Stan shouted, still with the blankets pooled around his waist. “Fuck-I was just joking again I-” he cut himself off and started over. “You’re a good partner, Bill. You mean more to me than all that. I thought you knew.”

When Bill kept silent, Stan cautiously continued. “You’re hard-working, driven, funny, smart, and…you get me. I never thought I’d meet someone like you, but I did. And I’m...glad I did. So I’m sorry that I made you feel like that.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable but determined to speak his mind. “And I thought it was helpin’ you, but if the whole having sex stuff bothers you, we can stop. You’re more than just an easy lay, okay?”

“I don’t actually want to change that,” Bill responded, every part of him burning from the inside out. “It’s just...the portal still isn’t working,” he murmured reluctantly. “You said I had to earn my keep, but I haven’t. The only reason I’m here is because of it.”

“Oh for the love of-fine, yeah, I guess at first that’s how it was, but things are different now, Bill! I wouldn’t let just anyone stay here for over four years. I want you here.” He paused, and added, “Besides, we promised each other to be partners. And partners don’t turn their backs on or abandon their partner for no good reason. So you’re stuck with me; no take backs!” Stan smiled cheekily, but genuinely.

Bill felt himself return the smile with a toothy one of his own. “No take backs,” he agreed. “I’ll hold you to it, Slick.”

“And if you’re still upset about all that love crap, don’t be. It really ain’t worth the hassle most of the time, but I guess if you really get lucky, you’ll find someone someday, whoever they may be.” Stan laid back down, the fire casting long shadows across the floor as he got comfortable again.

“Someone who can keep up with you. Someone who gets you. Someone you know will always be there for you. I wouldn’t ever bet my good gold watch on it, so let me give you some advice on who to avoid-”

But I already have you, Bill couldn’t help but think.

And as Bill tuned out Stan’s prattle about his failed marriages, with all those previous sweet words still swirling in Bill’s mind and electrifying his neurons, the firing synapses suddenly made it all click.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Please, A-X-O-L-O-T-L, not him of all people.

A faint, foreign brush of amusement tickled his forebrain, but he couldn’t even process the sensation with the all-consuming weight of the revelation pressing down upon him.

His mental processes offline, Bill’s body continued onward for him and turned back to the piano, playing while the lyrics stayed trapped within his head.

The time is right, your cigar fills my head, the stars get red and, oh, the night's so blue

And then I go and spoil it all by sayin' something stupid like "I love you"

Another glance back. Stan had drifted off to sleep some time ago in the middle of his monologue, drool dripping out from the corner of his mouth. Unfortunately, to Bill, it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen.

I love you

I love you

I love you

I love you

~

The next morning found Bill with an uncontrollable jitter wracking his body. He got exactly zero sleep last night. He told Stan it was just the anticipation to check out the church and finally get some answers because how could he tell him what was really on his mind? Not an option. Not even on the scantron or fill-in-the-blank. He’d literally rather die by pulling out his tongue and slowly bleeding to death as he choked on his blood.

Obviously, Stan knew something more was up, but did not want to push after their uncomfortably vulnerable conversation yesterday, so he didn’t do more than shoot Bill a weird look over his cup of coffee.

Bill would have to excuse himself as soon as possible.

“Well, I’m off on a journey of discovery that’s likely just gonna be a waste of time in a probably cursed church alone in the woods!”

“Sounds right up your alley, then,” Stan snarked, dripping a bit of his drink onto his chest and down his shirt. No, Bill was not watching, you sickos!

“Bet it’s where McGucket made his vows to his racoon wife,” Bill snickered to himself, finished tying his shoes after giving up with the typical method and relying on the bunny-ears. He never liked laces.

“The only ones who go to mass there, too.”

They shared another laugh before Stan waved Bill to the door.

“Don’t get yourself killed. It would totally mess up the business model we got goin’ on here.” Then Stan paused, and awkwardly added, “And I don’t want you to die. Because that would be bad. You dying. Yeah.” After a beat, Stan shoved his face back into the newspaper, signaling the end of that conversation.

Bill couldn’t help the dopey grin that tugged at the corners of his lips. How utterly repulsive of him.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting, then. Buh-bye!” Armed only with a jacket, a small backpack, and a gun, Bill headed out the door.

~

Bill weaved through the trees as he got farther and farther from the Mystery Shack. He was pretty friendly with the main predator around here, so he wasn’t the most cautious at the moment. Especially with the thoughts currently hijacking his nervous system.

“My body is just confused,” he repeated to himself. “It’s mistaking proximity and intimacy with emotional connection. The wires are just crossed somewhere. It isn’t real.”

“Ooo, honey it sounds like your love life is a tangled web. Sticky and tricky to free yourself from,” someone from the forest cooed, a note of sympathy in her typically sleazy voice.

Speak of the devil.

“Oh, hello, Darlene!” Bill took a few steps back, making sure to keep himself facing her at all times. “How’s my favorite Archni-lady? Eavesdropping on unsuspecting hikers?”

“Oh, I’m doing more than just eavesdropping on them,” Darlene responded, slowly lowering herself out of the darkness as she released more of her spool. Her pincers clicked against each other and her multiple eyes were locked on them. She didn’t bother putting on her human disguise besides her wig, not that it would have worked on Bill either way.

“Not getting the best foot traffic though,” she continued, whipping out a pocket mirror from…somewhere…and reapplying her lipstick on her mandibles. “There’s a lack of dopey hikers who wanna save a poor, stranded damsel in distress.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to find a new spot,” Bill agreed. “Not a lot of people willingly come around here.”

Darlene grinned hungrily, her fangs slightly poking out. “Except you.”

Bill pushed back his coat to show that he was armed. Darlene retreated a bit, and Bill let a cocky grin of his own overtake his face: all his teeth showing and his gums exposed as it spread across the entirety of his lower half. The kind Stan warned him to never do in front of customers.

“Sorry, toots, but you should know by now that I’m not on the menu. You’re gonna have to go grocery shopping somewhere else.”

“Aw, you got my hopes up,” the spider woman whined, as if she had ever won this little game that they played. “Make it up to me with some gossip. Who’s got you in such a tizzy that you’re talking to yourself like a lovesick schoolgirl?”

“I’m in a new play with the theater company. Just practicing my lines as a warm up for later. I’m a dedicated actor who loves the craft.” Bill looked down at his handmade map to get a sense of where they were, using it as a shield to avoid her multiple eyes.

“Bill, do I look stupid to you? Spill it.”

“Nothing important,” Bill tried to dismiss. “Stan was being weird about something so I yelled at him, then we talked, and he told me he thought I was amazing and that he couldn’t imagine life without me.”

“Did he now?”

“Well that’s basically what he said. So here we are.”

“And what did you say to him after that,” Darlene questioned.

“Nothing really. It just ended there.” He paused, wavering if he should share his inner turmoil. Who would she even tell? Certainly not Stanley.

Darlene simply waited as they continued to walk, somehow able to tell he was making a decision. Maybe he should check if she has ESP. Or maybe this was what people called “emotional intelligence”.

“I came to a very disturbing revelation last night,” Bill started. “And no I will NOT be telling you about it, and if you keep looking at me like that I will burn your cheap bleached wig off of your scalp.

“Oh, come on, Bill, stop beatin’ ‘round the bush. I won’t tell a soul.” The large arachnid held one of her legs as if she were taking an oath.

Bill took a deep breath and just decided to blurt it out and get it over with. Maybe speaking the intrusive thoughts out loud would be a good wakeup call to how crazy he had been and snap him out of it.

“I think I developed psychosis and became infatuated with Stanley.” He grimaced. “Thoughts?”

She grimaced back. Bill had explained who the man was in previous conversations. “And prayers. You’re gonna need them.”

Bill groaned, stopping and leaning his head against a very large tree, then knocked his forehead against it repeatedly.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” she scoffed at his pity party. “You’re not psychotic. It’s natural what you’re feeling! So what are you gonna do about it?”

“What?!” Bill immediately whirled around and looked at Darlene in horror. “I’m not doing anything! I’m simply a victim to the unfortunate chemical signals that control my body! Once I subjugate them with my willpower, the feelings will go away!”

“Bill, that's NOT how it works. In a healthy manner, at least. Ugh, you men are ridiculous. Don’t you want to be with him?”

“Easy for you to say; you digest your men in your stomach acid! Stan’s not that simple. He-it’s-” Bill sighed deeply. “Let’s say I hypothetically was actually into the guy. He’d never go for it. As great of a catch as I am, Stan wouldn’t know a good thing even if it hit him with its moped. And I don’t set myself up for failure.”

Darlene shook her head, tutting. “You humans always gotta make this stuff complicated. That’s why I eat my mates when I’m done with them. Just check if your pheromones are compatible and go at it!”

“Yeah, you got a good set up, so leave mine be.” Bill ended it there. “Anyways, know anything about an old church in the woods? I got some business to take care of.”

Darlene crawled onto one of the higher branches and squinted off into the distance. “You’re not far at all. Just keep headin’ west.”

“You’re a doll, Darlene,” Bill thanked her. “Good luck with your hunting! Y’know, Mystery Mountain’s been a hot topic recently. Might wanna set up camp there.”

Darlene giggled and waved him off. “I just might, honey.”

As the fake bleach blonde returned to her web, Bill quickly resumed his quest, decidedly not figuring out his own mess at the moment.

No, Bill would not be liable for the deaths of anyone Darlene ate. He’s not the one who’s gonna eat them! Arachnamorphs gotta eat somebody, and he’d rather they hunt somewhere other than Gravity Falls. That’s how life works. He was just lucky he didn’t run into a Land Orca. They didn’t hold conversations well.

Sure enough, though, the trees dwindled and opened up to what must have been a well-used dirt path at one time. Looking back to where the path connected to the road, Bill realized that the church was easily accessible by car. And there was a very familiar red car parked right in front.

It was as if the universe was conspiring against Bill. Stanley Pines was sitting in the driver’s seat, listening to the local radio station that was mostly just static with a few random words interrupting every few seconds. Bill went up, tapped on the glass, and leaned his forearms on the top of the car, lowering himself down to be face-to-face with Stan, who had rolled down the window.

“Couldn’t stay away from me, huh, Fez? Did you miss me? Admit it, you missed me~” Bill reflexively teased, immediately throwing himself into the casual routine. Nothing was amiss. Nothing had changed. Everything was the same as it always was.

“Eh, I figured it would suck if you stepped into the church and immediately got turned to dust by whatever god there is and no one was there to collect your ashes,” Stan joked back. “So here I am.”

What a liar. He made Bill’s chest burn. Maybe it would be better if whatever deity this church belonged to just smote him out of his misery or started another one of those floods.

“Here you are.” Bill tugged open the car door. “Ever splunked on sacred grounds?”

“More often than you’d think, yeah.”

The path led up to a degraded structure of what was obviously the abandoned church. Its style indicated that it was probably made in the early 1800s, but it had fallen into disuse. The roof was engulfed with large patches of moss, and the white paint covering the outside wooden walls was heavily chipped. The multi-colored stained glass windows were partially boarded up, as if the process was suddenly halted, with several sections of the panes broken. The clearing was suspiciously quiet, blanketing the area in an eerie silence.

Stan sighed. “I really wanna go home. But I also kinda wanna go inside. Grab some spooky candles or old holy crackers or whatever they do in churches.”

“Well, which urge is stronger?”

They went inside. The vegetation had taken over the church, with vines and even more moss crawling up and covering the walls. Exposed brick peeped out from the cracks in the wooden walls, and the support beams laid uselessly on the floor. The old pews were in various states of disarray, with some simply crooked and others smashed to pieces. Light trickled in from the small openings in the roof, creating little pockets of sunshine to brighten the room. Front and center, where the preacher would have stood, was a large hole in the floor that opened up to pitch black darkness.

Stan tapped his toe on the flooring with each step he took, making sure that the ground was stable enough to walk on. “This place must have been abandoned for a hell of a long time,” he marveled. “I wonder why.”

“I’ve researched the history of cults and religious groups in Gravity Falls in the past, but nothing ever mentioned the construction of this place,” Bill pondered, checking out the walls. Some areas were cleaner and less worn than others, like they were shielded from the elements by something that was no longer there. And recently, judging by how preserved they still appeared. “But people act like it’s a staple here. It couldn’t have just popped up like this.” He glanced up at the windows, at the mosaic colors of various triangles arranged together. “Or did it?”

“Don’t you dare say that this is some freaky ghost church,” Stan told him, cautiously hovering near the big fissure in the ground. “But this is even weirder: it’s like there’s nothing underneath the floor here. Just a huge hole all the way down.” He shined a bright flashlight from his keychain into the stone abyss, the steep walls peppered with leaves and mushrooms. A puff of steam shot up and he yelped, pulling away. “It smells…warm down there.”

“Hmm.” Bill came over and joined him. “...you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“I am, and I really wish I wasn’t.”

Thankfully, the Stanmbile had a bunch of rope for reasons, and the native East Coaster smirked at Bill.

“And what would you have done without me here?” Stan finished securing the knots that anchored the rope to one of the pews next to the hole, tugging on it to test the strength. “Stuck scratching your ass doin’ nothing, that’s what.”

Not thinking about you and your sweaty hairy strong arms, Bill internally screamed as he watched Stan’s muscles flex.

“I would have figured it out,” Bill muttered instead, flinging the other end down the hole. He gestured grandly to it. “Ladies first.”

He got a punch to the bicep for that. “This better get you some answers, or I’ll be pissed that I rappelled down a dark stone chamber for nothing.”

“Isn’t the experience worth it?” Bill asked as Stan took the lead and slowly started to lower himself down. “Where’s your love of mystery, Mr. Mystery?”

“Fighting my strong desire to survive.”

And down they went, Stan’s small but intense flashlight brightening their surroundings as they descended into the depths below. Several streams of steam blew up at them, possibly hinting at there being geysers at the bottom. The fungi seemed to love the warm humid weather as they sprouted more and more. After going down a couple more feet, Stan looked for the bottom.

“It’s part of the old mine system,” he realized. “Look, there’s tracks for the carts and pickaxes and-oh, oh that’s a skeleton.”

“Can we go get it? I’ve been needing a new prop from the parlor.”

“Eh, that’s pretty creepy, but it’s free, so you’ll have to get it-wait, do you see that?”

Stan pointed the light towards the rocky walls near Bill’s blind side, so he had to rotate his body to see what he was referring to. There, somehow displacing the stone, was an unnaturally perfect half-circle that opened up into a cave. Stan and Bill exchanged glances and swung themselves over to it.

Once inside, they followed the tunnel, the simple earthy walls turning to intricate stones that decorated their surroundings. It was very deliberately designed, and much older than the church that sat above it. The air felt light and clean despite how deep underground they were.

“I’ve read about something like this before,” Bill whispered, almost feeling too afraid to speak at his typical loud volume. “Once Christianity became the dominant religion in the Roman Empire, they would either convert the pagan temples to churches or actually built on top of them. The old polytheistic religion dwindled in followers, but they would still use the catacombs to secretly meet and pray.”

“You saying that this is a different religion than the church? An older religion?” Stan inquired, eyes drawn to the sparkling stones above them. They glittered in the darkness, meant to guide without light, so Stan turned off his flashlight. They continued along the path, as if they were walking under the night sky.

“Probably the native people’s, yes,” Bill agreed. “They left Gravity Falls about a thousand years ago, and historians still don’t know why. But this,” Bill gestured wildly around them, slapping Stan’s stomach, “This has probably never been discovered before. Those short-sighted archaeologists probably couldn’t fathom that this place even existed! They should have kept on digging.”

“And the money we’d make for finding it would be outta this world,” Stan’s eyes practically became dollar signs. “We’re gonna uncover it right now since it looks like the tunnel ends down there. Ready to make history, Billy-boy?”

Bill shuddered in anticipation. Would this secret place have the answers he had been searching for? “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The tunnel opened up to a huge chamber, and if they thought the light show on the way there was impressive, they were blown away by what they saw next.

Every surface was covered in wondrous, intertwining images made out of the same, glowy stones. Bill was able to immediately make out what they were depicting because he saw them nearly every night in the sky: constellations. Swirling, beautiful, shining constellations, as if the stars themselves had been plucked from the solar system and given a new home. He could make out a few now: Ursa Major, Orion, and his favorite of course, William. And smack in the center, on the highest point of the chamber was HIM.

A large being of iridescent pink shined down from above, clusters of stones appearing as scales that covered its nebulous body. Frilly appendages flowed off the sides of its face and a large, sleek tail surrounded it. It was if galaxies were given a form. It was…

“Is that an ax-”

“Don’t,” Bill quickly covered Stan’s mouth. “Names have power.” And he was serious.

Bill knew, and he didn’t know how, that invoking this being’s name was not something that should be done. He let go and continued to stare up at the image of the space salamander, Stan surprisingly silent next to him. He felt…uncomfortable. Like he was being judged. Like it could see the very fabric of his soul and know him better than he knew himself.

“...anything coming back?” Stan pressed. “Is anything familiar to you?”

Bill swallowed, stepping back. He suddenly felt overwhelmed and lightheaded. By the stones, the darkness, the light, everything. Stan reached over and held him steady as he swayed.

“I don’t want to stay here anymore,” Bill whispered. “Please.” His body betrayed him and began to tremble, seeking the heat from Stan’s touch to warm himself.

“...okay. We can go.” As they exited the chamber, Bill could have sworn that the mural’s dark eyes followed him.

It was harder going up than coming down, but it all passed by in a blur to Bill. One minute they were going out the tunnel and the next they were back in the church. He was pretty sure Stan had carried up him up most of the way. Bill sat himself down on one of the pews and just dissociated as Stan packed up the rope, leaving him to his thoughts as he absently scratched at his sensitive, flaky arms.

What was that all about? Why did he feel so vulnerable in that chamber? Some part of him must have recognized the subject of that temple. The being that was being revered. It made him feel exposed. Seen. And not in a good way. The mysteries kept piling up.

“Let’s keep this to ourselves,” he announced. “That place should stay as it is: forgotten and preserved. That’s what he wants.”

Stan paused in the middle of his packing. “What the hell do you mean? Who’s he?”

Bill froze, now even more confused. “I…don’t know.” He sat there, baffled. “I must have known, at some point.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have had a freak out like that if you didn’t,” Stan agreed. “This place was left to the woods for a reason. Let’s get outta here, go home, and forget about it.”

Bill kicked his feet and felt one of his shoes catch on something on the floor. He bent down and reached underneath the pew to grab at what felt like a piece of cloth. He gave it a tug, and it came out from the rock it was buried under. He spread it out by its corners to see what it was.

It was a dirty, old, thin tapestry that might have once been a deep gold color. It matched the tapestries he had hung in the parlor, only worse for wear. Which meant it also matched his cloak. Flipping it over, he found the design on the other side. It was the same triangle that littered the Mystery Shack. He could tell by its distinctive eye. So this was what his tapestries initially looked like before Ford blotted them out with paint. Why would he take them from this place just to do that? Was it connected to the tavern hidden deep below? Or were there other dark secrets that had yet to be uncovered?

Maybe Stan was right. Maybe he didn’t want to know anymore about his past. Not if it made him feel this disoriented and weak and lost. But how could he not want to know who he was?

Still, he folded the fabric carefully so that it’s eye was covered and shoved it into his pocket. He’d keep it a secret for now. Keep it safe. Just until he figured out what he wanted to do.

“...sure,” He belatedly answered. “As long as you let me choose the movie tonight.”

He’d deal with everything later. Not now. Too much was happening now. Just let him rest. He’d work it all out later. It’d all make sense at some point, right?

Chapter Text

Bill sat on the porch couch, legs comfortably folded on Stan’s lap as they watched the kids have a water balloon fight after all the minor forest fires they had started with their crazy rooftop fireworks party were extinguished. Stan took a sip of his Pitt Cola then passed it to Bill.

“Ah. This is what Saturdays are for. Doing dumb things forever,” he remarked.

Bill hummed in agreement, unusually calm as he soaked in the glorious day. He had come to love summer over the years.

Dipper and Mabel jumped onto their pile of water balloons, echoing, “DUMB THINGS FOREVER!” with a unified scream. A big wave rushed out from the popped balloons, nearly splashing their grunkles.

Stan and Bill both moved away from the water, chuckling at the kid’s enthusiasm.

“Woah, there,” Stan laughed. “Not on Bill’s hair, or he’ll have a conniption.”

“I’m using a new product Mabel made for me,” Bill flounced a few curls. “Can’t get it wet for 37 hours, according to the label.” He held up an unearthly neon purple bottle with an equally bright pink label with suspiciously tiny fine print. “I’m sure this is FDA approved.”

“And it makes you look FABULOUS!” Mabel held up an icy-pop, declaring, “To Grunkles Stan and Bill! Not just great uncles…”

“The greatest uncles!” Dipper finished, with him and Mabel only throwing their water balloons at Stan so that they didn’t hit Bill’s hair.

Bill moved away from his soaked companion as Stan burst into laughter again, but kept his eye on him, drinking in the sight and committing it to memory. Stan was so happy this summer. Not that he was depressed during the previous summers, how could he be with Bill for company, but there was something about the young twins that really loosened him up. Just as Bill foretold: Dipper and Mabel were the key to unlocking Stan’s happiness. Things were going so well now.

The easy routine Bill found himself willingly following this summer was a force of its own. As much as the chaotic elements of life amused and intrigued him, there was something comforting about the stability that life at the Mystery Shack cultivated within him. That Stanley and the Pines family provided him with. It settled something desperate deep inside him: the urge to destroy and create anew. He no longer had to fight and claw at the cruel world for something that it couldn’t pry away from him. That was his and would always be his. He no longer had to wonder when he’d finally have a place to exist as himself. It was freeing. Bill felt free.

That wasn’t to say that he felt restless with living with just Stanley for so many years, but there was something that this summer had created that made him feel particularly content.

The last hurdle was fast approaching, though. Once they cleared it, they’d be home free.

“Alright, alright. I tell you it's unnatural for siblings to get along as well as you do.”

Mabel dismissively waved her hand at her big-nosed grunkle. “Ha-ha! Don't worry. We've still got plenty of summer left-” she man-handled Dipper into a hug “-to drive each other crazy!”

Dipper retaliated by pushing his alpha twin away with a water balloon, which fell and broke on her face, which she seemed to accept.

That seemed to draw Stan out of his care-free amusement, with his chuckles now nervous and a frown adorning his face. Bill’s own smirk faded at the sight. He knew what Stan was thinking.

“Yeah, plenty of summer left.” He made eye-contact with Bill, rubbing the back of his head in agitation as his grand-nephew and grand-niece came closer. Bill sent him a pointed look.

“Kids, there's something we, uh, something I should tell you. It's um,” Stan fidgeted, scratching his chin. “Well it's complicated. I…” He trailed off, a loss for words as the fear visibly took over. “I'm gonna go refresh my soda.” Stan stood up abruptly, walking past Bill swiftly as he went to the vending machine through the bushes.

Bill sighed in exasperation. Another failed attempt at telling the kids that they were soon going to be joined by another grunkle whose identity their other grunkle stole because he hadn’t been in their dimension for 30 years. Not the easiest news to share, but they didn’t have the luxury of time anymore. The countdown was happening today. It was now or never.

In retrospect, this would have been a lot easier if they had just been upfront with the kids from the start. But old lying habits die hard, and Stan had been adamant about keeping the kids unaware about the truth of Gravity Falls for their safety.

Bill played along for the most part, always just missing the creature of the day because it was in his blind spot, or getting out of the car slowly enough that he arrived too late. He also made a few threats here and there to the more unruly forest fellows who’d get a kick out of terrorizing children, so he did his part.

Besides, despite Stan’s protests, he did answer Mabel truthfully when she once asked how to find “the hot vampires in the woods”, and she was fine afterwards! No harm, no foul! And now, here they were. So close to the end. So close to answers.

The twins turned to Bill for their own answers. “Grunkle Bill, what’s got Stan acting so weird,” Dipper questioned, not knowing what to make of Stan’s flighty behavior. Mabel nodded.

“It’s like he’s got ants in his pants, but on the inside. That’s an even worse feeling, I bet,” she wondered.

Bill smiled to put them at ease, which didn’t really have a high chance of working. “Your grunkle’s been wanting to tell you something, but he hasn’t found the right words to use yet. Just give him till the end of the day, and I’m sure he’ll have found them by then.”

“What sort of ‘something’ is it?” Dipper doubled down. The kid never liked to be kept in the dark. Bill couldn’t blame him, but he'd have to go a bit longer without a light.

“Something that you’ll enjoy a lot, Dip ‘N Dops. I foresee it clearly.” Bill finished with a twiddle of his fingers and an ominous tone that he knew annoyed his nephew. Sure enough, the boy rolled his eyes in exasperation at Bill’s act while Mabel vibrated with excitement at the mystery of what this something could be.

Bill lowered his hands. “Now, how about we-what is that, a lady bug?” A red dot had appeared on his forehead, and he instinctively smacked at it, but it just migrated to his hand. Crap, it was a laser. Then the next thing Bill knew, he was being pinned down, face smooshed against the dirt.

“Hey, hey, watch the hair, pal,” he snarled at the agent that gripped his hair. “Get your grubby hands off of me!”

His words had no impact, with him being subsequently handcuffed and thrown into a black vehicle, separated from the kids who protested their treatment while the agents talked amongst themselves. He was only able to get a single glance at Stan, who was also being taken away in a separate vehicle, before he was forced into his seat and driven down a familiar path to the police station.

Ugh, not THAT place again. He had been brought there a couple of weeks ago and subsequently sent to jail for attempting bodily harm on Bud Gleeful after that grating, irritating, hack of a family STOLE the Shack from Stan and Bill. Thankfully he had been let free after the truth of Gideon’s lies and machinations came to light. It had been a sweet day when Bill had laughingly passed by the boy as Bill left the prison while Gideon was brought in. Bud Gleeful quickly renewed his restraining order against Bill. Pussy; if you can’t handle the heat, get out of the kitchen.

So much for a nice day.

~

“I couldn't risk anyone learning the truth and sabotaging my mission, so I lied to everyone: the town, your parents, even you kids,” Stan finished, done with telling his and his brother’s tale, ignoring Ford’s judging frown being directed at him.

Soos was jotting down the details with a voracity Stan had never seen before. “Even Mr. Birch?”

Stan shook his head. “No. William knows everything about this. With him and his big brain, it made working out the ciphers and the equations this bozo encoded-” he jabbed a thumb towards Ford, “-a lot easier. But without the other journals, we had to do a lot of reverse engineering until this summer.”

“So all this time, you two were just trying to save your brother,” Dipper realized. “Grunkle Stan, I'm so sorry I didn't believe you,” the boy apologized, looking distraught at the fact that he had almost ruined everything.

Stan sighed. Who could blame a kid who believed he was trying to protect the world? “That's okay, kid. I probably wouldn't have believed me either. Though I gotta say: did you really think I wasn’t your grunkle? You’ve seen pictures of me and your gramps together.”

Dipper facepalmed after Stan’s words sunk in. “Right…duh.”

An unfamiliar voice came from upstairs, probably one of those government agents. ”I heard talking! It was coming from downstairs!”

“No, no; that’s just the television set. Stan’s hearing is practically non-existent, so we always keep the volume up,” a very familiar voice returned, coming off as casual but with an undercurrent of nervousness only those who knew him could pick up.

Stan instantly felt an instinctive sense of ease at the sound of his partner. Always there to help him out. But that warmness chilled as he realized that Bill was up there. Alone. Surrounded by the feds. Times like these made him wish he could curse aloud freely no matter how warranted it would be. “Oh no! He’s trying to to buy us time, but the agents are comin' for us!”

“What do we do?!” Mabel exclaimed, standing up on the ledge she was perched on.

“Aw, man. I was so spellbound by your dramatic tale I forgot all about those dudes,” Soos admitted.

Dipper seemed to get an idea. The kid was always full of ‘em. “Wait, forget. That's it! I think I know a way we might be able to defeat those agents!” The kid quickly jammed his hand into his backpack and pulled out that gun. Stan’s blood went cold at the sight of it. How had Dipper gotten that thing? Who did he get it from? As Stan stayed frozen, Dipper handed the not-gun to Ford, who seemed to know what it was, as usual. What didn’t he know?

“Of course!” His brother proclaimed like he had come to an epiphany. “I don't know how you got a hold of one of these but, this is perfect! If I can just amplify the signal to a radio headset frequency…”

Poindexter went about plugging some random wires into the bulb of the gun as he rambled, then looked through some viewing telescope to scan the above ground around the Shack. “There. Now everyone PLUG YOUR EARS! GET DOWN! NOW!” He yelled.

Stan quickly sent the message to Bill, who should have also been wearing the matching watch that was connected to the portal countdown. They had been able to rewire them to support a private line between themselves. He just hoped it’d warn Bill in time.

Everyone crouched down to the floor and plugged their ears until it passed, the wave sending a weird tingle throughout Stan’s body. Then Ford stood up and strode to the elevator. “I’ll handle this,” he said firmly. “Just leave it to me.”

“Oh, scooch over, Sixer. I need to get up there, too.” Stan doggedly followed behind Ford’s heels with the rest of the family, much to his twin’s visible irritation. “There’s someone I need to check on, ASAP.”

Please let Bill be okay, Stan pleaded to who knows who. He couldn’t lose him after all this.

Ford pressed the elevator’s up button once everyone was inside, a bit squished. “Yes, this…‘William’. He helped you with the portal? Who is he?”

Stan kept his left hand clenched tightly. “My partner.”

~

Outside, Bill was having a not-so-fun time. The day he and Stan had been anticipating for decades had finally come, but the government also deemed it to be the perfect time to swoop in and mess up everything! Something about a “doomsday device”. They were so self-righteous.

Look, Bill understood. Ripping a tear at the weak point between time and space was bound to have some risks associated with it. Ford’s hidden notes he made with the magic marker supported this. Which Bill found stupid. Why would you write such dire warnings such that no one could easily see them?! Warnings were meant to be big, bold, and brash: unable to be missed! So if Ford didn’t care if you could see them, they couldn’t be THAT important, right? The town could handle a few gravity anomalies until they completed their goal.

Right now, Bill was contending with Dumb and Dumber over here, who seemed convinced they were getting their big break by interrupting a potential apocalypse. So dramatic, locking Bill and Stan up. Didn’t they know any better? Birch and Pines were the best escape artists in the county! Nothing could keep them for long, especially when they had places to be.

Bill knew that Stan made it in time when the countdown finally reached zero, and a bright light surged outward from the Shack and over the trees. Bill had been driving a stolen cop car less than a mile away at the time, being pursued, so all he could do was cheer to himself as “Good Vibrations” played on the radio.

Now, here he was: surrounded on all sides with the Shack to his back, making what could be his final stand before being sent to federal prison. Everyone’s weapons were loaded and locked on Bill, and he had his own (stolen) handgun pointed at the main guy in charge: Agent Powers.

“It’s a lost cause, William Birch, if that’s even your real name. You’re trapped and outnumbered. Surrender yourself so that we may continue our investigation and stop whatever machinations you and your partner have been hiding,” the wannabe Man in Black demanded, sounding monotone even in the most tense of situations. “We know Stan Pines is down there.”

“Look, Austin, you’re not being groovy, baby,” Bill responded, really hoping that Stan had a terrific plan up his sleeve that would save the day and defeat the American government...oh who was he kidding? He was screwed. But he would at least go down doing what he did best: verbal spars. “Totally ruining the vibe with your lack of mojo and un-shaggalicious attitude. So let’s just take a chill pill, ‘kay?”

“Oh, enough of this; we’ve already got them where we want them! Get me Washington on Line 1!” As Agent Powers started relaying orders, Bill received a notification on his watch. He quickly glanced at his wrist, which read, “GET DOWN NWO COVER EARRS.”

Well, who was he to ignore such a warning?

To the rest of the agents’ confusion, Bill dropped his gun, threw himself to the ground next to the Shack, and covered his ears the best he could.

“I've been practicing making sounds of excitement for this very occasion. Hey, do you hear that?”

As if summoned, an electromagnetic wave originating from the geographically incorrect totem pole pulsed through the Shack and yard, with only Bill being spared as everyone else clutched their heads and ears in pain and confusion, the air vibrating around them as the birds flew away. Once it had passed, the government officials remained kneeling, clearly disoriented. Bill stayed put, crouched on the ground next the the side of the Shack, waiting.

Agent Powers and his brunette partner looked at each other, confused.

“What? Where am I? Why am I standing in front of some sort of goofy fun knick-knack house?” Powers asked, as if he had no clue what was going on. Like he hadn’t spent the entire day terrorizing Bill to get to the portal. What exactly did that electromagnetic wave do?

“Stand down, gentlemen!” A loud, commanding voice came from the porch, and Bill turned his head as a familiar man in all black stood there with his hands on his hips. What was Stan doing? And why did it sound like his forty plus years of smoking suddenly didn’t exist?

“I've been sent with the latest intel from Washington,” the smooth-talking Stan proclaimed, flipping through a bunch of papers as if he were reading from them. “According to this very real report, the power surges in Gravity Falls were actually due to radiation from an unreported meteor shower. A total embarrassment for your whole department.”

He glanced back up, as if unimpressed. “Luckily I'm here to take this mess off your hands, but I'll need all your…” he trailed off, gesturing with his hand. His six-fingered hand. This wasn’t Stanley; this was Stanford! The portal was a success! Bill had to physically stop himself from laughing in delight by covering his mouth. If only he were there to see the product of all his hard work in person. “...floppy disks, and 8-tracks...right?”

Guess other dimensions hadn’t invented flash drives yet, huh? They’d have to catch him up to speed.

Thankfully, the agents were too thrown off to question Ford’s outdated technological terms. The symptoms they were exhibiting were uncomfortably familiar to Bill.

Powers rubbed his balding head. “Uh, everything about this case is contained on this drive.” He gestured to the other one, who pulled a flash drive with the name “PINES” written in red on it from inside his suit. It was easily handed over to Ford.

Once in possession of all the sensitive files for the case, Ford looked around as if exasperated by incompetence of his underlings. “Well, what are you waiting for, a kiss on the cheek?” Yup. If the lying to the government hadn’t been enough, the familiar saying sealed the deal: he was for sure Stan’s brother.

The polydactyl pointed for the agents to leave the premises. “Get out of here before I have your butts court-martialed!”

Powers and Trigger saluted to who they believed to be their superior. “Uhh, yes sir. Apologies, sir.” Powers whistled to the rest of his crew, using his pointer and middle finger to signal to wrap it up. “False alarm, everyone!” Bill silently snickered to himself as he watched the mustached man trip on his way to his car. Served him right after he made Bill’s day a living hell.

Bill remained hidden as the rest of the entourage left while Ford fed Gompers the flash drive, which the goat seemed to enjoy. Now that the coast was clear, Bill could finally introduce himself to the man he had worked 27 years to bring home.

Bill sprung up from the ground like a daisy in spring as Ford also stood back on his feet. “Phew! I’d thought they’d never leave! That was some top-grade bullshit you spewed there, Odysseus. Real professional stuff.”

Ford spun around as Bill got onto the porch behind him, hand immediately going to his thigh, looking at Bill in confusion. Wary guy, this one. Who could blame him after he had been stuck who-knows-where for so long? Bill would have to give him a warm welcome back. Good first impressions and all that crap since it was so important to Stanley. If this even was their first meeting, that is.

“Well well well well well; if it isn’t Stanford Pines, the man of the hour! We’ve been waiting a long time for YOU!” Bill gestured grandly to the aged scientist. “Glad to see you made it here in one piece. How was the trip home?”

Instead of being mildly discombulated like Bill had anticipated, Ford instead gaped for a second before his eyes narrowed dangerously. Immediately, a very high-tech, dangerous-looking gun was pointed straight at Bill’s face as the elder Pines twin braced himself for a confrontation.

“You,” the glasses-clad man growled, a rumbling noise that promised a serious fight. “You followed me through the portal, didn’t you? You moved fast.”

Bill immediately held up his palms in a complacent manner. Okay, so the guy had more screws loose than he realized. He had to be careful here: Ford seemed to have him pegged for someone he CLEARLY didn’t like. “Woah there, smart guy! I’ve had enough guns pointed at me today to meet my yearly quota. I think you’ve got the wrong person. How about you let me introduce myself?”

Bill slowly held out a hand for a friendly, introductory hand shake. Wrong move. Wrongest move he ever made actually. Okay, maybe the top five. But quite possibly the last one he’d ever make.

The gun started to charge up, and Bill quickly stepped back, waving his arms. “Woah woah woahWOAH-”

“STANFORD,” a raspy voice boomed from the Shack, and Bill instinctively reached out towards it, meeting a rough, calloused hand half-way before he was tugged behind a wide body. The sound of something being torched filled the air, and the smell of smoke followed not long after it.

“Stanley! What are you doing?! MOVE OUT OF THE WAY! GET AWAY FROM HIM!” Ford exploded, fear, annoyance, and anger somehow all bleeding into his voice.

“AFTER YOU TRIED TO VAPORIZE MY HUSBAND?! ARE YOU OUTTA YOUR MIND?!” Stanley roared back. Wow, Bill hadn’t heard Stan pissed like that in a while. And all over Bill. What a cute guard dog he had.

“I’M TRYING TO SAV- wait, husband?!”

Yup: William Birch was almost zapped by his own brother-in-law. Or was he technically Bill’s semi-legally married husband? Since it was Stanford Pines who he got hitched to all those years ago…were they gonna have to get divorced? These awkward but necessary considerations would have to come later.

Bill peaked out from over Stan’s shoulder. Ford’s eyes instantly captured his one eye, so Bill looked away towards the source of the smell. Not far from where Bill was standing, what was once a bush was now a bunch of steaming cinders. Oh. That would not have been good. Bill’s stomach churned at the implication that Ford meant to do that to him. No wonder Stanley was so upset.

Of course with the tensions running the highest, the kids decided that it was the perfect time to run out of the wooden cabin, with Soos bringing up the rear.

“Grunkle Bill!” they shouted, making a beeline to the blonde man who was huddling behind Stan. Ford’s eyes widened and he frantically waved his arms to try to get their attention.

“Kids, no! Stay away!”

Paying their interdimensional traveler of a grunkle no mind, Dipper and Mabel launched themselves at Bill, latching onto his thin torso, while Soos wrapped his arms around Bill’s shoulders and lifted him off the ground into a hug.

“Aw, you guys. Really feelin’ the love here,” Bill squeaked out, the air having been pushed out of his lungs. “A bit too much. I’m feeling light-headed…”

Soos placed Bill down and let him go so Bill could take an exaggerated breath in. Once the oxygen returned to his body, he poked the younger crowd all on their foreheads affectionately. “Whole gang’s here, huh? Guess you all met Cuckoo-Clock, right?” Bill pointed at Ford around Stan’s body, who was still serving as a shield between his lover and his brother, bristling with anger as he glared Ford down to keep his brother in place during their stand-off. “What’s his damage?”

Soos shrugged. “I don’t know, dude. He punched Stan when he came out of the portal, so maybe violence is how he says hello?”

“He did what?!” Bill demanded, offended on Stan’s behalf. Stan huffed, the sound a wordless confirmation of Soos’ statement. Bill’s ire grew accordingly.

“He didn’t try to beat us up, though,” Mabel pointed out. “Maybe he doesn’t do it to people under thirty?”

“Ah, man. It woulda been cool to see what he’d do to take me out,” Soos pondered.

Dipper was more focused on more important matters at hand. “Great-uncle Stanford, what are you doing?! You almost just blasted Grunkle Bill!”

“What?” Ford uttered, looking completely bewildered at the display of affection that just occurred. “Grunkle?…Why…how.. How do you know him? Stanley?” He looked back over at his brother for answers. “What’s going on?”

Stan glanced around, taking in the scene. The kids and Soos were with him the whole time while Ford made them stay in the Shack, so they were all good.

Ford, for the first time since he stepped out of the portal, looked unbalanced. Like he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. His body was tense as if seconds away from fighting, but was barely keeping a handle on himself if his shaking fists were any indication. He looked ready to blow up at the slightest provocation.

Stan then glanced back over his shoulder at his partner. Bill looked shaken, but otherwise unharmed except for a darkening bruise on his cheekbone. Must have gotten that earlier when he was getting arrested. His hair was frizzy and had a few twigs caught in the strands, and he was missing his eye patch. He locked gazes with Stan and gave him his signature biting smile. Trying to soothe Stan that he was alright even in this messed up situation. It made Stan pissed off all over again. Ford had no right to do this to Bill after everything they had done to bring him back, even if he didn’t want to be here.

“I told you already: this is William Birch. My partner.”

Ford’s mouth hung open in shock. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious, Sixer. Especially since you went nuts and tried to shoot him! What’s gotten into you?!”

“What’s gotten into me?! Stan, you’re being tricked! Don’t you know who he is?!”

“Alright, that’s enough! Kids, it’s been a long day, so you go hit the hay. Me, Bill, and my brother have a lot to talk about,” Stan announced, tone not leaving any room for arguing. Even Dipper, who had been waiting so long for the chance to talk to the author, didn’t fuss. He just followed his sister inside and up into the attic, though the both of them threw concerned glances over their shoulders as they disappeared out of sight. Soos let himself out, but anyone could hear him whispering into the phone as he called Wendy. And then there were three.

Stan turned around and pushed Bill in front of him to preserve the distance between Ford. “Let’s all talk in the parlor. Should be private enough. And you-,” Stan threw an accusing glare over his shoulder to his brother who lingered behind him, “-better not even think about bringing that thing inside. Regular guns with bullets only! That way we’re all even.”

Ford gritted his teeth. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Come watch me make it, then.”

As they entered deeper into the Shack, Stan could hear his brother’s footsteps slowly following, so that was an encouraging sign at least. How did this get so messed up? What about Bill set Ford off? Did they have a past together? Would they finally learn the truth? It was almost overwhelming, but Stan had to focus.

He laid a hand on the small of Bill’s back as they went down the hallway that led to the parlor. “Are you okay, babe? That was pretty crazy, right?”

Bill chuckled weakly. “That’s one way to put it. If you hadn’t bull-dozed in back there, I’d be kindling.”

“Well, you’re always smokin’ hot, so what’s new?” The jokes at least helped distract them, until they heard a loud noise of disgust from behind them as Ford took in the sight of the Shack’s “new” look.

“Stan, what have you done to my house?! What is all this junk?!

“Things change after thirty years, Ford,” Stan said as they came to the entrance to the parlor. The most-updated flyer for Mr. Mystique hung nearby, displaying Bill posing dramatically in his cloak. Ford eyed it with irritation, ripped off the wall, and shoved it into his coat pocket, ignoring Bill’s offended gasp at the blatant disrespect. The dark satin curtains slightly wavered, as if a light wind was blowing them. “Especially house decor. Now come on in.”

“No shoes. Especially yours: they look like they’ve tracked thirty years-worth of mud and goo,” Bill added, but quickly shut his mouth at the glare Ford shot at him, which was then intercepted by Stan’s glare. And Ford had the gall to look offended! Stan would do this all night if he had to. And he had a feeling that it was going to be a long one.

~

Bill took in a deep breath, attempting to replicate the calming exercises he had learned at yoga. Yes, yoga. Don’t judge! A flexible body was a must if one wanted to age well and perform certain…activities… Those robust middle-aged women knew what they were talking about, so Bill trusted their techniques.

Bill was currently in front of his mirror, spare eyepatch in place as he combed out the sticks his hair had picked up over the course of the day. Looking presentable was the first step to being in control. Never let them see your fear, even if you had every reason to be. Sell what you showed them.

Stan was already seated on Bill’s cushion, waiting and keeping watch like his personal knight. Ford was initially resistant to sitting down, but at Stan’s stern expression, compromised on kneeling. The most uncomfortable of positions, but one he could easily spring up from. The paranoid guy was still convinced this was all a trap, quietly inspecting the crumbled Mr. Mystique flyer he had so rudely tore down with an unimpressed air while glancing about the room.

The pink fire behind them crackled and casted long shadows onto Ford’s face, making the man’s tells hard to make out. This was already off to a bad start. Nonetheless, they had to go for it. Try to salvage something for this horrendous reunion. It couldn’t end like this, could it?

“So, am I going to get some answers or just watch you play in the mirror,” Ford asked after a minute, fingers impatiently tapping his thighs.

“Oh, you can wait,” Stan immediately dismissed. “There’s no rush, unless there’s another doomsday machine you’ve got in a secret basement we don’t know about?”

Ford seemed to seriously consider the possibility. “Unless I had my memory wiped of such a project thirty years ago, there shouldn’t be.”

“Speaking of memory wipes, is that what happened to the agents?” Bill interrupted, plopping himself next to Stan across from Ford. The other aging Pines man’s eyes were hidden by the glare of the fire across his glasses, but Bill knew they were locked in on him. “There’s only one device I know that has the ability to do that, and last I checked it was being abused by a lowest subspecies of humans that infest this town. At least until the kids blasted them outta their minds…” Bill trailed off.

Stan easily picked up his partner’s line of thinking. “Yeah, Dipper must have had it since. I had no clue till just now. Then Ford played around with it and you saw what happened. Wiped the American government clean off our case.”

“Yeah. And I would have been right there with them not knowing my head from my ass,” Bill snarked. “That heads up was a little too close for comfort, Stanley.”

“Hey, it’s not like we had a team meeting! Poindexter here just started doin’ his own little science experiment and I-”

“Ah-HEM,” Ford loudly broke up the couple’s banter, shooting them an irritated look. “I’ve been remarkably patient considering the circumstances. Start from the beginning of all…this.”

Stan tapped his pointer fingers together, trying to sort out the timeline in his head while also figuring out what Ford needed to know. The background surrounding Bill’s start in Gravity Falls were already suspicious. If Stan gave an inch, Ford would take a mile, and the last thing Stan wanted was for Ford to attack Bill again. Which he seemed very eager to do.

“Well, once you were gone, as I already told ya, I spent years trying to fix up the damn machine myself. Learning math and science and other shit. But you used all these symbols, and codes, and ciphers that looked out of this world, and I was getting stuck even without all that. Then, Bill came to town with not much to his name and needed a place to stay. Turned out that he could read your notes, so I let him crash here until he could stand on his own two feet while he helped with the equations. But, y’know, one thing can lead to another when you’re together for years. We got to know each other, Bill joined in on the Mystery Shack with his own act, we had a shotgun wedding in Vegas, and now here we are!” Stan finished, shoulder knocking against Bill’s.

“Partners in business, crime, life, and love,” Bill declared, nudging Stan back and shooting the man a sickening smile he knew Stan found creepy yet endearing, but grossed out people. Ford watched on with an increasingly deep frown.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Ford muttered aloud, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe that this is how you decided to go about your nefarious plans. This whole William Birch facade, the whole partner act-” Ford waved the crinkled flyer in front of him, “-reeks of desperation and a willingness to stoop to levels so low I’d never thought you’d descend to.”

Bill scoffed. “I hear a whole lotta bitching and no explanations on your end, Ford. Just who do you think I am, anyways?”

“Oh, I know who you are. You could never hide from me, Bill Cipher!” Ford had whipped out the third journal that he must have gotten from Dipper upon his return and presented an entry to Stan and Bill. The two visually-impaired men squinted at the pages.

The top of the page marked with the same name displayed a blacked-out silhouette of the one-eyed triangle, its ominous presence not impacted by its silly-looking top hat and bow tie. Sentences praising the being were crossed out in red ink that instead denounced it.

Oh, Bill remembered these pages. Stan had little to no interest in anything that wasn’t about the portal in the third journal, so Bill had taken the time to see what Ford had been up to that made him reach out to his estranged brother after so many years. As much as the journals were clearly meant to be a scientific notebook, they just as easily served as Ford’s diary. Not professional at all. What he had read was enlightening to put it lightly.

Talks of muses from another plane, a spiraling obsession centered around the triangular machine that sat in the basement, a cowardly assistant turned cult leader: Stanford Pines had gotten himself entangled in so many messy knots. Bill Cipher was the most difficult one to unravel. And one William Birch had been worried he was also tied to once he finally read the journal.

What he believed was a symbol linking him to an organization or secret society was actually a person. A triangular person, but a person nonetheless. And he had shown up in Gravity Falls adorned in the being’s image and reading the same symbols Ford used for the creation of its portal. Its name was the only one he had found familiar, and now he wore it as his own. Was he also tormented by this monster, like Ford? Or did he worship it? What about the old temple under the abandoned church? How did he play into all of this? Bill had hoped Ford would be able to finally settle things once and for all. Provide some clarity as to who Bill was, even if the possibility was unlikely. And this was his answer?

“...Ford, that’s a triangle,” Stan said after a moment. “What are you trying to say here?”

Ford deflated at his brother’s lack of comprehension. “Were you not listening? The man you think is William Birch is actually Bill Cipher! The most dangerous being in the multiverse who seeks to make Earth his dominion!” Ford flipped through more pages, nearly shoving the book in Stan’s face as Ford showed entry after entry of his dealings with the 180-degree spirit.

“And you helped him,” Bill couldn’t help but point out snidely. The sneer he received in response was so hateful it made his skin crawl. With excitement or fear, he wasn’t sure.

“He tricked me into building the portal for him under the guise of it being the key to understanding Gravity Falls and helping humanity, but he was nothing but a liar. I’ve been hunting him for years, seeking to destroy him in the Nightmare Realm that he inhabits. And now, he’s done the same to you! He’s hoodwinked you into opening the portal for him to enter our dimension!” Ford pointed accusingly at Bill, who just rolled his eye in annoyance. “Assuming a human form to integrate himself into Gravity Falls and carry out his plots!”

“Hey, I was opening that portal with or without Bill. No tricking necessary,” Stan barked, offended by the accusation that HE’D fall for a con.

Bill glanced at the journal again, unimpressed at the turn the conversation had taken. “What? I’m OBVIOUSLY him because of what? I’m also named Bill and have one eye? That’s pretty discriminatory of you, four-eyes.”

“Yeah, that thing looks nothing like Bill!” Stan grabbed the journal from Ford and rotated the drawing in several directions, as if a better angle would somehow create more similarities between the two. “Whaddya think, hun?”

Stan held up the entry next to Bill’s face, and Bill tried to emulate the drawing’s expression with a wide eye and limp limbs. “I guess side-by-side you two do look like twins. They got the same smile, right, Ford?”

Ford yanked the journal from his twin, face burning at the mockery. “Stop actin’ like a knucklehead, Stanley! We have to do something about him before it’s too late!”

Bill raised his hand as if he were at a lecture. “Question for Doctor Know-it-All: if I’m this big bad equilateral triangle, why haven’t I become supreme overlord of the world yet? I’ve been here for years. According to you, I should already be turning rain to chocolate milk and rearranging people’s face holes. But instead I’m living in Roadkill County, Oregon, swindling middle-class families at a tourist trap. Is that what Bill Cipher would do?”

Ford looked taken aback. “Well-I, I’m sure that you-”

“Yeah, and you just said that you’ve been hunting that Cipher guy in nightmare land while Bill’s been here! How can both be true?” Stan piled on, not giving Ford a chance to speak. “Besides, has Cipher ever looked this good?” Stan nodded to Bill, who on cue flipped his curls and fluttered his eyelashes innocently. “You had no clue who he was when you saw him before, yeah? What makes you so sure you’re right?”

“I know I’m right,” Ford cried out, throwing the journal down on the surrounding blankets that cushioned its landing. He was breathing heavily, and he spoke urgently, as if he was losing a fight. Well he had definitely lost the fight to keep his composure, that was for sure.

“I’d know Bill anywhere. You can’t even begin to comprehend what I’ve faced at his hands. I can’t let it happen again.” To Stan’s distress, Ford’s eyes grew wet as he spoke with desperation. And, well, if the journal only scratched the surface of what the demonic geometric shape did to Ford, that was concerning. Bill would have almost felt bad if he actually gave a shit, but Ford lost any chance of Bill caring about his well-being the instant he tried to kill Bill and assaulted Stanley.

“Hey, Stanford, just take it easy,” Stan softened his words in the face of his brother’s emotional outburst. “You’re not making a lot of sen-

“I may not know exactly how Cipher is doing it, but his powers are unfathomable,” Ford interrupted, almost manic. “What he wants, he’ll do anything to get. And-and, wait! I can prove it!”

Ford began to frantically dig through his dark trench coat, which must have had interdimensional pockets in order to fit the amount of junk Ford kept pulling out. Though secure in his belief that Ford was out of his mind, Bill felt a trickle of unease flow through him. What did the brainiac have up his sleeve now?

With a triumphant “ah-hah!” Ford whipped out a small gun and presented it to the con man duo. Stan eyed it suspiciously, pointing the tip away from Bill in case it also vaporized people or turned them into goo or something.

“This will prove my point!” Ford exclaimed, victorious tone clear. “This is a power-scanner. I use it to detect how dangerous a life-form will be based on a variety of factors, such as-”

“Get on with it,” Stan cut in. “How would it tell you that he’s Bill Cipher?”

“Well if you had let me FINISH,” Ford jabbed at Stan, “I was going to say that Cipher’s power signature is completely unique: I’ve never scanned anything or anyone like it before. And even if one alters their physical form, it cannot hide who they truly are. If Birch’s reading matches the logged profile I have for Bill, then we will have our answer,” Ford finished, confidence restored.

Stan frowned, not liking the idea of Ford using some weird tech on Bill. What if this was just an excuse to blow up his partner? “Try it on me, first. I wanna see how it works.” Ford wouldn’t kill his own brother, even to defeat his greatest foe, right?

Ford looked a bit hurt at the lack of trust Stan displayed, but complied easily enough, letting a blue laser encompass Stan’s body and holding it for a few seconds. A small beep rang out from the device, and Ford flipped the monitor around to show the pattern that had been created. “This is the typical signature for a regular human being. Any deviations from this could mark extrasensory abilities or magical powers. Cipher’s pattern is far more turbulent than this. So? May I finally put this argument to rest?” Ford eyed Bill challengingly. Big mistake on his part: Bill never backed down from challenges. Especially those he knew he’d win.

“Go right ahead,” Bill spread out his arms as if he was about to be crucified to a firing squad. “Take your best shot, Sixer.”

Ford wasted no time shooting Bill with the scanning laser. Based on his expression, Bill bet that Ford really wished he was using the other gun right now. Boo-hoo, bitch. Once the scanner dinged, Ford eagerly read the results. Bill’s smile grew as Ford’s grew more strained, refusing to let himself crack in front of them.

“There must be a high degree of variation in its analysis method. These machines are always subject to experimental statistical errors of large margins. Let me run it again.”

Again, and again, and again. Ford kept scanning and reading Bill’s energy signature. Bill sat smugly, Stan watched with increasing exasperation and worry, and Ford grew more frantic.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Ford whispered, desperately hitting the button over and over as his fingers shook. “You can’t-you must be-”

Stan intervened, laying a steady hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Poindexter, that’s enough. The machine said what it said. He’s not Bill Cipher.”

“Yup! Just William Birch: better-than-average bone sack with a penchant for mischief and fun! The only crimes I’m guilty of are having a good time!” Bill proclaimed. “And various other misdemeanors and felonies.”

Stan shot him a look that made Bill pipe down. So much from trying to lighten the mood.

“No! He’s him! There must be something I haven’t accounted for,” Ford tried to counter, but Stan shook his head firmly and pushed the scanner away.

“Stanford, you’ve got no leg to stand on with this. Bill’s got nothing to do with that triangle.” Stanley tried to explain his side. “I’ve known him for years. I work with him. I live with him. I do everything with him. I trust him. Can you at least do that? Trust me? Trust that I wouldn’t let some 2D con man trick me? That I’d let someone who wanted to hurt our family into our lives?”

Ford froze, letting Stan’s plea taper off into silence. The other occupants waited for his sentencing, even though they knew what the verdict would be.

“No,” Ford admitted, and it sounded like a condemnation. “I can’t.”

Stan huffed, shoulders drooping. “Yeah, of course you can’t.” Bitterness coated every word.

“And I can’t let you two stay here,” Ford continued, standing up and pacing as his agitation grew, and he kept throwing Bill suspicious glares. Asshole. “Until the end of the summer will have to do, so you can watch the kids, but then I want my house back. My name back. My life back. This Mystery Shack junk is over forever. I’d say that’s more than fair.”

That was William Birch’s breaking point.

Bill snarled, getting up and stalking over to Ford. “You gotta a lot of fucking nerve to act so high and mighty, alpha geek! What makes you think you even deserve all of that?” He poked Ford hard in the chest as he glared viciously at him, which seemed to throw Ford so off-guard that he didn’t even defend himself against the verbal onslaught, but he did look ready to bruise the other side of Bill’s face.

“Stanley’s been taking care of all of this for thirty years. People in town know him, Mr. Mystery. Not some weird recluse shut-in of a loser scientist who spent six years wasting away in some creepy cabin. Who’d actually believe that you’re the real Stanford Pines, anyways? We don’t need to give anything to yo-”

“Fine. You can have all of it.”

Bill cut himself off, before turning around to face Stan, shocked at the twist of events. “WHAT?! You’re just gonna lay down and give in to him?! After everything?! We built our LIFE here, Stanley!”

“And we can build a new one somewhere else,” Stan shrugged. “We’re more than just the Mystery Duo. With your smarts and my skills, we already got it made. We’ll come up with something. Besides, I’ve never wanted to live in his house. I’ve never wanted to wear his name. Ford can have his life back. I always knew it was never mine.”

Bill bit his lip hard to stop the deluge of rage his words wanted to form, tasting blood. He gave his partner a once over, trying to understand the reason behind this passive attitude. Stan’s face wore more wrinkles than ever, his back was slouched carelessly…he was tired. No, it was more than that. Stan was hurt. Wounded by the person whom he held in such regard. Who he centered so much of his life around. Where would Stan go from here, now that his main tether to this town had snapped?

Well, wherever it was, Bill would be right beside him. They were partners, after all.

“What about me?” he asked, stepping closer to slide himself next to Stan. “Technically I’m his on paper, no? Are you gonna let him take me, too?”

A faint “what?” was heard but ignored by the couple.

Stan snorted, his large arm tugging Bill closer to him by the waist. Bill took the opportunity to wrap his closest arm around Stan’s torso, relishing in the contact. “Not a chance, Starboy.”

Bill, feeling more secure, shot Ford a biting grin. “I want a divorce.”

Ford spluttered, either at Bill’s request, the affectionate display in front of him, or both. “But we aren’t married?”

“Tell that to the Town Hall.”

Stan faced Ford head on, resigned. “...you’re really not gonna thank me, are you?”

A beat passed. Ford had nothing to offer him that he would want.

Stan’s face hardened. “Fine. You’ll get everything you want on these conditions: you stay away from the kids and Bill; I don't want them in danger. Cause as far as I'm concerned, they're the only family that matters in this house. And don’t go spreading any rumors about Bill to them either. I’ll just tell ‘em you’re crazy from the years of wandering around space.”

They quickly by passed Ford to head up to their bedroom, leaving the other man to stare down at the floor, clearly upset at the turn of events. He really thought he was gonna be the hero of the day when he first walked into the parlor, Bill reflected. And Bill and Stan thought they could reach an understanding with Ford, or at least get on better terms. So much for Stan’s hopes of being a happy family all together. Even the worst case scenarios they would speculate about were better than this.

Stan cast his twin one last sad, yearning look before they went through the curtains. His grip on Bill’s waist tightened, and Bill kept firmly hugging the man close to him.

Thirty years away from home and Stanford Pines was still following the same modus operandi: throwing away his closest family member due to his pride. What a joke.

Chapter Text

Today commenced Ford’s latest self-appointed investigation: deciphering William Birch.

He had spent the last few days since the DD&mD fiasco considering the current circumstances and his future options as he surveyed the woods as a distraction.

Ford would admit that he could have handled the initial confrontations with Stan and Birch (as he was referring to him for simplicity’s sake) with more tact, but taking into account the conditions he had been working with, he doubted it would have turned out much differently.

He had written down the facts on one of his chalk boards in his private study to lay down some foundations. Here’s what he knew currently:

1) Birch was completely human. According to his scanner, which had never been unreliable prior to this, he was completely average in terms of supernatural powers. He was simply a man. Whether this reassured or unnerved Ford, he couldn’t decide.

2) Birch wasn’t a human possessed by Bill. The tell-tale sign of Bill’s influence, those unsettling yellow slitted eyes, were never present in any of their interactions. He moved fluidly, a complete natural with his body, unlike the times Cipher had inhabited Ford’s. But that look in his eye was so familiar. His vocal mannerisms, while his voice wasn’t as loud or layered or grating, were almost identical. Everything about him was just so quintessentially Bill.

3) Birch had been living in Gravity Falls for 27 years, and at some point during that time he formed his own act for the Mystery Shack: Mr. Mystique. The “Soothsayer of the Stars”. How fitting. His whereabouts prior to that were currently unknown to Ford.

4) The kids enjoyed spending time with him. Ford had passed by once while Mabel and Birch were making stuffed animals together. They were sewing a chimera of sorts, with the head of a unicorn, body of a turtle, limbs of a bear, and tail of a pig. Very odd. Dipper also appeared very trusting, if a bit hesitant, of Birch based on their conversation. While in his study, Ford could overhear them above him watching “YouTube” videos on a portable computer, with the two of them furiously debating government conspiracy theories. Something about 9/11? Ford would have to look into it.

5) Stanley trusted Birch. They were…partners. In every sense of the word, apparently. Stan consistently protected Birch, stood up for him, showed open displays of affection towards him, believed him over Ford…Stan believed in Birch’s innocence because he loved him. How diabolical.

6) Birch was absolutely Bill Cipher. Ford would not be dissuaded of this. After mulling it over several hundred times, it was still the only conclusion that made sense. He knew it, even if he couldn’t easily prove it. But such was the life of a scientist! Consider the background information you currently had at your disposal, form viable hypotheses based on it, design an experimental plan to curate data that would either support/not support your hypotheses, carry out the experiments, collect and analyze the results, and plan out your future directions.

Most likely, based on Ford’s experiences, William Birch was another variant of Bill Cipher. One originally born in this dimension most likely. Had Ford ever met another Bill Cipher other than the one he dealt with? Oddly enough, no. Perhaps their volatile existences led to clashes between each other that wiped most of them out. Perhaps this one flew under the radar due to his lack of abilities. But Bill Cipher was still Bill Cipher, regardless of which dimension he came from or the life he lived. Birch couldn’t be trusted.

Besides, the story Stan had fed him also reeked of too many coincidences. Birch just so happened to run into Stan, the one man with access to the portal? Just so happened to know the ciphers Bill wrote in? Just so happened to be talented enough to figure out the complex equations? As if! Birch was obviously in kahoots with Bill to bring him to Earth and start Weirdmaggedon! Ford wasn’t buying what Stan bought. And he thought his twin was the one who knew how to best sniff out a scam. Ford supposed everyone had their weaknesses, though, and Birch managed to find Stan’s and twist it to his own benefit. And for that, Ford pitied his brother, hated Birch, and blamed himself.

He had dragged his family into this mess, and now it was so convoluted that it would take a miracle to fix it. Good thing Ford knew how to make the impossible possible. But he needed to know more. He needed to know more about William Birch.

So, here was Ford: clearing his mind with the sheer power of logic and pushing his emotions as deep as he could inside himself as he stood behind the vending machine. This operation required delicacy. He needed to remain in control, no matter how infuriating the scenarios he found himself in. Gathering primary sources was key. And that meant interacting with his family.

The kids weren’t the issue. Mabel had displayed pure curiosity and interest in him during their first meeting. He hadn't had the opportunity to spend one-on-one time with her since he had tested her due to Stan, though his brother seemed to have laxed a bit on his conditions since the game. From what he could tell, though, she had a vibrancy and cheer that was infectious.

Dipper reminded Ford much of himself: a young boy with deep-rooted interest in mysteries and an attraction to oddities. Ford had greatly enjoyed their time playing DD&mD, finding a kindred spirit who also loved calculating quadrants and other equations. And he knew that if he told Dipper something in confidence, the boy would keep it. Yes: Dipper was a good kid. He had potential. Ford would have to look into cultivating it in the future once he fixed everything with Bill.

It would be Stan who would be the hardest to connect with. Ford knew that Stan was upset with him, and even if the reasons were ridiculous, he had to find a way to get Stan to open up to him about Birch. There had to be more to their story that Ford wasn’t told yet. Something that would reveal the truth. And if that meant sucking up a bit to his twin, so be it. Ford would do what needed to be done.

Ford swung open the vending machine. The gift shop was currently closed since it was still early in the morning, and those stupid knick-knacks lined the shelves, mocking him. Maybe some reconnaissance around the house before the rest of the inhabitants awoke would be productive. Not that he hadn’t observed his surroundings before, but he lacked a specific goal back then, too wary of everything to relax and focus. He made his way through the room, slowing down slightly to tap at one of the Mystery Shack snow globes and take a quick glance at the stacks of comic books before moving on.

Down the dark hallway he went, knowing that just further along would be the parlor. Mr. Mystique’s parlor, as it was known as now. If Ford didn’t know better, since he had checked multiple times for runes, spells, and other modifications, he’d say that there was something unnatural about the room. Its quiet aura was otherworldly, reminding him of a place far from here, though a much more delightful prophet occupied it. Another check was essential: some of Birch’s secrets could likely be hidden here.

Ford pushed back the satin curtains and entered the rectangular room. The fire appeared to have stayed lit throughout the night, the now purple flames winking at him from its home on the logs. Was it some sort of color-changing eternal inferno? Whatever; it was the least of his worries. And the bones all appeared real too, which begged the question how Bill obtained a perfectly preserved human skeleton. Nothing too incriminating, though.

Ford moved his gaze to take in the tapestries that covered the walls. Ah, now those were familiar. How foolish he was back then to display them with such pride in his own little worship room. His naivety from all those years ago still brought hot flashes of shame through his chest. It appeared that Birch had repurposed their backsides to make them appear as eerie warnings to the average eye, but the coded messages were just crude one-liners. “It’s funny how dumb you are!”, “Wanna know the exact time and date of your death?”, and “Send William Birch all of your money!” written backwards were some of the few Ford quickly read before he moved on. The humor was too familiar.

The room had the ability to be divided into two sections with large curtains that could be rolled across the length of the space, creating a private space hidden from the tourists and making the parlor area in front of the fireplace more intimate. Ford focused on the more personalized area first.

The desk in the corner was littered with various pencils and pens with their ends defiled with human teeth marks. “The Great Gatsby” was set between several pages, cover up, ruining the spine. And, oddly enough, a stapled document labeled “The Duke’s Temptations at Oglebottom Estate” with a bunch of familiar red ink written over it that read: “WOWZA. WE SHOULD TRY THAT POSITION TONIGHT.” Ford did not look any closer at that for his own sanity.

A few business documents, thick folders, and notepads were half-hazardly sorted into piles, with a small calendar that had been heavily scribbled on sitting under the lamp. Ford flipped it on so he could see the reminders Birch had left for himself. “Mall trip”, “Tamale day”, and “Twins birthday” all appeared rather normal, and he committed the events and dates to memory, especially Dipper and Mabel’s birthday. Right at the end of summer was rather fitting. He would try to make them something nice. What did you give children who were turning 13 in this dimension as a present?

There were a couple of drawers that Ford quickly slid open, filled with useless trinkets that had accumulated over the years. The bottom one was locked with a key, though, but it posed little challenge to Ford and his years of getting in and out of extraterrestrial jails. Inside were several spiral notebooks, a couple of photo albums, a folded yellow cloth, and a little black jewelry box shoved way in the back. Jackpot. It’d look too suspicious if anything went missing, so he’d go through it another time. He then re-locked the drawer and stepped back, making sure not to disturb anything else visually.

The room didn’t appear to have much else to offer besides a large closet filled with cloaks, scarfs, gloves, and a bunch of fake eyes: Mr. Mystique’s outfits. There was a classy cane hung on one of the hooks in there, as well as a three-piece suit complete with a top hat. It took everything in Ford not to point and exclaim “Ah-hah!” at the accessories. It was so obvious, even if they were little pieces of evidence in the long run.

Satisfied with what he had uncovered, Ford swiftly left the room as the rest of the house began to wake up. He could hear the tell-tale creak of the upstairs wooden floor boards, the pitter-patter of small feet going up and down the halls. It reaffirmed his purpose: he had to protect the kids. He had to protect Stanley. His family.

On his way back to the kitchen, another door caught his attention. Was this another supply closet? He had added many of those to the floor plan at the time of construction so that he’d always have ample room to store tools or other inventions. Deciding he might as well check, he opened the door to only be greeted by another him. Well, another Stan: he wore the same suit and fez and lacked a sixth finger on each of his hands. He jolted back, wondering if Stan had used his copier machine at some point recently before he realized the figure wasn’t moving. He inched a bit closer and poked at its large nose. Ah, wax. Of course Stan would have one of these around. Perhaps for an old attraction. What an eyesore. Ford gladly locked it back in the closet where it wouldn’t be seen.

The kids were already in the kitchen by the time he got there, with Mabel flipping the light switch on and off repeatedly despite the bulb being very broken. “Anddd NOW,” she shouted, turning the light switch on again, but the bulb stayed out. She let out a huff.

Dipper simply opened the curtains wider so that the small amount of natural sunlight streamed in. “We just need a new light bulb, but I don’t think Grunkle Stan stocked any extra after I made Soos that suit. Cereal in the morning darkness it is.”

“You don’t have to resort to that, kids,” Ford couldn’t help but step in. “It's an easy enough fix.”

“Grunkle Ford!” “Great-uncle Ford!” they exclaimed, excitedly coming up to him and giving him their full attention. He felt warm within their gazes.

“W-what are you doing up here? Do you need more supplies? Food?” Dipper asked rapidly, clearly wanting to be of use to the man he admired so much. Ford couldn’t help but give into the urge to ruffle the kid’s head.

“I thought it would be nice to have breakfast together,” he answered, hand leaving Dipper’s hatted head. “But I couldn’t help but overhear your dilemma. And I have just what we need. Give me a moment.”

He quickly descended to his workshop, where he retrieved some special filaments, glass, and materials that were left over from his excursions to Crash Site Omega. One lightbulb, coming up!

It didn’t take long to assemble, but by the time he ascended back to ground level and re-entered the kitchen, there were two more occupants in the room. The gopher-looking handyman, Soos, and Birch. Ford tuned out the conversation Mabel and Soos were having on something called “ani-may” and focused on the one-eyed blonde.

Birch was clad in a dark red robe, sleep shorts, slippers, and a t-shirt underneath the robe reading “Felt smart smelt fart”. Charming.

He was judgmentally sipping at his coffee, erratic blonde curls covering the upper half of his face, and his goatee was in need of a trim. For a moment, Ford could almost see how William Birch looked like just an ordinary man, matching Stan in his ability to con and irritate people, but otherwise harmless. The sleepy yawn and groggy demeanor was far more human than anything Cipher ever displayed. But then Birch pushed his hair out of that eye, and Ford was reminded again just who he was dealing with. He had to stay vigilant.

“Didn’t realize that we hired a new handyman,” Birch drawled, leaning against the counter. “The kids said that you’re gonna earn your keep, though.”

“I’m simply being a contributing member of the household,” Ford replied smoothly, new lightbulb in hand. He dragged a chair out from the table and gracefully stepped up on it to reach the ceiling light.

“Great, how about you start paying rent then? Now that would be contributing,” Birch muttered into his mug, its logo suspiciously similar to Greasy’s Diner. His biting remark went unacknowledged as the younger trio watched Ford with anticipation.

“Dude, this has gotta be like, the most exciting morning I’ve ever had,” Soos said aloud. “And I once watched Mr. Pines convince an elderly man he was giving birth to a possum.”

Birch let out a derisive snort. “That was WAY more exciting than watching an elderly man screw in a light bulb.”

Ford paid no mind to the shorter man’s jabs as he finished tightening the lightbulb into place.

“And... we're... done!” Brightness had been restored to the land.

Everyone cheered, though a certain someone was much less enthusiastic and more sarcastic, and Ford continued to stand on one leg. He noticed movement in the hallway as Stan came to watch, a box in his arms.

“Does anyone see this?” Mabel pointed at Ford. “This is what a hero looks like right here.”

Stan didn’t sound too happy. “I thought we were out of light bulbs.”

“Oh, we were, so I invented my own!” Ford elaborated. “It will last a thousand years, and the light it emits makes your skin softer.”

Dipper, Mabel and Soos all rubbed their skin to feel its effects. “Oooh!” Ford put his fists on his hips, proud he was able to solve the problem.

“Never have I known such softness!” Soos marveled.

“So it’s radiation,” Birch deadpanned. “That sounds suuuuper safe.”

“It produces no harmful side effects,” Ford assured the crowd around him. “Anyway, where were you?” He turned to address his brother.

Stan looked worse for wear. Well, worser for wear compared to his usual scruffy appearance. He looked like he had gotten into a skirmish with his fez lopsided and hair ruffled. His attire matched Birch’s: a stained maroon bathrobe and a t-shirt that read “Dream big fart loud”. It was nauseating, but he managed not to sneer as his warmer feelings from earlier drained away. The rot ran deep.

Stan didn’t reply, simply dropping what turned out to be a box of new light bulbs in the trash can and turning heel to go back upstairs, his slippers making weird squishing noises with each step and leaving behind a trail of white liquid. Ah; he must have gone out earlier to buy replacement bulbs. He was probably upset that he had bought them for nothing, though he likely shoplifted them if he could. Birch watched him go with a sympathetic frown, the picture of a concerned spouse.

Ford stepped down from the chair, deciding to make a bowl of cereal of his own to start the day and join the kids. Get to know a bit more about the current state of Gravity Falls from them. If only Birch weren’t still in the room, watching him over the rim of his mug. Then he could have asked more…pointed questions. Another time, then.

Ford quickly perused the cereal selection and chose the one that appeared to have an appropriate amount of concentrated sugar, which didn’t mean much. The family sweet tooth remained strong, with half of the boxes containing marshmallows, gummies, or a suspicious pink glitter powder Mabel seemed to inhale as she ate. Nutrition was clearly lacking in this house.

Either way, Birch or no Birch, this was the time to collect data. Perhaps the fake oracle would slip up or hint at his past in a more relaxed setting around the kids and Soos. Besides, the best way to get used to the man’s presence was through exposure. Ford had been through worse: he could do this.

“So,” he started off casually as he poured his breakfast into a mostly-clean bowl. Begin with an inane, disarming topic. “I came across something…interesting in one of the closets this morning.”

“Oh?” Dipper perked up. “What did you find, Great-uncle Ford?”

“Oh, lemme know if you saw my leftover corn dog in there. I left mine in one of those closets last Saturday, and I haven’t seen it since,” Soos chimed in, looking thoughtful as he tried to remember where he had put his old meal.

“A GIANT living dust ball,” Mabel added in her two cents, flinging her cereal off its spoon and landing on Dipper’s brim, much to the boy’s ire. “In the shape of a bunny! Was it cute?”

“I have not encountered any corn dogs or sentient dust bunnies,” Ford shook his head. “It was a wax statue of Stan. Pretty certain it was not of the living variety, but as off-putting as one. It was very realistic.”

“I made him!” Mabel exclaimed. “From the remains of a living wax statue! Then its friends tried to kill us for trying to find out who murdered wax Stan.”

“Hm, yes, I remember reading your entry about them, Dipper,” Ford snapped his fingers at the sudden memory. “Good job on defeating them, you two.”

Dipper’s face flushed terribly as he stammered out a thanks while Mabel smiled proudly.

“Why would you make a statue of Stan, though? Did he ask you for an attraction?”

“Why not Stan?” Birch suddenly entered the conversation, in the middle of combining all types of cereal into one big bowl. “I don’t find it surprising. He makes a great muse, after all. Very engaging and expressive.”

Ford had to consciously will himself to not bend the spoon in half.

Dipper remained unconvinced. “Yeah, if you wanted a model for ‘Cheapest Crook in the Oregon’, he’d be your guy.”

Birch let out a very familiar cackle that made Ford’s hair stand on end, but no one else in the room appeared bothered by it. “Can’t argue with that, Dip ‘N Dops!”

The rest of the conversation didn’t yield much in terms of evidence against Birch since Ford found himself distracted by the children.

Mabel and Dipper were interested in the other inventions Ford had made over the years, such as the ‘body swapping rug’ Ford realized was actually Experiment 78 and his copier machine. Soos also enjoyed pitching his own inventions to Ford, though how any of them could have been viably engineered, like a school-girl uniform that would grant you magical powers when you spun in a circle, he didn’t know. It was a sharp contrast to the morning routine he had developed when hopping across dimensions, but it was nice despite the singular dark cloud hanging around him.

A suspiciously quiet dark cloud.

Ford used the natural break in the conversation to pay more attention to Birch. Not that he had forgotten the man, how could he, but he had faded into the background a bit too naturally. To Ford’s surprise, the eye-patched man was flipping through what appeared to be a manuscript. A sparkly pen in hand, the other co-owner of the Mystery Shack was…marking up a research paper?

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” Birch suddenly spoke, eye not looking up from the lines he was reading.

Ford didn’t rise to the bait. “What are you doing?”

“Reading. Can’t you tell? You may need your prescription checked, four-eyes.”

“Editing another one of those nerdy papers again, Grunkle Bill?” Mabel inquired, casually taking over the conversation before it devolved.

Dipper, who had gotten up to put away his dish, leaned over Bill’s shoulder to get a glimpse.

“Wait, research papers?”

“Bill gets consulted by researchers from the local college to peer-review their papers,” Dipper told Ford. “He also does guest lectures there.”

“We made him a YouTube channel,” Mabel tacked on. “And it ACTUALLY gets views! For some reason only three people watched me soak my stuffed animals in chocolate milk and then suck it out of them.”

Ford did not want to picture that, so he focused on the less-disturbing though no less baffling line of conversation. “But why? Do you even have a degree?”

Birch finally looked up with a gloating smirk, curled lips like the Grinch, apparently pleased to have caught Ford off-guard. “I have a PhD in Dimensional Physics, Astrophysics, Astronomy, Mechanical & Electrical Engineering, as well as a MBA. When they need my expertise, they reach out to me, so I provide it. For a ‘fair’ price.”

Well…that was unexpected. But then again, Bill was very intelligent, and in their conversations appeared very knowledgeable about the inner workings of the universe, even if his words came from a place of deceit. Of course he’d be able to string people along with his brilliance.

“And yet you work full-time as a con man,” Ford pointed out. “Why waste your talents here when they’re so obviously coveted somewhere more reputable and lucrative?”

“Ain’t that the question,” Dipper muttered under his breath.

“Oh, they begged me to continue my thesis research with them, but academics are sooo stuffy. Constantly badgering you for results and holding grant money over you like some circus dog to perform tricks. I could never!” Birch pulled an exaggeratedly disgusted face. Ford knew the jabs were very much targeted towards him, and so only took a slight bit of offense from the statement. Insults like these were characteristic and to be expected.

“Plus, working at the Mystery Shack gives me much better benefits, like planning my own work schedule, complete imaginative license, and doing what I do best: wowing the crowd with my charm and amazing personality,” Birch gestured to himself grandly, as if he were putting on an act now. “How could I deny my calling?”

“AND, you LOVE to be with Grunkle Stan,” Mabel cooed, hearts practically forming in her pupils as she gushed over her grunkles’ relationship. “You can’t leave one half of a couple alone!”

Bill snapped a finger gun towards Mabel. “That’s exactly right, Mabel-leaf. What would Mr. Mystery be without Mr. Mystique? The Mystery Shack wouldn’t survive it!”

In a moment of tact, Ford did not rile up the conversation by reminding Birch that the Mystery Shack was a thing of the past once September started. For the kid’s sake, at the very least, since they seemed fond of the house as it was. But Ford did notice the slight waver in Birch’s tone towards the end. Was the imposter actually…upset about losing the Mystery Shack?

Well, of course he was! He’d lose access to the portal (which Ford thankfully had already disassembled) and any rifts! His last chance of letting Cipher in! Acting so attached to the Shack and his theatrical scam was a good cover to hide his obsession with the true masterpiece that lay within.

“Well, I must say that our dimension is far behind the other Earths I have visited, based upon my observations,” Ford circled back around to his and kids' discussions on new technologies. “There’s so much that others have achieved that will be invented in about two hundred years by us. If we continue as we currently are, that is.”

“Lemme guess: now that you’re here, society is saved, and you’ll kickstart the second industrial revolution or space age or whatever you wanna call it,” Birch chortled, his mocking laughter still able to pierce Ford. Mabel and Dipper exchanged nervous glances as they grew tense at the shift. “The Fordism Era? Oh, how blessed we are to have you as our savior.”

The disguised demon could laugh all he wanted. It wasn’t the first time he had put down Ford’s dreams, and it wouldn’t be the last. “Just watch me,” Ford promised, confidence clear and assured in his demeanor. Because it would happen. Ford was picking up where he left off: changing the world for the better. Something Bill could never comprehend. “I plan on making quite a few changes around here.”

Birch had already turned back to his paper, as if Ford had already lost his attention. “Yeah, yeah; you do that.”

Of course, breakfast had to come to an end since everyone was done eating, with Soos going back home to check on his grandma, but Ford forced himself to linger around instead of going back down to the basement, no matter how strong the itch to go and guard the rift was. It was as secure as it could be at the moment. And the biggest threat to its safety was right in Ford’s sight. He couldn’t give up before even getting half way. There was still so much to learn.

Then Stan’s familiar shout came from the living room, a loud “What?!” echoing down the hall to the kitchen. The kids and Bill immediately followed the sound to its source, and after a moment's hesitation, Ford joined them.

It turned out that the Mayor, Eustace Huckabone Befufftlefumpter, had passed away, and that there would be a meeting at the Town Hall to elect the new someone to fill the vacancy.

“New mayor huh? Wonder who it could be…” Stan trailed off, watching the American flag wave on the TV screen.

Birch, who had squeezed himself into the armchair, leaned against Stan’s arm. “In this town? They'd elect a woodpecker if they could,” he sniggered. “Let’s go to that meeting and see who’s gonna be in the running for the next head honcho.”

“Then put on your good suit, babe. We’re gonna be witnessing history.” Stan tried to push Birch off of him, but the thin man went boneless and sprawled even more against his larger lover. Stan huffed, though a grin made his way onto his face as he continued to playfully shove at Bill, who just laid even more of his body against Stan’s pudge, a wide smile on his own face.

Dipper groaned in exasperation, shielding his eyes from the gooey sight that he had been subjected to multiple times since the start of summer, while Mabel “awed” and cupped her cheeks as she gleefully watched. Ford suddenly felt nauseous.

It culminated in Stan slinging Bill over his shoulder, the blonde punching at his back and kicking his legs out, but both of them kept chuckling to each other as Stan lugged them both up the stairs to their room. Ford didn’t watch them go, the sounds of their simple happiness filling his ears. He…was going to have to sit the town hall meeting out. Plan out his next move. Keep moving forward.

~

“Grunkle Stan, what are you doing!?” Bill would also like to know what Stan was thinking.

Typically, it was Bill who desired to be worshiped and praised with absolute power in his grasp…okay there was the one time with Stanentology that didn’t go anywhere, thanks legal department, but weren’t all politicians in some sort of cult? They had no souls! Mayor Befufftlefumpter’s body was just an empty husk piloted by his mayoral sash in the end, his spirit long departed to the depths down below.

Alas, Bill had not worn his top hat to this particular town meeting. Covering his head during the summer always made him perspire more than usual and messed up his hair. And now Bud Gleeful was trying to be the new mayor. Hadn’t the fat beaver given up after his albino devil child was thrown in adult jail? Apparently not, unfortunately. Screw that man and his shitty 50% off car vouchers. Bill made sure to grin as creepily as possible at the big southern man from the crowd, making him squirm. That’s right, Bud: no restraining order would prevent Bill from making his life as difficult as possible. It was what he did best.

Stan looked a bit confused. “Running for mayor!” He responded. “Did I... did I not make that clear?”

Mabel seemed to struggle to find the right words. “Grunkle Stan, it's not that we think you can't do it, it's just-”

Dipper held up a hand to stop his sister. “No, no: it's okay, Mabel.” He turned back to Stan. “We don't think you can do it.”

Bill snorted. Trust Dipper to always speak his mind bluntly.

“Look, kids,” Stan sat down, holding onto his knees as he leaned against Bill’s leg. “The mayor kicking the bucket got me thinking. I'm an old man, and I'm not getting any younger. My dumb brother's research is probably gonna make him famous. And while I’m the town’s best artist, both at cons and comics, I want more. Instead of just ‘crooked grifter, comedian, and partner’, how about, ‘crooked mayor, comedian, and partner’?” He held his hand up for emphasis.

The kids looked at each other, and Dipper pulled his twin into a private, hushed conversation. Bill took the opportunity to have his own private conversation with Stan.

“Come on, toots, help me with these fraudulent ballots.” Stan dumped a bunch of small paper slips into Bill’s arms before gathering more of his own and going over to the ballot box.

“You really want this,” Bill observed, shoving a handful into the slot. “Did that stupid lightbulb trick this morning really get under your epidermis?”

“The kids think Ford is the best thing since packaged sliced deli meat,” Stan grumbled, pushing more in. “I’m gonna show them that I’m just as good as him.”

“Look, I get it. Personally had my own crisis last week about it. But Fez, you’re already iconic in town, and the kids know what you do for the family,” Bill tried to remind him. “The way I see it, you’ve got nothing to prove: you’re already the better man.”

Stan lightly tapped the tip of Bill’s dress shoe, making sure not to scratch its shiny exterior. “You’re too sweet on me, babe. Besides, you heard ‘em before: Ford could win. So I gotta win. You gonna help me or what?”

Bill finished putting in the rest of the fake ballots. “When have I not? Trust me, Slick: we’ll get you elected, one way or another.”

~

By the time Ford came back up to the Shack to ask about the Town Hall meeting, the living room was converted into what appeared to be a campaign office. Ford had to step around the pig, Mabel had called him Swaddles?, with the words “BUD’S A DUD” written on its side in blue marker. A large sign that read “STAN 4 MAYOR” hung on the back wall, though the room was littered with other propaganda that advocated for his twin.

Oh Moses.

Sitting on a chair backwards in the center of the room was Stan, who was getting a shoulder massage from Soos as if he were about to step into the boxing ring, a determined smirk on his face. Birch was busying himself with fixing Stan’s fez and picking the lint off of their dad’s old suit, dressed in his own yellow-and-black pinstripe suit and hair slicked back as he fussed over his partner.

Ford suddenly got a bad feeling about this as he watched discreetly from the doorway.

Dipper entered the room, wearing a “STAN” visor that matched the other helpers. “Alright everybody, eyes up here!” He unrolled a very dusty paper and turned it around so everybody in the room could see. “Okay, Gravity Falls Elections are based on two events. The Wednesday Stump Speech, held on an actual... stump, and the Friday Debate wherein townsfolk throw birdseed at the candidate they like most. At the end, they release a freedom eagle who will fly to the candidate covered in more seed and bestow a birdly kiss upon him anointing him mayor.”

No one knew how to react to that.

Dipper frowned as he rolled up the long paper, looking disturbed. “I couldn't make this up if I wanted to.”

Just then, the hamburger phone rang in the "Phone Bank”, which Mabel picked up.

“Okay, Grunkle Stan, are you ready for your first radio interview?” She encouraged.

Stan pushed himself off the chair, cockiness clear. “I got my mouth, don't I?”

Birch pressed a quick kiss to the nape of Stan’s neck. “Knock ‘em dead, hot rod,” he cooed, stepping away so that Stan could start. Ford gripped the wooden frame tightly.

What followed was, frankly, a disaster. It was as if Stan was going for the record of “Worst Mayoral Candidate in Gravity Falls History” with every answer he gave, which if you ever opened a history book, knew that was quite hard to accomplish given the absurd past of the town. Dipper had the foresight to cut, literally, the radio interview prematurely, but according to Mabel’s friends, his brother had already achieved negative approval ratings and became a…”me-me”? Either way, the public could tell that Stan was full of it.

Mabel at least tried to break it to her grunkle nicely. “Look Grunkle Stan, people are like smell markers, and you're black licorice! It's not that you're un-sniffable, you just need to learn when to keep the cap on.”

Birch patted Stan on the shoulder encouragingly. “Mabel’s right! Just try to get in and slowly get people used to your smell. Then people will learn to like black licorice and not realize they’ve been tricked in the first place!”

Dipper jumped in. “From now on, maybe you should just read our prepared remarks,” he advised, holding up a cute folded piece of paper with a cartoon drawing of the young twins presenting “YOUR SPEECH”.

Stan took the offered paper but immediately dismissed the idea. “Heh, heh. Sorry kids,” he said as he tucked the paper into the inside of his suit. “I always say words that come out of my brain. If my head says, that lady's got an ugly baby, my mouth says, ‘whoa, lady, you got one ugly baby.’”

Ford face-palmed while Dipper and Mabel looked at each other worriedly, and Birch just looked exasperated, yet amused.

“And whaddya lurking like a creep for, Poindexter? Wanna throw in your two-cents too?” Stan suddenly addressed the outsider, tone having much more of a bite than before.

Ford stepped into the room as if he wasn’t just eavesdropping for the past 15 minutes. “I couldn’t help but overhear about your campaign and wanted to know if there was anything I could do to assist with the operation.”

Dipper lit up. “That would be great Great-uncle For-”

“Absolutely not,” Stan immediately rejected the offer, a scowl overtaking his face. “I don’t need your help. Not with my campaign or anything else I got going on. So go stick your big nose somewhere else.”

Ford sighed. “Don’t be unreasonable, Stanley. You clearly need all the help you could get to win this. Plus we have the same nose size.”

“Well you should clearly prepare to eat your words! Just watch me,” Stan snarled, roughly shoulder-checking Ford on his way out of the room. Dipper covered his face and groaned into his hands as Mabel patted his back reassuringly, uneasy herself.

“Wow, you couldn’t have offended him more if you tried,” Birch huffed, picking up a bunch of flyers with a cartoon Stan posing.

“Ford’s right though: this is already a disaster! Bud’s a shoe-in for the position. Can’t you run for mayor, Grunkle Bill? You know what to say to people,” Dipper pleaded to the dapper man.

“I’m not running against my husband, Dipper,” Birch deadpanned. “Look, kid, I get it: it ain’t looking too pretty. But Lee’s only gonna do this his own way, no matter what we say.” He glanced over at Ford. “Do us all a favor and steer clear of this campaign. Go play with your toys in the basement or whatever it is you do down there. Come on, Soosie: we gotta do some damage control.” With that, the two men also departed.

“Me and the girls are going to make more merch for Stan,” Mabel told Dipper. “Cute, shiny, blinding outfits always distract people, right?”

Dipper watched her go as she dragged her friends and Wendy to their room where all her craft supplies were. He then turned to his remaining grunkle, worry clear in his eyes.

“What are we gonna do?! The Stump Speech is in a couple of days, and if he continues like this, we'll lose to Bud for sure!”

“Come with me to the basement, Dipper, and explain to me who this ‘Bud’ is that makes him so dangerous.”

~

“So this is an emergency.” Ford took in Dipper’s word vomit about the Pines family’s nearly-deadly rivalry with the Gleefuls, contemplating their next move.

“Hmm…It's a shame there isn't some device that would allow you to control someone else.” Ford pondered, rubbing his chin. “Oh. Wait. Of course, yes. There is.” He opened one of the lower drawers of his desk and pulled out a patriotically-colored striped tie. “A long time ago, I designed a prototype for Ronald Reagan's masters.” Ford never did know what happened to that project. He handed it over to Dipper. “Just get Stan to wear this, and you can make him a literal talking head.”

Dipper moved aside some fabric and peered inside the tie. “Whoa! This is amazing! And ethically ambiguous!”

Ford took out the second tie in the pair and passed it over. “As long as you wear the matching one, he'll say and do whatever you want him to. He’s not going to like it once he finds out, but this is for our greater good.”

Dipper looked back and forth between the ties. “Thank you Great-uncle Ford!”

“Yes, yes. Use it responsibly and all. Er, Dipper, a moment, if you would?” Ford stopped the boy before he could run back upstairs.

Dipper immediately stopped in his tracks and pivoted around. “Yeah?”

“I…” Ford hesitated for a moment before pushing on. He was already meddling in Stan’s campaign. Might as well use the opportunity to benefit his own mission as well. “I was wondering if it would be beneficial to the effort if I performed my own reconnaissance. Observe the town and see if there’s anything suspicious the Gleefuls are up to. If they’ve had access to one of my journals for an extensive period of time, who knows what tricks they’ve learned.”

The pre-teen looked touched that his great-uncle was so invested in helping out. “I didn’t even think of that! I bet Gideon has his tiny pudgy fingers all over this, even if he is in adult prison. Do you need any help? I could go-”

“Dipper, my boy, I appreciate your offer, but I believe that your efforts would be best spent using that tie and ensuring that Stan stays ahead in the polls. You just leave the investigative work to me.” He punctuated his words by giving Dipper a reassuring smile and soft pat on the back. “I’ll keep you updated on what I find.”

Dipper easily returned the smile. “Okay, Gru-Great-uncle Ford. Good luck!” The boy quickly made his way into the elevator, and it was only after the doors closed that Ford let out a sigh, feeling a bit guilty. His reasons weren’t as transparent as he made them out to be to the boy, but his motives were pure. This was his chance to expand his sampling population and curate a more complete story on Bil-Birch. From what Ford gathered from Dipper’s words earlier, Birch was an established member of the community. Time to test how strong of a foundation he had. Ford just had to make sure it didn’t get back to the Mystery Shack’s founders.

~

Ford, as much as he loathed to, left his trenchcoat in the basement. It was too distinctive. Stanley would easily pick him out in the crowd. He also wore a very realistic mustache that was possibly the corpse of a Beard Cub he found in one of his cabinets. It didn’t smell like decay, only faintly giving off an aftershave odor, so probably not. Oh well. He had weirder specimens glued onto his upper lip before.

He was currently at the General Mayoral Stumpston Speeches gathering, just another member in the crowd as he flipped his journal open to a clean page. Time to start interviewing the townspeople.

He tapped an older-looking woman wearing a small pair of spectacles and a scarf tied around her hair on her shoulder before the first candidate came on stage. “Hello Miss, I am an official voting analyst who is definitely NOT connected to Stan Pines’ campaign. Could I ask you about how you feel about the candidate?”

“Unenthused.”

“Well how about the candidate’s spouse? The potential future mayoral first man?”

Her eyes lit up with recognition behind her glasses. “Oh, you mean dear Billy boy? I suppose that WOULD make him the mayor’s husband if Stan won.”

Ford’s already fake smile grew even more forced at her sincere gushing. “Could you tell me more about…’Billy boy’?”

“Oh, he’s such a rapscallion when he’s naughty, but can be such a dear! And one of the best mystics this town’s had in a while! I have to admit, I was at first skeptical of Mr. Mystique, especially since he was being hosted out of the Mystery Shack, but he's the real deal,” the woman reminisced. “Right, Joanne?”

Another elderly lady with an intricate bun tied behind her head nearby turned at her name. “Who, Meredith?”

“William Birch,” Meredith elaborated. Ford quickly scribbled down everything he was hearing. “Despite his company.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Birch is an odd man,” Joanne returned. “But very helpful. I went to him for a reading a couple of weeks ago about the persistent draft we had in the house, even when it was eighty degrees outside, and he told me that according to the night sky, I should finally put up that silver mirror I had thrifted months ago. Once I did that, the draft went away!” She exclaimed, wondrous. “He’s truly a man blessed with sight.”

Of course Birch would be aware of one of the few ways to stop a ghost. All the woman’s story had told him was that the trickster knew how to appeal to people, which Ford was already well aware of.

“What-” Ford went to follow up but a piercing ringing noise rang through the air as the microphone was suddenly turned on. Everyone waiting in front of the stage flinched back.

Joanne grabbed Meredith’s hand. “Let’s get a closer look, dear.”

“Just wait a minute, ladies-” Ford’s attempt to gather more information was rebuffed as the two disappeared into the thick crowd and were lost to him. Fine then. Surely there were other people who had more information on Birch and his mysterious past.

~

“Soos, if you don’t get your sausage fingers off of me in the next five seconds, I WILL ban you from coming within a 500 yard radius of the Mystery Shack for 24 hours,” Bill threatened, attempting to step-aside Soos only for the repair man to step in front of him, hands pushing the smaller man back. “Hell, even the entire weekend if you keep this up!” At the threats, Soos ceased blocking Bill.

“Oh, please don’t Mr. Birch,” he begged, tears already welling up in his eyes. “I can’t stay away from the Mystery Shack for that long. It’s cruel and unusual!”

“What’s cruel and unusual are your attempts to stop me from going backstage! What are you and the kids up to?!”

“I don’t know! Everything’s been so weird today! One minute, I was wearing a slamming tie the kids gave me. The next, I ate a pinecone!” Soos cried out, hands cradling his head as if thinking about what happened hurt. “I usually remember when I eat a pinecone.”

“A ‘slamming tie’ huh…” Bill watched as Stan stepped out of the curtains and up to the podium, wearing a gross tie that definitely wasn’t a part of his wardrobe. Suspicion growing, he made his way backstage, Soos close at his heels as he stuttered out apologies.

He watched as the kids swapped a black-and-blue tie between each other, all their words and motions being parroted by Stan on stage. By the end of the speech, the crowd was enamoured, belting out loud cheers that grew even louder as Mabel made Stan breakdance. Bill had seen enough by this point.

He made his way over to Dipper, who was fondly watching his sister bust it down, that girl had moves, and whispered in his ear from behind, “Mabel’s gonna break his hip if she makes him spin on the ground like that.”

The boy let out a girlish scream, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he scrambled away, before he realized what had happened. “Bill!” Dipper shouted, annoyed at the trick. Then he paled. “Grunkle Bill…heyyy so I know this looks bad-”

“Dipper, you made Stanley into your puppet,” Bill shut him down, arms folded as he admonished the boy who looked away guilty. “Using one of Fordsy’s inventions, I bet. You and I both know that he would rather eat glass than have his brother be the reason he wins.” Look what these kids did to him! Making him act “responsible” and uphold “morals”.

“He’s gonna hate it when he finds out that he didn’t become mayor on his own.”

“...but at least he’ll be mayor,” Dipper pointed out. “And Bud won’t be able to wipe us off the map.”

Bill hmmed, still not swayed.

“Just listen to the crowd! They love him! Do you really think that Stan could do this without our help?”

…that was true. The simple skeletons dressed in flesh loved the show that Stan was putting on. Well, Stan piloted by Dipper and Mabel.

“Please don’t tell him, Grunkle Bill?” Dipper asked, using his big innocent brown eyes to his advantage as he stared up at the blonde. Bill winced at the attack; it was super effective. Age really did make you weak in body, mind, and spirit.

Before he could say anything, Stan came back through the curtains, scratching his head in confusion now that the control had been returned to him. Mabel, who had just taken off the tie, ran to greet him.

“Grunkle Stan, that was amazing,” she exclaimed as she hugged him, the picture of innocence. These kids were terrible. If it wasn’t being used against their own family member, Bill would have been so proud.

“Yeah, how’d you do it, Mr. Pines,” Soos asked, either not catching on to the function of the ties or also playing along. It bothered Bill that he couldn’t tell.

Stan rubbed his head through his fez. “Eh, I don't know. I just opened my mouth and spoke from the heart, or... gut, or something.” He glanced back towards the audience on the other side and jabbed a thumb in that direction. “And what is that sound? Why are people jamming their hands together?”

“It's applause! Grunkle Stan, they love you!” Mabel assured him. Dipper kept his gaze on Bill, silently pleading for him to go along. Bill felt himself weakening. Evil child.

Stan turned back around and opened the curtains to peek at the crowd. “They... love... me?” He yelled back to his lover, “Babe, they love me!”

Bill watched Stan watch the crowd as they cheered for him, a small smile growing on his partner’s face as he received more positive attention than he ever had in his life. Sure, people liked his comics, but not specifically the man himself. This was making Stan happy. How could Bill pull the rug from underneath him now?

Bill glanced down at Dipper. “Alright, I’ll keep my pie hole shut until he wins, got it?”

Dipper quickly sent the one-eyed man a thumbs up. “Got it, Grunkle Bill!”

Bill inwardly berated himself as he returned to watching Stanley. He was not gonna come out of this unscathed.

He was yanked out of his brooding by Toby Determined, who asked for a picture of the group. Stan quickly drew the kids under each arm as he crouched over them, while Bill and Soos stood on either side of him. Bill placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder and flashed a matching peace sign with Soos.

“Yes we Stan!”

~

The “Tie of Possession” worked like a charm, just as Ford trusted it to even after thirty years. With Dipper and Mabel behind his every move, Stan was steadily climbing the polls. At least that problem was put to rest, even if it would bring forth the terrifying reality of Stan being the mayor of Gravity Falls. But Ford was getting ahead of himself. He was working through his own issues. Namely getting anything any information of importance out of the citizens of Gravity Falls.

He had already eased the pinpricks of discomfort that had been lingering by checking on the Gleefuls. Bud was running his campaign in a totally average, corrupt manner, and Gideon was stuck cycling through various arts-and-crafts classes at the prison day-in and day-out. The two did appear to maintain correspondence, but there was nothing that suggested that they were using anything supernatural in their dealings. Dipper had nothing to fear from the father-son duo. So, Ford laid that to rest as well.

Birch remained an issue, though. From what he gathered, the general consensus was that Stan Pines and William Birch, the two crooked grifters that they were, deserved each other. Always running from the police for one reason or another, advertising a new scam that promised pizza but didn’t, etc etc. Who else but each other could be the other’s partner? This repeated sentiment was usually told in both a displeased and fond manner. Over twenty years of dealing with their shenanigans made them an annoying, but accepted part of the community.

“Mr. Pines once ran me over with his car,” a weird goblin hybrid man told Ford, tapping away at his “lap-top” as he worked. “And Mr. Birch was following on his moped, and he just went over me too! Neither stopped to check if I was okay.”

“Is that why you look so…” Ford gestured to all of him. “...unfortunate.”

“I had no physically-altering injuries.”

“That’s even more unfortunate. You have my sympathies.”

“Oh…”

A young, bleach-blonde girl whose air reminded Ford very much of Preston Northwest simply flipped her hair out of her face while remaining focused on her computing phone. “Ugh, the less disgusting but creepier one? I’d never talk to him if I could help it, but he filled in for the middle school’s theater director last year. The musical actually came out not bad thanks to him and his critiques.” She then frowned. “But he didn’t give me the lead and called me pitchy, so I don’t like him.” She glanced up at Ford. “Who are you again?”

A stoic man whose face was covered by his cap just frowned at Ford’s questioning. “I’ve had to tow him out from the middle of the lake after he tried to go ‘water tubing’ by secretly attaching a raft to the back of other people’s motor boats. On several non-consecutive occasions.” He then furrowed his eyebrows, or at least it looked like he did under the shade over his brim. “Say, you look awfully familiar…”

The man also appeared uncomfortably familiar to Ford. “I'll be taking my leave now, thank you sir.”

However, when asking specifically about Mr. Mystique, the answers took a turn towards reverence. It was as if people treated them as separate entities, though it appeared that the most fervent believers were older women and more “spiritual” folks.

Mr. Mystique's readings of the stars always yielded accurate advice. It was almost like a cult, which Ford figured would be on brand for Cipher. Bringing the town into his fold by offering sweet nothings and pretty words as the soothsayer soothed their troubled lives. It was addicting. It was all-consuming. It was dangerous. Ford had his work cut out for him. He would gather his thoughts at the Shack.

~

When Ford got back, Wendy Corduroy was hanging around the Mystery Shack, scrolling on her cellular phone as she swung her legs out from the flat portion of the roof. It wouldn’t hurt to ask her about Birch a little bit, right? She hopefully wasn’t the snitching type. And he was getting a bit desperate.

“Wendy! Just who I was looking for,” Ford called up to her, steeling himself. Teenagers were notoriously hard to get along with at any age.

“Oh yeah?” she called back down. “Whaddya need from me, other Stan?”

“Call me Ford. How about you come down so we don’t have to shout to hear each other?”

“Sure yeah.”

The girl swiftly made her way down, utilizing a pole that Ford knew that he never installed to get on the ground with ease. She was definitely a lumberjack’s daughter. She sent him a casual salute once they were face to face. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, not too bad. I’m just visiting the town and catching up on current events. Aren’t you helping out with Stan’s campaign?”

“I totally am, with this,” she held up her phone. “I’m the designated social media manager, so all I gotta do is scroll on my phone and see what people are saying. Pretty sweet gig, right?”

“Er, I suppose that is ‘pretty sweet’, yes”.

“So, what’s up?”

“Well, I suppose but couldn’t help but wonder why so many in the town are so…enthused by Birch’s act. Surely they know that both he and Stan are simply con men, right?”

Wendy pondered his question. “Well, since the start of his act in ‘87 I think, he treats the whole experience pretty professionally once in his parlor. Mr. Mystery is like a fun storyteller and makes some sweet comics, but Mr. Mystique actually helps you with your life, even if Bill doesn’t actually care about that junk. But people like him for it, so he keeps it up.”

Stan wrote comics? Ford didn’t think he was still into that stuff. No, wait, he was getting distracted.

“People say he’s a genuine oracle,” Ford tested the waters. “Do you believe it?”

Wendy hesitated, a complicated mixture of emotions coming over her face. “…Yeah, I do. Even though it seems like he’s pulling it out of his butt most of the time…he’ll always add in a bit that really speaks to you. And disturbs you.”

Ford took that in. “You speak from experience?”

“Sure, let’s say that,” Wendy waved him off. “Otherwise, he’s just another annoying boss. If he catches me slacking off, he makes me sit in his parlor and forces me to play back a tune on the piano. I don’t even play piano!” This was somehow said fondly.

“He likes to stress people out in odd ways. He makes Soos do tongue-twisters whenever he messes up the color of his firewood.”

Odd, but Birch’s madness clearly knew no bounds.

She turned back to her phone, signaling the end of the conversation, the sound of a loud car heading down the road. “Y’know, if you wanna know more about Birch, you could just ask the guy. He loves to talk about himself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ford responded diplomatically.

Wendy eyed him knowingly. “Sure you will.”

With that, a van filled with teenagers pulled up in front of Ford’s house and Wendy hopped right in, flashing a peace sign at Ford as they drove away. “Catch you later, Stan Two!”

“It’s Ford!”

~

Bill awkwardly watched alongside Mabel from the inside of the booth as the grunkle and grand nephew went at each other as he sipped his “silly juice”. For the record, Bill knew this wasn’t gonna end well. All that work he just spent hounding his regulars to vote for Stan and “accidentally” popping the tires on Bud’s truck was gonna go down the drain.

Dipper, who had just reached his limit on dealing with Stan, held up the tie Stan had been wearing. “This tie is a mind control device invented by Ford! If it wasn't for this tie-” he peeled back the fabric to reveal the tiny circuitry that was previously hidden, “-you'd be losing!”

Stan froze in disbelief, but then began to shake with anger, gritting his teeth as his hands balled into fists on the table before he pushed himself to stand. “Well, you can tell that know-it-all Ford that he can keep his fancy light bulbs and magic ties! I'm gonna win this debate on my own, without any of you!” Stan stalked towards the exit of the diner.

“Stan, wait! You can’t-” The sound of the door slamming shut cut Dipper off.

Bill slid out of the booth, taking his drink with him. “I’ll go after him, but don’t expect a miracle,” Bill warned them as he followed after his partner.

“Stan!” Bill called after the upset man, who was muttering under his breath about ungrateful kids and betrayal on his way to the Stanmobile. “Wait a second-damn it,” Bill cursed as he spilled his juice on his dress shirt. “You see this? Now I need to get it dry cleaned.”

Stan whirled around, ready to dump his hurt feelings onto his lover. His anger made him truthful.

“Can you believe them?! This ENTIRE time, I thought that I was actually doin’ something right, but NOOOO. Ford just HAD to be behind it! It’s unbelievable, right?!”

Bill nodded emphatically. “Absolutely unbelievable,” he agreed. “But they just wanted you to win.”

“And they had no faith that I could do it my way, yeah?! Because I’m a screw up?!”

“You're not a screw up, Ace. Your answers were perfect. It’s just that not everyone sees the appeal in sending kids to remote islands to compete for dominance. They’re too short-sighted,” Bill soothed, reaching out and rubbing Stan’s arm up and down. “So Dipper and Mabel probably felt worried.”

Stan opened his mouth before stopping and giving Bill a suspicious once-over. Bill took a sip from his favorite straw to calm himself.

“You knew,” Stan realized, eyes widening. “All this time, you knew about the tie?”

Bill continued to slurp, shaking his head as he held up a finger from around the cup for Stan to wait to buy himself some time. Once he swallowed, he spoke.

“I was not involved with whatever plan they came up with,” Bill answered.

“But you knew,” Stan accused, getting upset all over again. “Don’t you dare deny it, William!”

“...Fine. I found out during the stump speech,” Bill came clean. Stan would know if he tried to lie and get even more offended. Damage control time. “It’s just that you looked so happy with the town applauding you and cheering your name. I didn't want to risk the chance of you losing something you loved.”

Stan shook his head, stepping away from Bill and releasing himself from his partner’s grip.

“It’s one thing for the kids to pull something like this cause they think I’m some stupid stooge, but you? You don’t keep things like this from me. You can’t.” Hurt was embedded in every word Stan spoke, making Bill shift uncomfortably with an emotion he rarely felt: guilt

“I just wanted to help you get what you wanted,” Bill reasoned, but the argument felt weak on his tongue.

Stan turned away and opened the car door. “Not like that. I don’t want that kind of help.” And so he got into the El Diablo and drove away, kicking the loose dirt in the diner’s parking lot and leaving Bill in the dust. Bill watched the red car get smaller and smaller down the road, a black hole consuming his chest as he got left behind.

The kids and Soos exited the diner just in time to see Bill stub his toe on a rock he tried to kick in rage, but only served to bruise him. They all exchanged worried glances as Bill cursed aloud.

~

Ford updated his chalkboard of facts with his newest intel, stepping back to get the full picture. He now had a better timeline concerning Mr. Mystique and his importance to the town.

Birch had, one way or another, built a reputation for himself that was rock-solid. But Ford still couldn’t account for anything beyond 1985. Where had the man come from exactly? What did his past look like? When did he get involved with Bill, or was he always Bill’s spy on Earth? There were too many possibilities. And the only people who could answer them were the two people who wouldn’t hold a civil conversation with him, and especially not an honest one.

Ford allowed himself to groan, rubbing at his eyes underneath his glasses. Perhaps looking through his other journals could refresh his mind and remind him of a potential avenue of interest he’d forgotten over the years.

He quickly made his way through the first journal. His first few years in Gravity Falls were now a blur in his mind, so reading over the notes recaptured the initial sense of wonder he had felt for the town. He simultaneously wished he could be that man again, envying his bright outlook of the world, and hated that man, whose weak sense of judgement and ambition made him blind to the dangers around him. He closed the book gently and gave it a fond pat.

Ford went on to the second journal, more concerned with its contents. It was during the writing of this journal that he had first summoned Bill and made contact. He had been much more…reckless with his discovery and usage of spells. Perhaps this would hold a hint as to how Birch was achieving these so called “feats” that wowed the town, though Ford could very easily believe that most people just fell for that kind of act, even if it wasn’t impressive.

As he was flipping through, though, Ford noticed that one of the pages was ripped out of the middle of the book. He frowned, running a finger along the torn edges. Did he do this? No; he never ripped out pages out of his second journal. So who did? And what information did the missing page hold?

Ford pulled himself into a meditative trance to try to relive those years, or just try to figure out where in the timeline it must have happened. If it was after that occurred, but before that, then this page was most likely about…

“The Possession Incantation!” Ford exclaimed, proud that he was able to remember it. It was only good for a one time use, but still dangerous in the wrong hands. Who could have taken it?

Wait. What journal did Dipper say Gideon had used to own?

Ford nearly dropped the journal on the floor. Dipper was right! That evil Gideon kid did have something up his sleeve! He’d probably use that incantation during today’s debate to win the election and pardon himself out of jail! Ford was such a fool for missing this earlier. He had to warn them!

~

Bill wanted to scream as he stood in the crowd, feeling crushed from all sides as elbows knocked into him. He shouldn’t be here: he should be behind the stage, the VIP section, giving Stanley some pep talk or something. But Mister Hot Shot doesn’t need anyone, and would push Bill away if he tried.

Who was Stan trying to kid anyways? That tie was the best thing that happened to him this entire campaign! Without it, he would have been booted out after the stump speech and left the race without making even the smallest splash.

…but that’s what comes with being a good partner. Going down with the ship and all that. Bill and the kids hurt Stan by not truly supporting him, and especially by relying on Sixer’s invention to give them the win. Of course Stan was upset with Bill, whom he confided his feelings in, and Bill still went along with the scheme. Ugh, caring for other people was so exhausting. Why did Bill do it again?

Bill still cheered for his man as Stanley came onto the stage next to Bud and Tyler, all three waving to the crowd. Stan tried to appear unaffected by the day’s rough start, grinning broadly in between harsh whispers with Bud, who was acting oddly cutesy, and throwing glares backstage when Soos walked on stage with a familiar tie around his neck. Those kids were relentless.

They briefly made eye contact as Stan stepped behind his podium. Bill offered him the sweetest smile he could muster, and Stan glanced away, a flash of something crossing his face before it was smothered. Stupid, stubborn man-thing. Bill hated him and how he made Bill feel. He took his frustration on Bud, making a cutting motion on his neck to signal that severe pain was promised in the future. Bud, who typically got nervous when Bill threatened him, just smiled.

The first round of the debate was a disaster for Stan, whose proposal about attacking neighboring communities with canons was inspiring, but only seemed to strike a chord in Bill. Dipper and Mabel also didn’t perform well, their sibling fighting making Soos look like a schizophrenic. Then Bud started singing in that abominable leotard, earning all of the bird seed, and Bill wished he could bleach his pupil.

He needed to get back there; screw it if Stanley didn’t want to talk to him!

Bill pushed his way through the sea of people, loudly announcing himself so that they moved aside or else they were subjected to him jamming his fingernails into their sides, and hurried behind the stage.

“Dipper! Mabel!” He interrupted Mabel’s pondering session and Dipper’s pacing.

“Bill! We're getting eaten alive back there!” Dipper exclaimed, frustration and confusion warring within him. “You saw it, right? Since when has Bud been... creepily adorable?”

Bill sneered. “You call that adorable?”

Mabel agreed with her brother. “I don't know! It doesn't make sense! He's almost acting just like... like…”

“Widdle ol' me.” The young southern twang was unmistakable. Mabel and Dipper gasped as Bud shuffled towards them like a zombie, the weird screen attached to his stomach turning on to reveal Gideon.

Bill stepped up and herded the kids behind him, though they still peeked out from behind him to glare at their foe. “Well well well, if it isn’t the tubby little incarcerated munchkin. Nice hairnet; did you have it custom-made for your obscenely large banana hair?”

Gideon gave Bill a biting smile. “Aha, I wouldn’t be talking if I had your frizzy mop. And hello there Dipper and Mabel, long time no see! Except in my revenge fantasies where I see you on an hourly basis.”

Bill gave an even more hideous smile, noticing the journal page in Gideon’s hands. “It’s pathetic how obsessive you are.”

“That journal page! You've been using its secrets to control Bud!” Dipper shouted, feeling vindicated that his worries were proven correct despite Ford having said otherwise.

“And it seems you've been controlling Stanford!” Gideon shot back. Well…he wasn’t wrong. “I hafta hand it to both of y'all. You've got much eviller since I last saw ya. Daddy!” Behind the screen, Gideon snapped his fingers, prompting Bud to walk forward and reach for them.

Bill pushed away one of Bud’s big fat arms as he tried to swipe for the kids, and was just about to whip out his handgun when he was suddenly grabbed by the collar and dangled above the ground. He gasped, both hands coming up to pry Bud’s hand off of him.

“Grunkle Bill!” Both kids shouted as they tried to pull Bill down, but Bud managed to grab them in one fell swoop, forcing Dipper to drop the tie as he walked them into the elevator that went up to the mayor’s new memorial.

The entire cavern was filled with all sorts of fireworks. The kids’ protests fell upon deaf, uncaring ears as all three of them were each tied to a chair with thick rope. Bill tugged at the restraints. He could probably get out of them in five minutes, give or take.

“Behold, your grand view of the debate!” Gideon declared. “Once I win this election, I'll finally rule this backwoods town!” Ugh; was this how Bill was going to go? At the hands of some albino preacher kid? He was gonna be rolling in his grave. And worse, he couldn’t even keep the kids out of trouble.

Mabel had some choice words to share with her ex-friend turned stalker. “You'll never get away with this, you creepy little dork!”

“Oh, I'd be happy to spare you Mabel. If you agree to be mine.” Gideon held up a hideous…something.”I even made you this wedding dress in crafts class!” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Don't ask what it's made of.” Even Bill, who had a high tolerance for gross, found that gross.

“Eww, I'd rather die, you creep!”

“Fine! Have it your way,” Gideon threatened. He had Bud hold up the plunger. “Once I win, they'll hit the plunger for the fireworks display, finishing the mountain's construction, trapping y'all inside. I've been trapped behind concrete all summer, now see how you like it!” Bill’s eye widened at the deadly threat as the twins gasped in horror.

“Say hello to the next mayor of Gravity Falls, kids!” Gideon laughed that disturbing little laugh like some cartoon supervillain as Bud jerkily walked away. All three began struggling immediately.

“UGH! Of ALL days I don’t hide a kitchen knife in my shoe. How stupid could I be,” Bill verbally berated himself. “Okay, kids, first rule about being tied up in ropes is don’t panic-”

Too late. The kids’ jerking about moved the chair around too much, and suddenly, they were falling.

~

Ford arrived at the memorial site for the speeches just in time to watch in horror from the back of the crowd as the twins, and Birch, dangled out of the stone nostril of the late mayor by a rope. Everyone gasped at the sight, and Ford’s mind ran at thousands of spacemiles an hour. He had to save the kids! He had to-

Stan’s gruff voice brought him back to reality.

“Listen, everybody! This debate is over! I gotta go save my family!” He shouted, the determination clear in his words garnering everyone’s attention. Including Ford’s.

“Those, uh, those are just some... demolition dummies. Nothing to see here!“ Bud Gleeful tried to wave off nervously. His eyes were definitely glowing the slightest bit blue. A clear sign of possession. And that screen on his stomach must have allowed his son to view his surroundings. Ugh, Ford should have saw the signs earlier!

Stan pointed an accusing finger at the large man. “Can it, Gleeful,” he snarled, before ripping off the sleeves of his jacket to expose his arm muscles and yelling as he ran backstage.

Ford rushed to make better time than his brother, but with everyone crowding the stage to get a closer look, he wasn’t making much progress. And he was too far away from the metal towers to use his magnet gun and pull himself towards it. This wasn’t looking too good. It was gonna be up to Stanley to get to the kids in time.

As Ford pushed through the crowd, Stan punched at the bald eagles that pecked at him for the bird seeds the crowd had threw at him, before making a daring leap to the stone nose. Ford nearly had a heart attack, watching in what felt like slow-motion, but Stan cleared it, if barely. And with just a second to spare, he managed to grab the rope just as its fibers were about to snap.

Ford felt like he could finally breathe as he watched his brother pull the trio up through the nostrils. And as they came out to stand on the tip of the monument’s nose, with everyone cheering around him and overloading Stan’s bucket with bird seed, Ford looked up at his grinning twin and felt…proud.

Then he heard the sound of a child throwing a tantrum, if the child was a balding grown man in a sparkly red, white, and blue leotard. A bit aways from him, Ford watched as Bud, no-Gideon, sat on the stage and banged his fists on the ground. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, not again!” He maneuvered himself down to below the stage and grabbed a square box that Ford realized was a primed remote detonator. “Time to take care of you, once and for all!”

Ford growled. “Over my dead body!”

There was still a line of people in front of him, but Ford jumped over them as if they weren’t there and hurdled himself towards the possessed man.

“STAN JUMP,” he roared, hoping that his twin would hear him, tackling Gideon just as he pressed down on the detonator. He was too late.

The impact of Ford’s body knocked the human puppet over, but it was the force of his six-fingered punch right between the eyes that took him out. He rolled out of the way of the falling chunks of the memorial began hurtling towards the Earth, with them just missing Bud’s body. What a shame.

He then turned to watch just as Stan, Birch, and the kids emerged from Stan’s bird seed pile, the large amount having cushioned their fall. Ford couldn’t help but smile at the sight. They made it just in time. They were okay.

Just then, the timer beeped, and the cage containing the freedom eagle opened. The large, majestic bird cawed once before it took flight and landed on Dipper’s head. It pressed a kiss against Stan’s temple before flying away again.

Ford came over once the kids were freed. Stan finished pulling out Birch from the mountain of seeds, slinging the lithe man into his arms like a damsel in distress.

“My winning hand~” Birch cooed teasingly, but the affection with which he gazed up at Stanley was almost too real to be a joke. Stan brushed the few seeds stuck to Birch’s cheek off, softly looking down at his partner, adoration plain to see.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Ford could barely pick up Stanley’s mumble. “I didn’t mean to blow up on you. You’ve were just looking out for me even when I’m being stupid.”

“Hey, if it weren’t for you, I would have been blown to smithereens or splattered on the ground,” Birch countered, hand cupping Stan’s chin, rubbing the man’s stubble. “I’m sorry, Starlight. I didn’t mean to bat for the other team. Honestly? Your last speech was the best one you ever gave, because it was all you. Our hero.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat helped Ford look away before the con men kissed. Dipper and Mabel stood in front of him, watching him curiously. Ford felt his face burn slightly and patted his “mustache”, disguise still in place. Had they been there the whole time?

“Yeah, we’ve been here the whole time,” Mabel confirmed. “We get it! Stan and Bill’s love is so captivating, you can’t look away!”

“Like a trainwreck,” Dipper muttered out of the corner of his mouth just as his sister punched him in the gut. “OW! Mabel!”

“Stop putting down their raw displays of public affection! They may be gross, but they are FREE to be gross!” Mabel exclaimed, hands spread out to the heavens as if preaching a holy text.

“...thanks, pumpkin,” Stan thanked his niece, bemused, as Birch began to giggle.

The sound of the crowd grew louder as they chanted, “Mayor Pines! Mayor Pines! Mayor Pines! Mayor Pines!” In the background, celebratory fireworks went off, brightening the sky over the memorial with their colors. The Pines family basked in the attention of the crowd, though Ford made a point to stand off to the side. He wasn’t quite ready to make his debut back into society.

“Well, guess we know who won,” Dipper remarked.

It was official: Stan Pines was now the mayor of Gravity Falls. The thought didn’t fill Ford with as much worry as before.

~

Stan Pines wasn’t even mayor for a day before he was disqualified due to his extensive criminal record. Ford wasn’t surprised that it ended like this, but the number and nature of Stan’s crimes sure did. Especially since they were all committed under his name. He eyed his twin accusingly as Stan looked away and twiddled his thumbs while whistling off-key, the picture of innocence while the TV anchor read out his top offenses. Thus, the new mayor was someone everyone had overlooked: Tyler Cutebiker.

Birch watched from his perch on the recliner as Tyler received his sash and bouquet. He leaned against Stan’s shoulder and pouted. “Aw, man! Not THAT goody two-shoes! There goes our plans of bringing back dueling to settle public disputes and training rats to help partake in espionage.” He shook his head disdainfully as the reporter went on to read the rest of Stan’s crimes from a gigantic stack of papers until Stan turned it off.

Ford stared blankly at the black screen. “How are you not in jail, Stanley?”

“Just be glad they didn’t list any of the bad ones, Poindexter,” Stan told him. “On an unrelated topic, I have a lot of cheap pugs, and I need to move them fast.”

“I already got Santiago coming in a couple of days to handle that.”

“You know me so well, babe.”

“Aw, I'm sorry, Stan. I actually think you as mayor would've been fun,” Dipper commented to his grunkle.

“Eh, maybe it's for the best. I got close to the dream, though, kids,” Stan assured the boy.

Mabel then grabbed Stan’s attention. “Hey, I knit you something.” She kneeled down and brought back up a sash that read "OUR HERO". “It's not official, but I think it fits.”

Ford watched as Stan accepted the gift, sniffling as Birch ran his fingers over the embroidery. He hadn’t seen his younger twin be brought to tears in a long time, but Mabel’s gesture appeared to move him more than the town’s approval.

“Grunkle Stan, are you crying?” Dipper questioned.

“He got campaign confetti in his eyes,” Bill excused Stan, who was busy wiping his face.

Stan stood up and put on the sash. “Come on, kids! Wanna go with me and Bill to vandalize Mayor Tyler's mansion?”

“Yay!” “He-hey, vandalism!” The children cheered as they ran towards the door. Stan’s influence on them was clear.

As Bill jumped up to join them, Ford quickly held out a hand to stop his brother.

“Stan, could I have a quick word with you?” He swiftly added,”Please?” when he saw Stan open his mouth to reject him. Stan paused, but quickly came to a decision.

“You got two minutes before I’m out the door.” Stan made a waving motion towards Bill, who scrutinized Ford warily before herding the kids outside. His one eye screamed “You better watch it” as he exited. As if Ford was the one who was the greatest threat to Stanley.

Once they were alone in the living room, Stan folded his arms and raised an expectant eyebrow at Ford, his judging expression one lifted straight from their childhoods.

“Well?”

“You look like dad,” Ford blurted out. “When you do that.”

Stan immediately let his arms drop to his sides and looked at Ford uneasily. “No, no, don’t say that,” he chuckled nervously. “Look, I’m not doin’ it no more. No Filbrick Pines here!”

“I know, Stan. You’re nothing like him,” Ford hurried to say, inwardly berating himself. Of course Stanley wouldn’t want to be compared to the man who threw him out of the house, but the distress he displayed was more than Ford expected.

“Whaddya mean? Am I like him or not?”

“Well, I can’t imagine dad climbing up a tower and leaping onto a stone memorial to save us if we were ever in danger,” Ford started to slowly explain. “Or jumping off said monument with us onto a pile of bird seed.”

Stan snorted at the image Ford’s words created, relaxing a bit. “Oh, he’d never let those seeds get near his suit.”

And dad never admitted or apologized when he was wrong, Ford thought. He always had to have the final say. To always be right.

But that felt like too much to say. So Ford instead said, “I shouldn’t have interfered. With your campaign.”

Stan stared blankly for a second before it clicked. “Oh, you mean the ties. Right. Yeah, you shouldn’t have, but I get why you did. Look at how crappy I did without it.”

“But Stan, you didn’t win because of my ties. I did nothing.” Ford looked down and clasped his hands behind his back. “I tried to stop Gideon, but I was too slow. It was your actions that saved the day. That’s why the people voted for you.”

Stan stared dumbfounded, his silence making Ford feel antsy. “Did you just compliment me?”

Ford could hear the smug tone in his brother’s voice and rolled his eyes. “You know what? Nevermind, just forget it-”

“You think I did a good job,” Stan spoke over him, a wide smile making itself at home on his face. “Guess this old dog got a few more tricks than you expected, huh, Sixer?”

The nickname didn’t feel so slimy coming out of Stan’s mouth. Then again, it was his to begin with.

Ford opened his mouth to return the tease, but the door opened and Birch came in, walking over to the armchair and picking up a bag from behind it. “Almost forgot this. Can’t vandalize a house without vandalism equipment. Now, chop chop, Bruiser: I gave you five minutes to chit chat. The kids are waiting.”

“Right,” Stan agreed, leading the way out the door. Birch followed right behind Stan, a hand reaching out to cling possessively onto the back of Stan’s suit. Ford definitely did not watch the light glint off the small piece of gold that sat here.

“See ya, Ford! Don’t wait up for dinner cause we might get thrown in a cell if we get caught, ha!” The door slammed shut behind them, and Stanford Pines was left alone in his house.

What to do now? There were several things he had meant to check on, so Ford should probably go-

Brrrng!

Oh, one of the landlines was ringing. It was probably one of the news agencies calling about the election upset. Without thinking much of it, Ford picked up the phone.

“Residence of Stanford Pines. No further inquiries concerning the mayoral election results will be answered at this time.”

“…Ford? Is that you?”

Ford froze. He knew that voice. How could he not?

“Shermie,” he breathed out. His older brother.

“Oh my God, it is!” Sherman Pines exclaimed, voice loud even through the small receiver. “You’re back! You’re home!” The eldest Pines’ joy and relief was clear. “Oh, it’s so good to hear you again.”

Ford couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his lips, even if Shermie couldn’t see it. “It’s good to hear you too.” He paused. “Wait; you knew that I was gone?! Stan told you?!”

“Of course,” Shermie snorted. “Stan stayed away from the family for a while, but I knew something was up the instant I saw him in person. But we talked it out, and he’s kept me in the loop since.”

“I…didn’t realize the rest of the family was aware,” Ford admitted. “Stan made it seem like you were all kept in the dark.”

“Well, it is just me who knows,” Shermie explained. “I was gonna break the news to my son and the kids once you came back since we didn’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up, but here you are!”

“Here I am.”

“I bet these past few days have been crazy over there then, with you coming home and Stan running for mayor. Now that, I almost didn’t buy ‘till I saw his mug on the TV, so I just had to call and see what was going on.”

“What do you mean? I’ve been back for a little over two weeks,” Ford questioned.

Shermie went quiet for a few seconds “…those knuckleheads,” he growled. “I told Stan and Bill to let me know as soon as you got back! And you’re tellin’ me it’s been a half a month since you came out of that machine?! Why I oughta-“

“You’ve met Bill?” Ford interrupted. The thought of Sherman knowing Birch never crossed his mind…how far did Bill’s influence over his family extend?

“Huh, Bill? Yeah, of course. I’ve stayed and visited them in Gravity Falls a couple of times over these past few years.”

Six fingers tightened around the phone handle. “…what do you think of him?”

Shermie seemed to pick up on the seriousness of Ford’s question since he paused for a moment to sort out his thoughts on his brother-in-law.

“Bill is the type of guy who wants to pull a reaction from a crowd,” he started off. “He likes attention, and a lot of the time, he doesn’t mind crossing a line to get it. But when it comes to the people he likes, he wants to do right by them. He’s a pretty sweet guy when he cares to be, y’know?”

“Sweet,” Ford echoed dully. “You think he’s sweet.”

“And funny, too,” Shermie added on. “But best of all? He’s good to Stanley. They’re good for each other. And I’m thankful that instead of being alone all those years in that shack, working on that machine, he had Bill by his side.”

The middle Pines brother let that sink in. He didn’t know what to say to that. The mere idea of Bill and Stan being good for each other was nonsensical. Good for scams, perhaps.

“I’m guessing you don’t agree, huh?”

“I…I can’t see how Bill could possibly be good for Stanley,” Ford managed to say. “Sometimes no one is better than someone. Stan would have been okay.”

Shermie hummed, considering that.“When has Stanley ever been someone who wanted to be alone?”

Never. Stanley had always lingered around, never far. Always waiting, ready to grab on and never let go. Ready to offer a helping hand. A hand that destroyed and pushed. A hand Ford had closed the curtains on yet kept wishing he could reach out to again.

“Don’t get it twisted, though, Ford. Stan didn’t latch onto Bill because he was convenient. Maybe you just haven’t noticed it yet, but there’s so much more to them,” Shermie advised. “Though I guess it could just be the older brother in me wanting to see Stanley happy with a life partner.”

Stanford Pines was also an older brother, despite being a twin. People often forgot that, including himself from time to time.

“If you say so,” Ford vaguely agreed.

“I do say so. Anyways, I gotta run soon. Well, wheel, haha. I have an appointment to make.”

Instinctive worry bubbled up in Ford’s chest. “Appointment? You’re not sick, are you?”

Laughter tinged with a bit of embarrassment came from the other side. “I might have broken both of my legs before the summer started during a morning run…”

“Sherman!”

“Relax, Stanford! I’m fine!” Shermie dismissed. “And Stanley already chewed me out for it, so don’t you start up where he left off. I’m just much less mobile than before, so I gotta go to physical therapy to strengthen myself.”

Some things started to make sense now. “Is that why the kids are staying here for the summer? Because you can’t watch them? Is something going on at home?”

“My son and daughter-in-law are…going through a rough patch,” Shermie said carefully, mood dropping. Ford winced. “They needed to figure out their issues and didn’t want the kids to be around with all of the tense conversations happening. Stan and Bill were happy to host them though, so it worked out I’d say.”

Shermie then switched topics, clearly wanting to move away from the less-than-happy conversation. “Whaddya think of my grandkids? You hung out with them at all? Or do you still have an aversion to children?”

“Babies and twelve-year olds are very different,” Ford muttered, embarrassed to recall how he’d dodge every attempt Shermie made to have Ford hold his nephew all those years ago. “But I think they’re wonderful. Truly, Sherman. Especially Dipper. It’s like looking at a younger version of myself.”

“You do both like mysteries,” Shermie mused. “But I also see a bit of Stan in him. They’re both spitfires.”

“…To each his own.”

Shermie laughed at that. “Ok, now I really have to go. But hey, I’ll be seeing you all soon. I’ll be good enough by the end of the summer to take the bus up for a quick visit, but let’s keep that as a secret surprise between you and me, okay?” Ford could practically picture Shermie’s teasing wink.

“Of course, Shermie,” he agreed. Not mentioning how things were going to change at the end of the summer. He didn’t want to face his older brother’s disappointment in him just yet. “They won’t hear anything from me.”

“Perfect! Goodbye, Stanford. I love you.”

His eyes itched and a lump suddenly appeared in Ford’s throat but he managed to speak around it. “I love you, too, Sherman.”

There was a click, and the dial tone greeted him back.

He waited a couple of minutes before wandering back towards the parlor. With all the events that had occurred these past couple of days, he hadn't had the chance to investigate Birch’s drawer. An oversight on his part, since it could have provided helpful hints on who to talk to in town, but hindsight is 20/20.

The fireplace now glowed a bloody red, as if warning him not to venture in again after last time or face dire consequences. Ford did not believe such superstitions, though, and continued inside. Illuminated by flames and surrounded by old tapestries, he felt a strong sensation of deja vu.

He sat himself down at the desk, trying to imagine what kind of work Birch would conduct here. New attractions for the Shack? Editing more research papers? Equations to fix the portal? Sinister plans for Cipher? He had learned so much yet knew so little. Time to open the secret drawer.

He first unwrapped the yellow fabric, confirming what he had expected: an unblemished but very faded tapestry of Bill Cipher in all his glory. He was certain he had destroyed all of his, but he supposed that he could have missed one. Or Birch had gone to the old Ciphertology church himself and took it home. The connections between the two grew.

The notepads contained dozens upon dozens of ciphers like the ones that Bill would write in his journal. Attempts to use the codes to figure out the portal equations took up most of the pages. It appeared that Birch had spent quite some time trying to figure out what Bill had so easily explained to Ford. Interesting. Perhaps their connection was limited between dimensions? Even with the mindscape? Ford knew there were dangers that came with being in contact with your own variant, but did that count with incorporeal forms? He didn’t know.

Next up were the photo albums, helpfully labeled by the years they spanned. Ford started at the earliest one, going in chronological order.

It was enlightening, to say the least. As much as they were Birch’s albums, they were also a chronicle of Stan’s life over nearly three decades as well. Page after page, Ford watched his brother cut his mullet, don their father’s suit and fez, and build the Mystery Shack up and up into the eyesore that it was today.

Page after page, Birch grew with him, the stiffness his scrawny body held relaxing as the years passed. His smile grew more natural (or as natural as it could get), and he looked more at ease. He looked more…human as he aged, the intense light in his eye fading into something less harsh.

It also served as a timeline for their partnership. The mid-1980s had Birch scowling at the camera each time Stan threw his arm over his boney shoulders, like he’d bite the hand that fed him. By the end of the decade, though, Birch was leaning more into Stan, making ridiculous poses next to Mr. Mystery as Mr. Mystique carved a place for himself in the Mystery Shack. A montage of a crazy Vegas trip in ‘87 culminated in the two hijacking a mall luxury car and driving it into a hotel pool.

Halloween of 1992 marked a clear change in their relationship. A large party was held on the front lawn, with Stan and Birch both dressed in matching comic book costumes as they handled the crowd. Snapshots of the much younger townfolk took up several pages, but there was one Ford focused on.

Something must have occurred at the party, perhaps a brawl, because Stan and Birch looked worse for wear with their outfits rumpled, but they were only gazing at each other. Scrawled underneath in Bill’s handwriting, the caption read: “Almost got wiped. Don’t recommend it!”

The last photo in that particular collection was a self-taken photo of Birch laying against what appeared to be a very hairy chest, a smug cheshire smirk present on his face. Ford quickly closed the album, not bothering to read the words underneath.

There it was: the shift. The rest of 90s bombarded Ford with the gooeyness that came with “young” love. Of course, stills of the Shack and other places around Gravity Falls (apparently Birch had also found Crash Site Omega) were very prominent, but they were interspersed with the faces of Stan and Birch kissing, committing petty misdemeanors, and other candids that spoke of a seemingly peaceful (or as peaceful as it could get for those two) life. Ford was all too happy to close this album, with the last photo of Stan getting a very familiar tattoo under his left breast, while Birch got a matching one…Ford would rather not say.

His own brands itched on his skin. He wished he could rip the flesh off his bones.

The 2000s continued in a similar fashion, with the two’s appearances growing closer to their modern-day looks. They had softened around the edges as the second decade of their partnership came and went. A much younger Soos started to pop up more and more, with him and Birch typically working on a small machine or cooking with an older woman that resembled the Hispanic boy. Stan accompanied them in more than a few, looking almost like a family all together. It was sickeningly domestic.

Heck, there were even photos of them with Shermie playing poker at the kitchen table! Shermie, whose hair was nearly white at this point, but still had that bushy mustache he always kept the same since he was in his twenties! Laugh lines had been etched deeply into his face, and they stretched in the photo as he leaned to whisper something in Birch’s ear, the blonde man appearing to be very invested. It…was quite the reality check. Time had passed by, and Ford wasn’t there to witness any of it.

Ford closed the last album shut, letting the tears finally drip out the corners of his eyes though he quickly wiped them up. His family had grown, new members joining and the old leaving. His parents were surely dead, but what about everyone else? So focused on his mission to defeat Cipher, he had given up on ever seeing these people again. Ever living with them again. But now he was here, and they still felt lost to him. Even his twin, who was staying in the same house as him, was so far out of reach. What was he to do?

At last, he opened the jewelry box. Inside was a triangular locket with that accursed script etched into it: “I grow maddened”. A warning he understood too late. Opening the locket exposed Bill’s eye. Watching. Always watching. Ford quickly closed it.

This was…conflicting. Who was William Birch? A con man in cahoots with Bill Cipher desiring the end of the world? The mortal counterpart to an immortal demon? Or a human with a weird past who loved the Pines family? Which was it?!

Something caught Ford’s eye at that moment: a fallen-over picture frame at the corner of the desk. Ford picked it up and squinted a bit to see what it held. It must have been taken years ago, since Stan’s hair was a shade darker and Birch’s was still fully golden, and both of them had fewer lines around their eyes. They were sitting in what appeared to be a hospital room, squeezed into those tiny chairs, but neither seemed to care about their comfort. In each of their arms was a tiny baby, their brown locks escaping the caps on their heads. The twins: Dipper and Mabel. They were so small. Both men were smiling in the photo, but while Birch was looking down at the infant in his arms, Stan was focused on Birch. They exuded pure contentment. Stanley was happy, and all due to Bill.

...Could he be both?

No.

Bill Cipher could not be both. He could not plot to carry out Weirdmageddon and genuinely love a human at the same time. More accurately, Bill Cipher did not have the ability to love. He could mimic it, trick you into believing he felt it, and cultivate it in others, but he did not love. Bill Cipher could not possibly love Stanley Pines. Bill Cipher would never choose a weak, fallible mortal above his mission. They were all beneath him, not worthy of being his equal. Never a partner, friend, nor lover. Puppets to play with and devotees for blind worship: nothing more, never more.

So William Birch did not love Stanley Pines, no matter how devoted of a partner he presented himself to be. It was an elaborate, cruel, and clever scheme to achieve what he had been aiming for since the very beginning: the domination of Earth. But he chose the wrong family to mess with. He chose the wrong person to get involved with.

Stanford Pines would never forgive William Birch for tricking Stanley Pines.

Chapter Text

It was quiet in the gift shop of the Mystery Shack after closing. The register was closed, the shelves were dusty, and a family of spiders had taken up residence in the far corner. In the early hours of the morning, though, a rumbling sound came from behind the sole vending machine in the room as a bright glow leaked out from the gap between the metal and the floorboards. After a moment, the front panel of the rectangular box popped open to reveal two men as they walked out of the secret space their house held.

“Ugh,” the bigger one groaned, placing his hands on his hips to crack his back. “All that nerd shit is messin’ with my head. I’m gonna barf if I see one more number on a piece of paper.”

The shorter one reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar bill, waving it in front of the other’s nose. “Even this one?”

“Oh, I could never get sick of this lil’ beauty. Come to papa!” Stan snatched the cash and lovingly tucked it away. “Well, at least we can just focus on the main event. We got a big night ahead of us later.”

“Yup! Gotta stuff the skeletons with guts, crack open that jar of eyeballs, and turn the silly string into scary string!” Bill listed out. “Should I bring out the sarcophagus? Everyone likes a mummy, right?”

“Charge ‘em extra to peek inside,” the brunette agreed, climbing up the staircase to the second floor, the blonde trailing behind him as they made their way to the bedroom. Their bedroom.

Recently, Stan’s bedroom had unofficially become Bill’s as well. Bill had finally started refusing to do the walk of shame back to his bedroom at night, especially during the winter months when the hallways might as well had been snow tunnels. Like he had done in the past, Stan let it go for one night. “One” night.

By the end of the season, Bill had spent more than half his nights in Stan’s bed, either due to nightmares, libido, or the cold. And a couple of months after that, in a move that they claimed saved money on AC, Bill took up residence in Stan’s room until further notice. Assurances between the two of them that it was a temporary arrangement never amounted to anything, especially once Bill took over half the drawers and started leaving his deer teeth collection on the dresser. Despite Stan’s many verbal complaints about them, he never threw them out.

Stan dropped onto the bed like a bag of bricks, letting out an exhausted huff as he shucked off his stained shirt. Bill exchanged his button up for his long night t-shirt. Stan called it an “old lady nightgown”; Bill called it convenient. It was easy to put on and take off in seconds.

“Take your time why don’t cha,” Stan called to his one-eyed partner, patting his side of the mattress. “I wanna get at least a couple hours of shut-eye.”

“Oh, don’t throw a tantrum, you big baby, I’m coming.” Bill teased as he crawled in next to his bed partner. “What’s the matter? Can’t sleep without me? Am I your teddy bear or something?”

Stan snorted. “Teddy bears are supposed to be cuddly, not boney and sharp like you are,” he poked Bill’s elbow. Over the past few years Bill’s figure had gained a bit of weight and smoothed over his angles, though not by much. Stan could still lift him with one hand, a feat Bill acted annoyed by but no one bought.

“Oh, I do much more than cuddle,” Bill waggled his eyebrows, nestling under the covers and reaching over to trail his pointer finger down Stan’s chest. The older man caught the hand and held it there.

“That you do,” Stan agreed. “But not tonight. Just…lay with me, okay? There’s another damned draft in the house, and I’m probably not gonna fix it.”

The one-eyed human nodded slowly, settling down side-by-side by Stan. “It has been chilly. Gotta stay warm somehow.”

“Exactly. We can handle a little indoor wind better like this.” Stan flicked the lamp on the nearby nightstand off and promptly fell asleep. His snores filled the room.

Bill watched his companion with a half-lidded eye, getting adjusted to the dark as the pale moonlight peaked through the drapes. With Stan’s neck exposed, mouth open, and eyes shut, he was so vulnerable. Bill could do anything to him. Plug his nostrils, pour water down his throat and make him choke, cover his face and force him to squirm for air…

Instead, William continued to lay on his side and just drank in the sight, letting the same mantra he had been chanting in his mind for years repeat over and over again. Hoping it would become the truth every time he felt the now familiar, all-consuming sensation gnaw at his heart.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I…

…

~

Bill patted on the last of the white costume paint onto his chin, smoothing out the paste so that it coated the entirety of his face evenly. Tonight was the big night: the Mystery Shack’s first after-hours Halloween Party!

It made sense: their tourist trap was the town’s HQ of oddities, genuine or not. Who else but them should host a monster mash? It was the least they could do to contribute to the town, provided attendees pay $15 per ticket plus a fee for every time you used the bathroom or wanted a refreshment. Support your local businesses!

Stan had shucked out funds for the cheapest snacks money could buy, and Bill had traded a bunch of butterflies for the gnomes’ homebrew of “forest juice”...it tasted marginally worse than it sounded, but it was guaranteed to make the night fun! The decorations that were strewn around the outside of the Shack were from the previous Summerween. They had raided the superstore after hours, which meant all the items were free. They were on the ban list there for another 4 years.

Now the pièce de résistance: their costumes. Not only to wow the tiny ankle-biters that may stop by, but to also assert dominance over the grown ones. The quality and detail put into a costume dictated your Halloween hierarchy, and Bill was aiming for the top! Those who did not dress up would be publicly shamed and forced to chug a glass of spiders as everyone peer-pressured you in a circle. Just like in college!

Stan and him were doing a “duo outfit”. Not a couples outfit. There was a difference, namely that couple outfits were social devices used by indecent horn-dogs to publicly show off their sickening dependency for each other and have the crowd gush over their “loving relationship”. Bill would rather watch a leprechaun and a unicorn go at it.

No, no: Stanley and William were classy. Stan was going as the iconic comic hero “Man-Bat”, while Bill was dressed as the story’s main antagonist “The Jester”. It felt fitting, and the costumes fit well too. Stan had insisted that the stores only sold outfits based on the most recent adaptation playing on television, so he and Bill tweaked the designs to be more comic-accurate from when Stan was a kid. It was odd to see his typically jaded partner act like a little kid gushing over the details. And cute.

Behind him, the door to the bathroom slammed open. Bill continued to do his little touch ups, watching through the mirror as Man-Bat made his dramatic appearance. The dark, tight material didn’t leave much to the imagination, so Stan was wearing a girdle to artificially capture the same waist-to-torso ratio that the character sported. Bill wanted to rip it off of him with his teeth.

“I’ve got you now, Jester,” Stan spoke with an even more gravelly voice, octave as low as he could go, the mask already covering the top of his face, though his fleshy eyelids broke through the dark covering. He stepped up behind the thinner man, hands resting on slim hips as he took in the view. “Gonna have to take you in the name of justice.”

“Oh, I have no problem with you taking me,” Bill reached behind himself and caressed Stan’s chin. “But later. Now take off that thing so I can do your eyes.”

“Ohoho, I like the sound of that.”

Stan gave Bill’s hips one last squeeze before going to sit on the toilet next to the sink. Bill grabbed the dark face paint and began to coat Stan’s eyelids.

“Y’know, last I checked the Jester didn’t sport a goatee.” Stan reached up and lightly tugged at the short hair Bill had been maintaining for the past month on his chin.

Bill swiped at Stan’s offending fingers. “Hey, it took a while to get it to this point! I ain’t shaving it for just one night! Besides, I feel like the guy would grow a goatee if he could, no?” He twirled the hair into a single curl. “It’s all about elevating the look!”

Bill’s purple suit and green hair were almost neon, mimicking the over-saturated colors of the comics. The red smile painted over his mouth suited his naturally big grin. Paired with his high-pitched cackles, it was as if the costume was made for him.

Once Bill was finished, Stan appraised the work in the mirror. “Woah Nelly, I look like a racoon.”

“And smell like one too,” Bill snarked, putting away the supplies. For his comment, his ass got pinched, making him hiss, but the brief pain did the exact opposite of hurting him.

They stood together looking at their reflections once everything was finished, checking each other out.

“Ha, look at us! We got this party in the bag!” Stan crowed, swooshing his cape behind him as he used a handheld camera to snap a few photos of them, Bill posing right alongside him. “Ready to show this town the best Halloween bash it’s ever seen, Bill?”

Bill allowed his smile to stretch far more unnaturally than it usually did, lifted straight from the comics, as the camera clicked once again. “Lee, they won’t know what hit ‘em.”

~

The party was in full swing a couple of hours later. The crowd was mostly adults considering that kids preferred to go trick-or-treating for the holiday, so there was no problem with dishing out the forest juice to anyone attending. As long as they got cash, of course.

Music boomed from the speakers surrounding the outside of the Shack, and the flashing lights illuminated the costumed crowd with an array of bright colors. They had managed to get a teenage “aspiring DJ” to play for free to gain “practical real life experience”. Sucker.

Currently, the Mystery Shack’s duo was making their rounds about the scene, collecting bathroom tolls, encouraging another round of drinks, making sure no one puked in the driveway, and generally checking to be sure everything was going smoothly. Bill had honestly expected more hiccups, but so far the only wrinkle was Stan chasing McGucket off the property with a crowbar while Bill pretended to spew out ancient, evil spells when the bearded wackjob tried to conduct an “electrical exorcism” on the “Doomsday Shack”. Bud Gleeful also tried to come by, but Stan raised the entrance fee quintuple the price for him specifically.

He had just finished complimenting Manly Dan and his girlfriend on their couples costume, the big man was an axe and she was a log, when he felt someone clasp his shoulder from behind. Bill kept himself from jumping at the sudden touch and turned around casually. “Lazy” Susan Wentworth was smiling and swaying in place, her good eye halfway shut to almost match its closed twin. She was dressed as the Wimpy Tiger from “The Warlock of Odd.”

“Great party, Billll,” she slurred, forest juice spilling out of her cup and onto her feet. Bill leaned away from the splash zone. “Love the hot dogs.”

“Well aren’t you as sweet as the pies you make, Susan,” he thanked her, easily prying her fingers off of him. “You’re looking stripey tonight. Very fierce. Like you came straight outta the jungle.”

The waitress giggled and waved away his compliment. “So charming! And you twos costumes are aMAZing. You and Mr. Mystery are quite the pair, aren’t cha?” She lifted her bad eyelid and closed it. “Wink!”

They did make quite a pair. They were each other’s ace up the sleeve. A real-life Bonnie and Clyde. Bill had firmly claimed his place in Stanley’s life as a partner, confidant, and…friend.

But he still wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more. And the past few years since he’s had this revelation had been testing him relentlessly, as gross as that was to admit in the brief moments of honesty he’d rarely allow himself.

It was a humbling experience. Love, if that was truly the emotion that was attempting to hijack him, should be used to conquer and bend people to your will! But no! What he wanted from Stanley instead was to kiss him more, hold him closer, whisper sweet nothings in his ear, blow up a bank with an anatomically correct heart-shaped bomb as they ran off hand-in-hand into a bloody sunset... How the mighty fall.

It would have been easier to deal with if Stanley didn’t make it so damn difficult.

The guarded man constantly sent out mixed signals. Of course Bill was aware that Stan was attracted to him: the man’s hungry eyes didn’t lie when they would touch and kiss and fuck the night away. But there were other moments that made the amnesiac question his sanity. Made him wonder.

Like when Stan would roll off of him and brush his hair out of his face, then gently wipe the mess they made off of Bill with a warm towel. Slinging one of those bulky arms across Bill’s slender torso and tugging him close as they drifted into unconsciousness, one of the only ways Bill could comfortably sleep. Early mornings where they'd drink their coffee across the table from one another, and Bill would burn his tongue because he was too impatient, and Stan would just chuckle into his mug, a fond smile almost hidden behind the rim. Late nights in the basement when Bill would ramble aloud about the equations or brainstorm new ways to meld together the parts, and Stan would listen, watching him with an intense focus Bill rarely saw directed towards anything or anyone else. Or just quick little moments throughout the day where Bill swore there was a glimmer of something that was only there for him. Only for Stan to flirt with the prettiest girl on the next tour or buy another fully-clothed women magazine or make a comment to Bill about some hot actress on TV.

All this was to say that William was being pulled apart in every which way, all by Stanley. Like a marionette with too many strings that kept getting caught and twisted on each other, leaving him a hollow body with disjointed limbs. He was surprised he had lasted this long. He was even more surprised that he had let it last so long, that he would allow someone else to influence his emotions to this degree. But the fear of losing everything, of exposing himself to the one person who could hurt him the most, kept him from seeking the truth. The truth was bound to be awful anyways, so he might as well avoid it, right?

Besides, he was fine! This was just a weird phase he had found himself caught in! It happened to everyone at some point in their miserable mortal lives. Bill would just have to push through it.

In the meantime, he begrudgingly yearned. He yearned just like the pathetic male leads in the period dramas he and Stan watched on the couch.

He wanted to be able to lick the sweat off of Stan’s forehead whenever he wanted. He wanted to comb his fingers through Stan’s fluffy locks and inspect his scalp, instead of only being able to pull at the strands during dirty talk. He wanted Stan to press a kiss against his eye just for the sake of kissing him. He wanted Stan to give him all of his attention, his devotion, his life. And he wanted to give Stan all of his, too. And he hated it.

It hurt his ego in ways he never thought possible. To be so tormented and controlled by such a vile, incomprehensible, emotion whose purpose derived from ensuring the human race boned and reared more humans. Now it had taken over Bill, and even worse, he couldn't make it go away yet. And he tried. He ignored, denied, and lied about it to himself once he was aware of its presence. But it never sold. William Birch’s heart hadn’t bought it, and he didn’t know what to do.

So here he was: miserable in the worst way possible with no relief. Every day was its own unique brand of agony and bliss. But at least he had Stanley in ways no one else could. Bill could never be replaced. He’d never let that happen. And so, he endured.

“The best duo there is,” he agreed, eye instinctively searching for his dark knight in elastic armor.

“It must be real nice getting to work with your boyfriend every day,” she added, taking a sip from her solo cup with a loud slurp.

Bill froze. “Come again? I think you got your mouth sounds jumbled there for a sec.”

“Oh, is he your fiancée now? When did you get engaged?” Lazy Susan grabbed his wrist to inspect his left hand. Bill let it happen, too taken aback to do or say anything.

“Wh-what?! NO; we’re not engaged!” The clown-painted man finally blustered, snatching his wrist back and holding his hand to his chest, hiding it from prying eyes. Well, eye.

She squinted at him. “...married? I didn’t see the announcement in the gazette though…”

“WE’RE NOT-” He started to shout before catching himself. Calm down, Birch. This wasn’t something that should be getting you so worked up over. Especially in front of the customers. Already the crowd surrounding him was giving him weird glances.

“I mean, I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression,” he corrected smoothly. “Mr. Mystery and I are just business partners. Nothing more.”

Someone next to him spit out their drink in shock onto Toby Determined Sr.

Bill looked around. Everyone who had heard his announcement were giving him a mixture of bewildered and pitying looks.

“What? What’s wrong?”

The newly wedded Valentino couple, who had come as The Creature and His Bride, seemed to decide that this was the perfect time for an intervention.

“Mr. Birch, do you mean to say that the two of you aren’t a couple?” Janice asked, voice soft as if she were warily approaching a skittish animal. Bill inwardly bristled at the tone, but made sure to remain smiling, even if the grin turned a bit more menacing.

“That’s exactly right, Jan! A completely platonic relationship is all you’ll find between us,” he confirmed, lying.

“Weren’t you spotted with hickies on your neck at the grocery store last Monday,” that weird ugly goblin man brought up, mopping up the liquid that stained his costume with a bunch of napkins.

“I plead the fifth.”

Greg gasped, “Oh no! You broke up, didn’t you?”

“No,” annoyance started to leak into Bill’s peppy tone. “We have never been a thing.” At least, not in the way they were thinking.

The crowd muttered amongst themselves and cash was passed between hands.

“What the-were you all BETTING on Stan and I’s relationship?!” Bill shouted, the unflappable persona gone. “Why?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Susan apologized. “We all thought it was so, y’know, obvious. With how the two of you are together. It seemed natural. ”

A symphony of murmured agreements surrounded Bill.

Well THAT didn’t make him feel any better, even with the vindication he had received. If practically the entire town, who was known for being so oblivious to the reality of Gravity Falls, could clearly see that there was something more between them, how could Stanley not? Was he purposefully ignoring the signs? Or did they just not register in his dumb, hollow skull?

Bill had tried to drop veiled hints in the past, despite simultaneously telling himself that he didn’t actually want Stan. It was just to see if his partner would take the bait! The silent sales pitches were meant to imprint on the thick-headed oaf that the product, Bill’s love, was something he absolutely needed, even if he didn’t realize it.

Arranging rat bones (because carcasses were considered “a biohazard” or something) to spell out “STANLEY” on the floor, stringing together a necklace made out of reindeer teeth as a holiday present, forcing Stan to sit on his cushion as Bill played the piano in the parlor for “practice”, holding the larger man longer than necessary in bed…How had the other con artist not fallen for him yet?! Not begged Bill to be his one and only forever until one of them croaked? It was maddening, and only served to solidify to Bill that the chemically induced hypnosis was secretly the most diabolical experience in existence. And powerful.

“Oh, um, don’t look now, but…” Toby Sr. pointed towards the edge of the Shack, the side of the building closer to the wilderness. Bill followed the twisted finger. He wished a moment later that he hadn’t.

There, leaning an arm against the wall, was Stanley. His Man-Bat mask was pushed up to rest on his forehead, a few locks of hair escaping the helmet-covering. He was smiling down at a shorter woman who he had caged in with his body, but she didn’t appear to mind. With her sleek, black shiny leather jumpsuit that complimented every curve of her physique and perfectly painted lips and eyes, she was a dead ringer for Lady Kitty, the reoccurring love interest of Man-Bat. The comic-accurate version, too. It was as if they were lifted straight off the flimsy, shiny pages.

Bill watched as his partner leaned down even further and murmured something into her ear, probably some cheesy one-liner that still came off as charming, and she covered her mouth as she giggled, pushing at Stanley’s shoulder teasingly. Her other hand smoothed over her torso, sharp nails tracing down her cleavage, an invitation to follow them and look. Stan’s eyes clearly did, the whites contrasting greatly with the dark eye paint.

Ah. There was his answer. He could never be like that. He had forgotten, given how accepting Gravity Falls was of the oddities in its citizens, that most of the country did not expect Stan and Bill to be together. Stan was supposed to go after women like her. And so he was. He always had at the end of the day. Bill had just…well, been too blind.

He had to get out of here. For once, the feeling of everyone’s eyes on him felt suffocating instead of empowering.

“I need a drink,” he managed to rasp out, before making a beeline to the refreshments. No one stopped him.

Bill filled the biggest solo cup he could find to the brim, ready to make this night disappear from his mind. He added a few more mixers to the forest juice to make a heaving serving of “I’m Fine Juice”. This was a healthy coping mechanism!

Then a large arm slung itself across his shoulders as his contemplations shifted to how he could “accidentally” poison that bitch’s drink and end her time at the party prematurely and pulled him in close to its owner. A hot mouth breathed into his ear, “Got some for me?”

“Wha-”

Stan reached out and grabbed Bill’s drink, knocking it back and downing about a fourth of the liquid. He set it down, coughing slightly. “Holy fuck, that’s strong. Are you trying to get fucked up? Remember, we gotta keep an eye on the attendees. I think I just saw the Grendinators go in bathroom together. Don’t wanna think about what they’ll make in there.”

“Yeah, because you’re being so vigilant,” Bill drawled, agitation leaking into his tone. “Keeping an eye out while you shoot your shit, right?”

The vigilante smiled at the reminder of the woman. Bill’s skin crawled. “You saw that, right? She’s a huge fan of the series, so she made her own Lady Kitty costume. And damn if it doesn’t look great on her. And guess what?”

Bill gritted his teeth. “What?”

“She likes what she sees too,” Stan gloated, seemingly oblivious to Bill’s rapidly souring mood. “Said that she loves a man in a hero suit.”

“Does she now.” Bill picked up his cup.

“But she loves taking a man out of the hero suit, too,” Stan finished, shaking Bill slightly. “Whaddya think of that! She can’t resist me! And who could blame her? I’m irresistible.”

Bill finished his drink in one go, gulping down the strong liquor in record time. Once it was emptied, he crushed the cup and threw it down. “She may wanna get her head examined,” Bill responded. “Check if she’s been displaying signs of insanity recently. Being into you is the first symptom.” Bill would know.

Stan looked taken aback at the vitriol Bill’s words held before he let go, offended. “I’ll have you know that she VERY much is of sound mind and body. I’m pretty sure. What? Can’t believe that someone could ACTUALLY be into me? I don’t see anyone hanging around YOU.”

Bill saw red. Oh he never hated Stanley Pines more than in that moment.

“THEN GO! Go swap spit with some one-dimensional, air-wasting, washed out looking faux-leather fur ball who’s gonna leave you high and dry when she sees your girdle and smells your pits! I couldn’t care less what disgusting activities you do and who you do them with! And FYI? Everyone’s gonna think you’re cheating on me!”

Bill stormed away, and Stan made no move to stop him. Fine, Bill understood. Stan may not see him as an easy lay, but sex was the limit to their intimacy and closeness. He couldn’t give Bill anything else substantial. Hadn’t he told Bill in the beginning? That it didn’t mean anything? Bill was the fool who looked too deeply into the little things, and even as he tried to lose feelings, held onto a glimmer of hope. He should have taken Stan’s words at face value and left it at that. Now all he was left with was a whirlwind of ugly sensations that were battling it out in his chest, like a strong punch to his heart leaving a crater behind.

He leaned against one of the trees, inhaling heavily. He couldn’t tell if he was about to puke or pass out. Was he breathing? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he felt as if he were dying with his chest falling apart and eye blazing as if an inferno was swirling inside it.

“Hey, are you okay?” an unfamiliar voice asked from behind him, concerned.

Bill whirled around, already taking a few startled steps back.

“Woah, sorry!” A tall man dressed in another Man-Bat costume held up his hands in surrender to show he came in peace. “I didn’t mean to scare you! I just saw you all alone and wanted to check on you.”

Bill straightened his spine immediately and forced himself to beam at the party goer, mask firmly shifting back in place. No weakness. Don’t show them anything they could use against you.

“Well aren’t you a hero, both inside AND outside,” he lauded. “Taking the time out of the festivities to check on me. But I’d hate as a host to take up any more of it. Go enjoy yourself! Remember that refills are $5 each!”

The man shuffled in place. “Well, you see, I’ve been meaning to talk to you all night. The Jester has always been my favorite character, and your costume is incredible. I wish I put more effort into mine,” he gestured down to himself. It was clearly taken straight off the shelves, fabric cheap and less detailed than Stan’s, but the man in the costume made it matter little.

His body was a dead ringer for Man-Bat’s: a sculptured V-shaped torso, abs literally showing through the costume, firm thighs, broad shoulders, defined chin…he was everything Stanley wished he could be. The perfect specimen. A light bulb went off in Bill’s head.

He stepped closer, loosening his body language to be more inviting and personal. “No, no, you look great like this.” He pulled lightly at the man’s cape teasingly. “Does that mean you like what you see?” Bill gestured to all of himself, leaning into the stranger’s personal bubble as he looked up, glad to be wearing his fake eye for the occasion. The taller man swallowed, eyes not once looking away from Bill.

“Very much, yeah.”

Success

Bill hummed, casually reaching up and brushing off an imaginary piece of dust from Man-Bat’s symbol on his chest. He felt his companion’s inhale get caught in his throat. “I’m so glad we’re on the same page, then.”

~

The next hour was spent with Bill stringing Man-Bat along, bringing him over to get refreshments, on the house even, and fawning over him as they danced to the music. Bill took great care to be as loud as he could be with his laughter so that he and his new toy for the night couldn’t be missed. He wanted everyone to know what he was doing.

Man-Bat was a visitor in town for the holiday. Apparently, he was Manly Dan’s cousin from upstate, which explained his frankly inhuman body and great strength. Thankfully, he was better at holding a conversation than his relative, but that didn’t mean it was anything to write home about. It was all the same old routine: what’s your name, where are you from, what’s your opinion on axes, why do you like Man-Bat, etc etc.

But Bill didn’t need him to be a wordsmith. He just needed the guy to be his arm candy and give Bill his undivided attention for the rest of the night. The looks he received from the crowd as he giggled and hung from the man’s buff neck told him they knew what he was doing, but no one called him out. It was like watching a trainwreck. You could only watch it crash and combust.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bill could make out a dark figure standing at the edge of the crowd, completely still. Watching Bill. Well, let him. Let him see what he was missing out on, even if he never was truly interested. Stanley had every opportunity possible to be the one holding Bill, but he didn’t take any of them. He deserved to be on the sidelines, on the outside peering in.

By then, the night was almost 1 AM with the peak of the party fast approaching. After that, the guests would start to depart slowly until only the stragglers remained. Bill still wasn’t sure how he wanted the night to end. He’d think about it once it came.

Bill felt the huge hands that had completely circled his waist squeeze him lightly, bringing his attention back to his dance partner. The man’s eyes drank him in, and Bill felt himself shiver at the clear want that was held in them. At least this guy knew what he wanted and chased after it! That put him two for two above Dumbo.

“You’re such a great dancer,” Bill smoozed, tightening his hold around the man and swaying with him. “I never thought I’d have this much fun tonight, but I was wrong.”

“I feel the same,” Man-Bat rumbled. “I don’t want it to end when the party’s over, though. Can I…” he paused, but seemed to gather the strength to finish the request, “...take you home tonight?”

Oh…OH! OH WOWIE! Bill felt a rush of satisfaction and pride flow through him. The most conventionally attractive guy at the party wanted HIM! But that would mean…could Bill really…

Why was he hesitating? Stan would sleep with that pussy cat if given the chance, right? Why shouldn’t Bill take this opportunity to finally sleep with someone else? The idea of it, instead of feeling exciting and empowering, felt wrong. He pushed the dread to the side and awarded the big man with an approving nod.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” Bill made himself purr, pressing a bit closer to the large body against him. It felt like a brick wall. Very uninviting and solid. Not at all like Stan’s soft, comfortable build…huh, who said that?! Certainly NOT Bill. Not when he had a bodybuilder in front of him who was into him.

But he needed a moment to gather himself now that things were getting more serious. He may sleep with a guy he barely knew. Humans did it ALL the time and just moved on. No feelings. Just physical sensations. No meaning.

“I’ll be right back,” he assured Man-Bat, deftly slipping out of his embrace and, after a little wave, headed towards the Shack to use the restroom. Center himself. Freshen up a bit. Maybe spray more of that perfume…should he go for more musky? Or Gentle Ocean Breeze? Or-

He didn’t get far before he collided with someone on the porch.

“Hey, watch the merchandi-” Bill cut himself off as he realized who he bumped into. Or, rather, who bumped into him. Stanley looked almost imposing as he glowered at Bill, his dark attire and intimidating mask adding to his displeased aura. Bill rolled his eye in annoyance. Of course.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” Stan barked out, folding his arms like a disappointed parent.

“Uh, going to use the bathroom? Why? Do you need to know what I’m gonna do on the toilet?” Bill shot back, already feeling defensive, like he was caught doing something wrong. “I’m feeling more like I gotta piss, but you know how that can lead into-”

“Oh shut your yaps! What are you doing with Man-Bat on steroids?” Stan cut him off, not in the mood for Bill’s games. Fine. Bill wasn’t in the mood for Stanley right now, either.

“Oh, him?” Bill looked out into the crowd and caught said man’s gaze. He twiddled his fingers at him and got an enthusiastic wave in return. “I decided to take a page out of your book. Have some fun with hot strangers. Now that guy’s all over me, like a mosquito getting trapped in amber.”

“More like you’re all over him, hanging off his shoulders like a circus monkey,” Stan muttered darkly. “You think you look cute or something? It just looks pathetic, throwing yourself at the first guy who shows you attention.”

Bill looked pathetic? Stan thought HE was PATHETIC?!

Bill shoved them both through the door and into the house for some semblance of privacy. He got up in Stan’s face, sneering. “The call’s coming from inside the Shack, you attention-seeking, fumbling bastard,” he hissed. “Following around whichever woman flashes her tits first and talks to you for more than five minutes. Where is she now, huh?!” He pushed at Stan’s chest, making the man stumble back a bit. “And what? Can’t fathom that someone could ACTUALLY be into me? Well guess what! That hunk is gonna be taking me on a one-way ticket to pound-town tonight!”

“As if!” Stan immediately dismissed it, but he didn’t seem too confident in his words. Bill puffed out his chest, oozing pride.

“He asked if he could take me home,” Bill revealed, gloating. “Whaddya think of THAT?”

The truth of his words must have been heard by Stan. For the first time, the huff and puff he had been keeping up drained away, leaving him to look disbelieved and off-balanced. He stared at Bill incredulously.

“You-you’re not actually gonna do it, are you?” He pressed, almost desperate. “What did you say to him?”

Bill suddenly wished he hadn’t said anything. “I mean…nothing’s set in stone, you know? It’s just an option.”

“William, come on,” Stanley stepped forward, hands moving to clutch at Bill’s shoulders. “Tell me: are you going home with him tonight? Did you tell him yes?!”

“Well I didn’t tell him no…” Bill trailed off. The hands on his shoulders tightened.

“You can’t!” Stan burst out. “You can’t go home with him!”

“Why not?!” Bill gripped Stan’s wrists. “He’s the only one who actually WANTS me. Give me ONE good reason not to.”

Stan licked his lips, breathing heavily from his outburst. Bill’s eye tracked the tongue’s movement. “I-”

The sounds of terrified screaming cut off Stan. The two paused, before clambering to look out the Shack’s window.

From what they could see, the crowd had backed up against the Shack, seemingly frightened of something coming from the woods. Stan urgently shook Bill’s shoulder.

“What could it be? Werewolves? Vampires?” He threw out the most generic monsters he could think of.

Bill listened closely, the sounds of manly grunting and shouting interspersed with roaring made the identity of their party crashers obvious. “Ugh. No: it’s just some Manotaurs hunting the Multi-Bear again.”

Bill didn’t care much for the Manotaurs. They had made fun of his thin arms and legs when they would bump into Bill during their daily jogs in the forest. Then they got offended when Bill said that he’d rather look like this than a jacked-up beef monster with a neck the circumference of a truck tire. He had then been given a bunch of free coupons that advertised their weight-lifting classes in case he wanted to be “a real manly man” and get over his obvious jealousy of their bodies. The paper made good kindling, at least.

The Multi-Bear, on the other hand, was much less annoying. Bill had accidentally stumbled across his cave during an exploration, and he was polite enough to provide Bill with detailed directions around the area. Why the Manotaurs felt such a rivalry with the many-headed beast still wasn’t clear to Bill, though. Maybe they just had an inferiority complex towards a creature that was much cooler looking than they were.

Stan cursed, gripping his long cape in his gloved hands and twisting it tightly. “Well, what do we gotta do to get rid of them?”

“Uh, we don’t? Unless you want the Manotaurs to twist your spine into a jump rope.”

“They actually do that?!”

“Nope! But they could. They get territorial over their fights. It’s a big part of their masculinity, apparently.”

“But no one will come back to the Mystery Shack if we can’t get rid of the pests. You helping me or not?”

“Ugh, fine.”

Stan cleared his throat as they came out of the Shack together and descended down from the porch, garnering the attention of the crowd. “It’s ok everyone! Mr. Mystery and Mr. Mystique will get everything under control so you party people can keep groovin’ and having fun! Please, to show us support, shove some bills into my utility belt’s pouch. It’s the least you could do.”

The mass immediately surrounded them, babbling out pleas to save them interspersed with questions about what was going on. As Stan gleefully shoved the money into his seemingly-endless glorified fanny pack, Bill offered explanations, reassuring people that “No, we’re not in danger! This is just a very elaborate party trick!” or “Leaving now will cost you an exit fee of a hundred dollars”.

They managed to get through the throng of bodies and cautiously make their way to where the Manotaurs were facing off against the Multi-Bear, both groups growling at each other, with Stan assuming position next to Bill like a bodyguard.

“Wow! Now aren’t you all a sight for sore eye!” Bill took the lead before Stan could open his fat mouth and get them smashed into the ground. “What a…delight it is to have you join us! For some reason. What’s the occasion?”

“Stay away, humans! This is part of our ritual to cross into true manhood!” One of the Manotaurs proclaimed, voice not as deep as it should have been. Bill inspected the furry bull men, noting that they were shorter than average and not as muscle-y for their kind, which was still very buff. They must be juveniles trying to prove themselves.

“Hey, beasties, maybe you’re hard of seeing or hearing or everything, but this is our property, and we were in the middle of hosting the biggest event of the season before you all dropped by and spooked our customers,” Stan made his complaints heard. “So go get!” He made a shooing motion like one would to an annoying dog.

Bill smacked the back of Stan’s neck, hard. His yelp made Bill feel a bit better. “What my partner meant to say was, what can we do to end this as quickly as possible? In a way that doesn’t result in the mass destruction of our business?”

“Since they are set on killing me, I don’t think that’s likely,” the Multi-Bear’s main head spoke, the other heads snapping and snarling defensively. The young Manotaurs grunted in agreement.

“Well, does it have to be a bloody battle to the death for you to prove your manliness or whatever?” Stan asked. “Because I think I have a great idea for your dick measuring contest!” He spread out his arms and did some jazz hands. “A dance battle!”

Bill, the Manotaurs, and the Multi-Bear all looked at him, unimpressed. He dropped his hands. “Come on, it’s a great idea! Dance battles are used all the time by gangs on TV! We already got a DJ, and our party guests won’t hafta leave. You could use them to decide the victor since they’ll judge you only by your performances. Totally unbiased!”

Bill rolled the thought around. The lack of bloodshed may not be appealing to the Manotaurs who loved bloodshed, but the ridiculousness of the situation was bound to be entertaining one way or the other if they could get them to agree. “Honestly? Not the worst idea you could have came up with.”

“I like dancing.” The Multi-Bear seemed to seriously be considering it.

One of the other Manotaurs scoffed in disgust. “Dancing? How unmanly!” His comrades thumped their bare chests in agreement.

“If you can’t dance, just say so,” Stan shrugged. “No shame in not being good at something. Or are you too chicken to even try? Now that doesn’t sound very manly to me!”

The Manotaurs all exchanged a glance. “We will have a dance competition.”

And so, Stan and Bill quelled the rabble and managed to play off everything as a surprise dance battle between two dance teams who had dressed in very realistic costumes for the occasion. Now calmed and feeling safe, the crowd eagerly watched as the monsters began to get into formation. Stan worked the crowd with Bill, collecting bets on which team would win to add to the pot, not that they were giving back any of the cash.

“Aren’t I full of great ideas?” Stan asked Bill, visibly pleased at how much of a profit they were raking in. Bill simply nodded, not bothering to stroke Stan’s ego, before walking over to the other side of the group. Stan frowned, watching him go. Next to him, the Valentinos just clicked their tongues and shook their heads at him. Whatever. Stan knew he had messed up tonight, though he still didn’t want to confront exactly how he was wrong. That was for later.

They decided on five rounds: the first team to three wins would be the champion. The winner of each round would be decided by the amount of applause. You could only cheer for one team. In case there was a tie, it would be a lightning round of performing your best moves.

The first round was won by the Manotaurs, who decided to go with the classic Halloween song “Shocker” in a coordinated dance. It was clichéd, but a good and solid performance.

The second round also went to the Manotaurs with their break dancing moves that had them spinning rapidly on the top of their heads, their horns making drawings in the dirt. Bill swore that the Multi-Bear’s eyes were about to fall out of his heads at the sight. The guy had to get out of his cave more.

The third round saw the Multi-Bear make a comeback with a swing song that was very groovy and high-energy. You wouldn’t have expected it from his large and bulky body and several legs, but he really knew how to make it work.

The fourth round the Multi-Bear continued to hold onto his victory as he chose a BABBA song to show off his disco moves to, much to the Manotaurs’ disgust over pop music. Even though Bill swore he could see a couple of them tapping their hooves to the beat.

At last, the fifth round approached. In a surprising twist, the Manotaurs decided to go for a ballet rendition of a moving ballad. The large, furry beats were actually very light on their feet. The Multi-Bear somehow managed to get himself big-enough tap shoes and emulated some showtunes, click-clacking all around. They ended in a tie.

“And we have a LIGHTNING ROUND,” Stan declared, taking on the announcer role. The people cheered with excitement. “PLACE YOUR BETS AS TO WHO’S GONNA COME OUT ON TOP: THE MANOTAURS….” He gestured towards the furry men, who gave off a loud bellow in unison, “...OR THE MULTI-BEAR?” He turned the other way to the Multi-Bear, who waved shyly to the crowd, a bit embarrassed from the attention.

“MAY THE BEST DANCERS WIN!” Stan finished. He stepped back to let them start.

What followed was each team’s best attempts to have a “dance fight”: going up to a member of the opposing team, dancing in their face, then giving them the floor to “roast” you back. It was the stupidest thing Bill had ever seen, but entertaining. And the crowd was loving it!

The two business owners watched on proudly. “Now this is a night that will be talked about for years to come,” Stan proclaimed gleefully. He glanced over at Bill who had yet to look at him, faltering a bit. “It all worked out, yeah?”

They were lucky that the forest creatures went along with Stan’s suggestion. They were lucky that the townsfolk easily accepted their sloppy excuses. So yeah, it all “worked out” at the end of the day. But Bill wasn’t satisfied. Not at all.

Bill opened his mouth to speak but was cut off when the Shack was suddenly surrounded by a group of red-robed people who had appeared from the darkness between the trees, their facial features concealed by long hoods that displayed an eye crossed out with an “X”. In every person’s hand, a strange looking gun with a bulb was firmly clasped. Bill and Stan glanced over at each other, confused.

Then they began to chant. “Novus ordo seclorum, novus ordo seclorum, novus ordo seclorum…”

The Manotaurs and the Multi-Bear, who looked upset that the last-minute interruption at such a crucial time, suddenly looked spooked, all somehow looking pale despite the fur obscuring their skins.

“It’s them,” The Multi-Bear whispered. “The Erasers.”

The Manotaurs backed away nervously. “Not even our humongous muscles can fight them! Run before they destroy your mind! We all know what happened to that one gnome that didn’t leave them alone!”

The monsters withdrew from the Shack, but the robed people did not give chase. They were firmly focused on the human congregation in front of them.

“Citizens of Gravity Falls!” One of them announced, deep voice projecting well. Bill tried to focus to see if he could recognize it from anywhere, but it didn’t ring a bell. “We are aware that tonight’s events have been deeply distressing and bothersome to all of you. But worry not! We are here to release you from your fears and end your suffering!”

Lazy Susan raised her hand. “Erm, I actually had a lot of fun tonight.”

Scattered voices from the other attendees showed their agreement: this was the best Halloween party in years. Bill felt a burst of pride despite the circumstances.

“Oh…well, too bad we’re gonna erase your minds anyway. Gentlemen? Start!” They started fiddling with their guns.

In that brief moment, Stan grabbed Bill and dragged him over to the bushes to conceal themselves.

”Get down,” Stan gasped, flinging himself over Bill and covering his body as they laid on the ground. The sound of several lasers being fired filled the air as they peeked through the shrubbery. Bill watched as the person closest to them, the woman dressed as Lady Kitty who had been the bane of his existence the entire night, got beamed in the face by a ray of light. He almost giggled.

Then the rays, once they had been shot at every person in the crowd, stopped. “Gravity Falls, what do you know of Manotaurs and the Multi-Bear?”

Everyone but Stan and Bill replied, “My mind is cleared, thanks to the Society of the Blind Eye.”

Bill froze. Mind? Cleared? Red robes? Now it all was coming together: this was the mysterious cult Ms. Ramirez mentioned years ago that Bill couldn’t find anything on in the library! He gestured for Stan to let him up a bit so he could watch better.

“It is unseen.” The cult declared in unison. “...Ok, everyone can go home now.” The leader added on. “Party’s over.”

“There was a party?” Janice asked, rubbing her temples.

“Must not have been very exciting if we can’t remember it,” her husband replied, pushing her along with the stream of people leaving. Stan whispered a bunch of expletives under his breath.

“We might have overdone it a bit,” the head robe muttered before speaking to his weird little possé. “Did we get everyone?”

“I do recall Mr. Mystery and Mr. Mystique jumpin’ outta the way earlier,” a southern twang responded. Bill instantly knew he had heard that voice before, but the stress of the situation was making it difficult to concentrate. “I’ll go take care of ‘em lickity split.”

“Shit shit shit,” Stan stayed crouched down as a large robed man came closer to their hiding spot. “Listen, on my count, we make a break for the trees, got it?”

Bill nodded, trusting Stan’s experience with running away to get them out of this. But they couldn’t run forever…

All too soon, a big shadow approached them.

“Three…two…one..GO!” Bill and Stan sprung out of the bush and dashed for the forest. They started out at the same pace, but Stan was more athletic and experienced than Bill, who began to flag behind even with Stan holding onto him. This made it easy for a big, meaty hand to grab the back of Bill’s costume and yank him backwards hard, ripping him from Stan’s grip. Bill immediately flailed, trying to be as squirmy as possible to somehow twist free. For his defiance, he was shook like a rag doll, further disorienting him. A warm light bulb was pressed against his temple.

“Now, even if this hurts, you won’t remember a thing,” the voice promised, and Bill’s blood ran cold. No! He couldn’t forget again! He didn’t want to forget his life! He didn’t want to forget St-

The robed man suddenly let out a squeak and fell to his knees, dropping Bill roughly to the ground as he clutched his nether regions. Familiar hands quickly brought Bill to his feet and there was Stanley, brushing his hair out of his eyes and holding his face as he was worriedly checked over. The white makeup from the Jester’s face stained Man-Bat’s dark gloves.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Stan frantically asked, eyes running over every possible places Bill could have gotten injured. “Because if he did I swear-”

“No, I’m A-okay, big guy,” Bill assured Stan, face betraying him once again as his cheeks grew warm. Thank the stars he was wearing face paint.

Stan looked over at the cult member who was still crouched down in pain. “Good. Now, who do you think this fucker is?”

“He’s definitely someone we know,” Bill asserted. “I’ve heard him before.”

“Well, ah am just touched,” the man gasped out, before raising the ray gun towards them. “That I left such an impression on your mind.”

“Oh no you fucking don’t,” Stan growled, lashing out a quick jab that hit the hand holding the gun. The force of the blow caused the gun to get flung against their opponent and shatter against his hooded face, a bright spark blinding the three of them.

Blinking rapidly, Bill let Stan lead them around the corner of the Shack as they hid themselves quickly. Another member came over to the man still on his knees.

“Hey, did you find them?”

“Ah…ah think so?” Their defeated foe rubbed his cloaked head before noticing the state of his gun. “Oh doggone it! It’s broken!”

The other member tutted disdainfully. “Leader isn’t gonna like that. Supplies are getting limited nowadays. Come on now. The night’s been long enough.” The two of them joined the rest of their group and they all left together. Once the sound of their cars, which must had been parked in the woods, rolled away, Stan and Bill emerged.

Stan let out a disbelieving laugh. “What the-what the hell just happened?”

Bill hysterically giggled. “Well it is the holiday for spooky rituals. Happy Halloween!”

~

“And don’t even get me started on that tacky symbol! The Society of the Blind Eye? So they just cross out an eye? How lame is that?!” Bill ranted, pacing back and forth in the parlor as they went over the play-by-play of the attack. “There are so many ways to go blind!”

Stan watched him cross the room over and over again from the cushion. “I mean, it gets the point across. No wonder I’ve been seeing that graffiti around Main Street.”

“Like a calling card…” Bill pondered. “Is that why everyone in this hick town is so brain-dead? Because those bathrobe-loving fanatics keep zapping their minds whenever something ‘odd’ happens?”

“I can’t believe that means none of ‘em will remember the party,” Stan complained. “There goes the best night of the year! Although,” he suddenly realized, “That means no one remembers the betting pool and won’t harass me for their winnings! Maybe there is a bright side to all this!”

Bill strode over to his metal hanger, he was gonna have to get a closet soon, and pulled out his yellow cloak. He flipped it over to show Stan the back.

The same eye as the Blind Eye Society’s only without the “X” crossing over it. Stan looked at it and shrugged. “Okay? Is it like Big Brother watching you or something?”

Bill rolled his eye and put the cloak away. “Come on, you nitwit, think about it! I show up wearing that symbol without any memories. The same symbol that your paranoid brother kept around the house, too. And now we find out there’s a shadowy group controlling the lives of the people in Gravity Falls by wiping their memories wearing the antithesis symbol?!”

“Well when you put it like THAT,” Stan put it together, “They must be the reason you can’t remember shit. A rival cult. And they’re why Ford was acting like he was a deer in hunting season. ‘Have you come to steal my eyes’...that was the first thing he asked me when I came. I thought he was snorting something crazy, but maybe it was actually a threat…” He eyed Bill’s closed lid.

For his own mental well-being at the moment, Bill chose not to think too closely about that possibility. If those pompous Latin-spewing dunderheads were the reason behind his deformity…

“Your twin was dedicated to uncovering the secrets of Gravity Falls,” Bill picked up the first journal he had been re-reading on his desk and flipped through the pages. “He wanted to publish his findings one day and let everyone know the truths of this wacky place.”

“And if that cult wanted to keep everyone in the dark,” Stan got up and walked over to Bill to look at the journal with him, “Then they would go after my brother.” His hands clenched into fists. “No wonder he was like that then. All alone in the woods, feeling like everyone was against him…” Stan knew how that felt.

Bill couldn’t help but place a hand on Stan’s arm upon noticing his distress. “So he reached out to you. Someone he could trust. To protect his work.” He finished the thought.

Stan choked out a bitter laugh. “And look what happened after that. I shoulda just listened to him and sailed away.”

“And how could you have known all that? He didn’t tell you anything!” Bill countered.

Stan turned away. “I always messed things up for Ford. Look at all he accomplished without me. And the second I was back in his life, I messed it up even worse.”

“Hey, hey; it looks like your brother’s life was already messed up without you coming back into it!” Bill tried to reason. “Cut it out with this melodramatic pity party and remember what we’re doing to fix it! The portal’s coming along, and before you know it, he’ll be back. We’ll get him back.”

Stan looked at Bill, searchingly. Bill held his gaze. He had nothing to hide from Stanley about this.

The brunette laid his hand over the blonde’s and squeezed it. “Okay,” he uttered. “Together?”

Bill huffed at the stupid question with such an obvious answer. “How else? We’re partners. You need me, Stanley.”

Stan nodded, tracing Bill’s fingers slowly. “I do. Need you.”

Bill swallowed harshly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Stan confirmed. “And you need me, too.”

Bill pulled his hand away. “Don’t get it twisted, I’d be fine on my own,” he tried to cover for himself, “But there are advantages to working with you. So.”

Stan smirked and cuffed the back of Bill’s neck. “Yeah, okay, so.” Bill tried to scowl but couldn’t stop his mouth from returning Stan’s teasing smile.

They left the parlor, both already cleaned up and ready for bed, though Bill’s hair still held a hue of green despite Stan’s insistence that the hair spray wouldn't dye it. Stan led the way upstairs and towards his room, acting as if this were like every other night where Bill would join him. Bill slowed to a halt in front of the room he hadn’t slept in for months.

All this time, he must have been hoping that their increased closeness would lead to something. That Stanley would change his mind. That his feelings would change and they’d become something more. Sure, Stan needed Bill, but not like that. Bill couldn’t let it go on anymore, despite such an action going against his deeply-set instincts.

“We should stop,” Bill rushed out. Before he lost his nerve and gave in to the comfortable, agonizing routine.

Stan paused outside his door. “Stop?”

“Yeah. All of..” Bill gestured around them “This. The touching. The sleeping together. It…it’s not working out. It’s not helping me.” He bitterly laughed. “If anything, it’s made me worse. I tried to be okay with it, but I can’t. I can’t pretend anymore.”

His partner turned around. “Pretend?”

Well, here goes nothing. As tempting as it was to deny deny deny, to shove everything down, if tonight had proven anything, it’s that Bill couldn’t remain unaffected by his feelings. He could only hope that after this they could move on. Leave Bill to lick his wounds in peace and get over it like every other mortal got over a silly, nonsensical crush. But…

Bill took a long look at Stanley Pines. His rapidly returning 5 o’clock shadow. His scruffy brown mop that was starting to gleam with a few gray strands. His overgrown hair covering his bulky arms and peaking out of his wife beater. The beer gut that sagged over his boxers. His big red nose and large outwards ears. His shrewd brown eyes. Eyes that looked at Bill and saw him. Not as Bill wanted to be seen, but who he truly was: a lying, unhinged, smooth-talking, megalomaniac who cried in his sleep and hated to be alone. And Stan accepted him. Enjoyed his company. Trusted him with his life and his brother’s. Who acknowledged Bill as his equal, even when Bill had nothing.

It was so much more than a crush. He had known that for a while, but was just starting to come to terms with that now.

“Pretend that I don’t want more,” Bill let the words hang between them for a moment before continuing. “That I don’t want you. That I don’t wanna be yours.”

“Bill-“

Bill held up a hand, already exhausted. “Look, I know how this goes, Stanley. Can we just skip the parts where you let me know you care about me but not in that way and I say I understand so we can just move on? I’m tired.”

Stanley stayed standing in front of his door. William opened the door to his old bedroom.

“Night, Ace. Don’t let the underground cult wipe your brain and bedbugs bite.”

He walked through the doorway and closed the door behind him. Bill was alone. His eyes felt uncomfortably wet. He meandered over to his bed and sat down heavily.

There. He did it. Did them both a favor and ended whatever charade of intimacy they had, even if he believed that the touches were grounding, the looks were clear, the passion was there, and the feelings were real.

His sharp nails dug into the comforter underneath him instead of his skin. He wanted to destroy it. For something to feel his wrath. Because he couldn’t harm the source of his pain. He didn’t want to.

Bill tore it off his bed and whipped it across the room. He pried at its seams, pulled it in several directions, even bit it. As if he had a vendetta against this blanket for slaughtering his entire dimension. He was just about to make his mirror his next target when the room’s door slammed open.

Stan watched Bill freeze, fist drawn back as he was about to punch his reflection. The comforter laid beaten on the floor, stuffing spilling out of it.

“Uh, is this a bad time?”

“Clearly!”

“Don’t care.”

Stan crossed the room to stand in front of Bill, who backed away until the back of his knees hit the mattress.

“Well, I do! Can’t you at least let me have this?” Bill shouted. Could a guy not even have a breakdown in peace?!

Stan stood firm. “What makes you think I don’t want you?”

“This again?! Are you really gonna grind this topic into the dirt? Wasn’t once enough?!” Bill demanded, irate that Stan was doing this to him.

“I said ‘What makes you think that I don’t want you?’” Stan repeated, not getting riled up.

Bill paused, processing the question. “You…you don’t want me, though. You never have.”

“Why do you think that?” Stan probed, still calm, encouraging Bill to think more deeply.

Bill scoffed. “What? Is this where you make me list out the reasons only for you to dismiss each claim I make and reveal your feelings for me that were there all along but you never showed me? Sounds like the end to every generic, low-budget, contrived rom-com that sucks at the rom and lacks any com.”

“Oh, those are the worst ones,” Stan agreed. “So let’s skip to the chase: I do want you. Like you want me. And yeah, I didn’t want you to know how I felt, so I just never said anything.”

The former vagabond let his vague confession get processed by the former vagrant.

Bill’s face grew red. “Yeah, right. You think you're being funny or something? I’ve strung myself along for far too much time; I don’t need you to pick up where I left off.”

“The only people I string along are the people who visit the Mystery Shack to buy more merchandise,” Stan shot back. “And there ain’t nothing funny about how I feel. You want to hear the truth? Here it is.”

Stan took a deep breath and did something even the amateaur con man knew to never do: come completely clean.

“When you’ve been out in the world and lived in it like I have, you learn to never let anyone in too close. Yeah, ‘course you want someone you can rely on, to help you out when the going gets tough, but there’s too many risks. And the closer they are to you, the worser they can hurt you.”

Stan plopped himself on the edge of the bed. Bill mimicked the action.

“That’s how life is. Even your family can’t be what you need them to be,” Stan mused, looking up at the ceiling. “So when you have to make a deal with someone, especially someone you don’t know or trust, you gotta be careful. See what they want and how far they’ll go to get it. Trust what you know about them instead of the person.”

Bill so badly wanted to interject at this point, but understood that he had to let Stanley keep talking, especially when he was being so candid. It was honestly unsettling.

“That’s how I operated with you at first. You were the weirdest lunatic I ever met, sticking forks into your arms and shit, but I could understand you, even if you didn’t know yourself. I knew what your problems were and what you wanted. I worked with that, and I thought I could make it work as long as it got Ford out of that portal. But things changed.”

Stan turned to look at Bill, pensive expression shifting to something warmer. “You changed. And then the way I felt about you changed. Instead of someone I had to work with, a partner only in name, you actually became my partner. My number two. My friend. You helped me. You taught me. You believed in me…not a lot of people have done that. And you meant it, too. That’s what did me in.”

Bill swallowed, mouth dry. “Why didn’t you say anything? Because you were ashamed? Because you still didn’t trust me?” Then, in a quieter voice as he looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap, “Didn’t you see how I looked at you?”

“I saw. But I looked away. I had to.”

”Had to?”

A rough finger gently tilted his chin upward so that his blue clashed against Stan’s brown.

“You scare me, William,” Stanley whispered, the hot breath spilling onto Bill’s face and making him shudder. “The way you make me feel. The things I want to do with you. Being your partner, when we’re running the Shack and working in the basement, makes me feel like I can do anything. Hell, you even got me to chase after that dumb childhood dream I thought died a long time ago. What would happen to me if I lost you? What if I mess up again and you leave me, too?”

Stan’s thumb caressed the side of Bill’s face, along his jawline, hypnotizing the other man with the touch. “Just look at my track record: nothing good ever lasts for me. This whole schtick was as close as I could get to having you without actually having you. I didn’t want what we had to become real only for it to then fall apart. I wouldn’t be able to take it.”

Bill leaned into Stan’s hand, nuzzling it as his faith was restored and his confidence grew. “Yes, you would. You’re strong. The strongest man I know.”

“See? That’s what makes you so dangerous: you lie so easily to everyone else but when you say shit like that to me, you mean it. That’s never not come with a price.”

“Well, I’ll just have to evade the collector,” Bill declared, pressing a kiss into Stan’s palm. “I’m not gonna let what-ifs stop me from getting what I want.”

Stan’s hand shook. Bill steadied it.

“Come on, Stanley,” Bill beseeched. “Give us a shot. A chance to be even happier together. I know we can be. The best couple this town’s ever seen. They already know it. And even if it doesn’t work out, which it will by the way, I’ll still be your partner. I won’t ever leave you.”

“I…” Stan wavered. “You promise? No matter what?”

Bill held out his pinky. “No matter what.”

Stan contemplated the offered finger and came to a decision. He connected his own pinky to it and allowed their thumbs to pressed together, sealing the oath. They stayed there for a moment, beholding their joined hands.

Bill grinned delightedly, euphoria already beginning to course through his veins alongside his blood. He felt alive. “Smart choice! Guess you’re stuck with me now, Slick!” He suddenly sobered. “And if you try to leave me, I will maim your non-vital regions with nails and make you pray to the salamander god that you were dead. I won’t be picked up and thrown away if you change your mind.”

Stan returned Bill’s smile, if a bit nervously. “Not gonna happen, but if it’s by your hands, I can think of worse ways to go. I do pity your exes, though. If you even have any.”

“Oh, who cares about those may-or-may-not exist losers!” Bill pushed Stan flat across the bed such that Stan’s head got cushioned by the pillows as Bill crawled in between his legs. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re all I ever wanted.”

“Oh yeah? What about that cheap-looking Man-Bat guy?” Stan asked, an undercurrent of bitterness to the question.

“Who? Oh, him? Nah, wasn’t my type,” Bill dismissed. He had totally forgotten about all that. Whoopsie.

“What?! Why; are you blind or something?”

Bill placed each of his hands on each side of Stan’s face, corralling him in place. “My impaired visual range has got nothing to do with it. I just appreciate the view in front of me more. I only entertained him so that you would watch me. It worked, didn’t it?”

“Only because it was so obnoxiously in my face,” Stan scoffed, though obviously pleased by the admission. “Were you really that upset over that lady?”

“Well, with you yapping on and on about how much she wanted to undress you, I can’t say that I was a fan. One would think that YOU were trying to get ME jealous with how much you shoved it in my face.”

“...”

“...seriously? You were?!”

“Hey, it’s nice to be complimented by a stranger once and while! Means you still got it! So I wanted you to know that I still got it,” Stan fumbled through his so-called “logical thinking”.

“For future reference, you trying to make me jealous will just lead to a homicide charge. You can guess if you’ll still be alive or not at the trial.”

“If they can catch you,” Stan winked. Bill cackled freely.

“Exactly right, Fez. If. Look at you! Knowing me so well~”

“It’s hard not to.”

Bill leaned down, the tips of their noses touching teasingly soft. “I think we should celebrate this new milestone.”

Stan blushed, peering up at Bill. “You really won’t regret this?”

“Never,” Bill promised, before capturing Stan’s lips in a kiss. It was way more PG than their usual make-out sessions, soft and slow and sweet, but Stan melted into it, wrapping his arms around Bill’s neck and cradling him close. As if holding him tightly like this would keep them like this forever. Bill would gladly surrender to such a fate. With Stanley Pines, William Birch was satisfied.

But he wanted more now as the touches became more heedy and urging. Bill took the time to ravish Stan’s torso once he ripped off the tank, sucking love-bites onto the hairy chest and trailing kisses along the soft stomach much to Stan’s pleased embarrassment. Fulfilling all of the fantasies he’s had for months but kept locked inside his brain in fear of being off-putting his insecure bed partner.

“You don’t gotta do all that,” Stan hid behind his hands as Bill traveled lower and lower, goatee tickling the sensitive flesh. “Just to make me fe-feel good,” he gasped, panting as his body heat soared.”I know it ain’t too nice to look at. I’m a real fat fuck.”

Bill lightly nipped below Stan’s belly button in admonishment. “You know I hate self-flagellation. You are a sexy, gorgeous man who rules the con-scene of this town with an iron fist alongside me. You deserve to be treated as such. And I am a very willing devotee. But I expect to be worshiped as well in return.”

A wet sniff was all he got in reply. Bill looked up to see that Stan was still concealing his face during their exchange.

“You don’t gotta hide your leakage,” Bill reached up and slowly pried away the fingers. “I want to see all of you, Starlight.”

A stream of tears covered both sides of Stan’s face, eyes still dripping and nose stuffy. A sight that should have provoked Bill to laugh in ridicule at such a pathetic display instead made the air catch in his esophagus. Stanley Pines was beautiful. And all his.

“Sorry,” Stan choked out. “I dunno why I’m like this.”

“I do.” Bill tilted Stan’s face closer. He stuck out his tongue and lapped at the trail of wetness that had dripped all the way down to Stan’s chin. Stan initially flinched back, but didn’t pull away as Bill continued to smother him affectionately with the wet appendage.

“You haven’t been done good by anyone in a long time,” Bill worked his way over to the other side. “Your body doesn’t understand it. But you’ll learn. I’ll teach you. We have all the time we need.” He finished his weird facial, practically getting his spit in Stan’s cornea.

Stan could only stare disbelievingly at Bill. “You’re such a freak. I can’t believe that you just did that.”

The saltiness coated Bill’s mouth. It rose to the top of his list of favorite flavors.

“And you just let it happen. So we’re both freaks.”

Bill then scooted back on the bed, hovering in between Stan’s thighs as he gripped them apart. “And there’s so many things this freak wants to do to you. For you. Will you let me in, Stanley? Show you just how much I want you? Want to treat you right? I can make you feel so good…” He could feel Stan’s body tense as he pressed his pelvis against Stan’s plush ass.

“I don’t…” Stan tried to find the right words, sitting up a bit on his forearms. “...I’ve never had a good time like this,” he admitted.

“Let me change that?” Bill asked, pausing any other movements. Waiting.

Stan lowered himself back down onto the bed and wrapped his legs around Bill’s slim waist. “...Yeah. I think I wanna try with you.”

Bill smiled, victorious.

Chapter Text

Stan figured it was gonna be a shitty day the instant he woke up.

His back was sore from bending over and lifting heavy equipment last night, an activity Bill never participated in, so it was all up to him to move the pieces into place as his more detail-inclined partner dictated the instructions to him. A specific area on his shoulder always acted up once and a while, too, just to remind him that it would always be there, even if it had fully healed years ago.

He had a throbbing gash over his right palm from where he cut himself on a sharp piece of metal. Was he supposed to have a shot for that? When was the last time he even went to the doctor? Eh, he just ran it under hot water, wrapped it up, and called it a day after Bill told him he was leaking on the floor.

His teeth were bothering him again. The past few years, they had been giving him more and more issues. Getting loose. Chewing his way out of a trunk probably didn’t do him any favors on top of not being able to keep up proper dental care on the road. Plus the fat cigars he’d smoke through day after day apparently were found to “negatively impact” his gums. That wasn’t good. A salesman was only as successful as his smile. Was he gonna need implants? Dentures? Ugh, he was too young for this. He was only 3-

Wait. No, he wasn’t. He turned over to face the small calendar he kept on his nightstand. June 16th. That made him a year older. Double ugh. No wonder it was a shitty day.

Stan flopped over and groaned into his pillow. It was Thursday. Could he get away with closing down the Mystery Shack for a long weekend? Or should he just power through, rake in cash while tourist season was in full swing, then drink the night away with said cash? He could have Bill take over the tours for tomorrow as he nursed a hangover. The other con artist probably wasn’t gonna like the mopey aura Stan was going to be exuding, but he wouldn’t have a problem playing Mr. Mystery for the day. Bill always put his own little twist on the role whenever he covered for Stan. And he didn’t look half bad in Stan’s cloth-

Woah; he must be more out of it than he thought. Time to get up!

He hauled himself out of bed ungracefully, accidentally landing on his bad hand and opening up the wound a tad bit, but managed to clean up half-decently in the bathroom. He finished tying his tie just as he walked down the stairs to the kitchen, but stopped as a peculiar smell became very noticeable. It smelled like…it almost reminded him of…well he had no clue what it was. But it was certainly something. And that meant someone was to blame.

Stan approached the kitchen and leaned against the entryway as he watched Bill “work his magic” over the stove. It usually resulted in Bill throwing every food he deemed as “breakfast” into a pan and creating some unholy combination of cuisines that all clashed. Stan would typically shut down “Cooking with Bill” before it could start and just have the blonde diva do simple prep tasks for him while Stan made the meal. But something was different for this installment of the series. Bill seemed to be flittering back and forth with a purpose, and actually was using a measuring cup. Stan almost couldn’t believe it.

As Bill moved to open the fridge, talking to himself aloud, Stan noticed an open book laying on the counter. Was that a cookbook? Was Bill actually following a recipe? He thought he’d never see the day given how adamant Bill was that his on-the-spot methods were always superior. Stan was too far away to make out the words or the picture on the open pages.

As he turned away from the fridge, a tub of butter in hand, Bill did a double-take when he saw Stan watching him. “WHAT THE- Stanley?! How long have you been there watching me like a creep?!” Bill demanded, holding a hand over his chest dramatically.

Stan shrugged casually, very amused at the scene he was witnessing. Despite wearing a frilly blue apron that read “I cook as good as I look”, Bill had managed to get spots of flour all over himself, and his sleeves looked like they were dipped in something yellow.

“Not long. What’s with the set up?” Stan racked his brain to see if there was anything happening today that could make Bill actually attempt to cook. There was nothing to his knowledge. “Special occasion?”

Bill rushed over and turned Stan around so he couldn’t see the stove, pushing him to sit at the table. “Pretty special, yeah,” Bill confirmed, placing a tall mug on the table, filling it with coffee, adding a bit too much sugar, and passing it to Stan. “Now don’t peek.”

Stan blew and sipped on the beverage. Just as he liked it. “You’re making breakfast? For me? You shouldn’t have.” He took another sip. Kinda suspicious. “You tryin’ to butter me up or something? You want a raise? ‘Cause you ain’t getting another this year.”

He heard Bill scoff as the sound of the spatula scraping against the pan filled the room. “I should be making 50/50 as your only partner. Really, I should go on strike and see how you like the major loss of profits.” Then a noise similar to something flopping on the floor interrupted Bill, and Stan could see out of the corner of his eye Bill scrambling to pick it up and put it back on the hot pan. “...you better ignore that.”

Stan held his hand up in surrender and continued to drink. Not his monkey, not his circus.

After a couple of minutes, he heard Bill plating whatever the hell he made. The smell had shifted to that of cooked flour, so Stan was getting a pretty good idea of what Bill was making.

“You better close your eyes now, Bruiser, or I’ll drop this hot food right on your dick,” Bill threatened as he made his way over to the table.

“Ooo I’m so scared,” Stan chortled, but went along with it, letting Bill place his concoction in front of Stan who kept his eyes shut. There was a bit of rustling around before Stan felt Bill stand behind him and cover Stan's eyes with his messy hands, getting speckles of flour on Stan’s cheeks. Which was kinda useless because what if Stan had already peeked? But he didn’t point that out. “Okay; one, two, three!”

Bill lowered his hands to rest on Stan’s shoulders, and Stan opened his eyes. In front of him sat a very lumpy pancake that was a bit too brown and looked deflated. In its center was a lit, melting, lopsided candle and too-large chocolate syrup lettering on top that spelled out “Happy Birthday” in shaky cursive.

“Ta-da!” Bill proclaimed proudly, squeezing Stan’s shoulders. “It’s the anniversary of you destroying your mother’s body as you forcibly exited her! You like disk-shaped sweet breads with fire on top, right? Most people do. So I made you my rendition of a Stancake: a Billcake! Gotta admit that it doesn’t quite have a ring to it, but my hair is definitely in there!”

“You…” Stan was at a loss for words.

“Are amazing? Generous? The best provider a guy could have? I know, but you should still say it,” Bill filled in the blank smugly, preening.

“How did you even find out?” Stan asked, still in a bit of shock. Bill pulled out a small rectangle out of thin air.

“Is this your card?” Bill waved Stanford’s expired driver’s license in front of Stan. “Better keep a closer eye on that, Slick. Don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.”

Stan reached out and quickly pocketed it, with Bill surrendering it easily enough.

“Better blow out your candle and make a wish or else it’s gonna cover most of the cake with wax.”

Mind swirling, Stan blew out the singular candle, making the same wish he made every other year: I want to save my brother. Who knew how many cumulative birthday wishes it would take to get that granted. Then again, his one-off wish on a star did come true…

Bill clapped obnoxiously behind him. “Great! Bone apple teeth or whatever those fake people with the fake accents say.” He then slid into the seat opposite of Stan and began to dig into his own pancake. Or, well, Billcake.

Stan cut into the food, noting that Bill hadn’t whisked the batter enough to get rid of the small lumps of flour that had ended up embedded throughout the cake. Thankfully, he didn’t add anything weird this time like mothballs or something, though Bill wasn’t lying when he said his hair was in it. The bottom was also burnt, and the texture was chewier than it should have been.

He ate the whole thing despite his teeth aching as Bill complained on and on about the vagueness of recipe directions, how was he supposed to know that “cracking an egg” into the bowl only meant the inside of the egg and not the shell, and how candles were clearly a scam pushed by the party industry that was owned by arsonists so you were more likely to burn your house down.

As their meal winded down, Bill went and collected the newspaper, tossing it to Stan with faux-casualness. “Anything new in the paper,” Bill asked, refilling his mug as if he wasn’t eying Stan with anticipation. Just what else did this guy have up his sleeve? Did he put something in the paper, like a shout-out? Stan just hoped it wasn’t anything too embarrassing.

He flipped through the pages as Bill sat down, seeing nothing amiss amongst the typical headlines talking about the upcoming Pioneer Day or advertising Bud’s stupid rip-off car business until he got to the daily comic section. Instead of the typical, lackluster panels and lame attempts at comedy he would heckle, Stan saw his. Lil’ Stan, as he had been calling it these past few years. The comic strip was one he had drawn a few months ago that he was particularly proud of.

At Bill’s urging, Stan had started picking up the pen in his free-time and drawing little comics for ideas that would pop into his head. It reminded him of how much fun he’d have as a kid, making up stories and bringing them to life late at night after Sixer would pass out. He had been rusty at first, but he had gotten into the groove of it after a while. But the only person he had shown them to was Bill, keeping them hidden from anyone else in the safety of his office cabinet. So how…

The newspaper shook slightly in his grasp. “Did you send this in? Why?”

“I told you, Stan Lee, that you got something that people want. Your comics are leagues better than the drivel that they usually publish. They weren’t meant to be hidden in your office, never seeing the light of day! They were meant to be seen and beloved by all! So that’s what I did,” Bill explained proudly. “I sent in a bunch of your best works, and they were a hit at the HQ after they censored some of your more ‘questionable’ jokes! This is the first day that it's been printed, but they already told me that they want you to make a comic for them every week.”

The newspaper fell onto the table. “Every week?”

“Every week!” Bill gleefully confirmed, standing up with a dramatic flourish. “Now your comics are getting the praise they deserve, and you get paid for it! Pretty sweet gig, amiright?”

“But, why?” Stan couldn’t wrap his head around what possible reason Bill could have to do all of this. Making him an edible breakfast, getting his work recognized, spending his birthday with him…what could Bill want from him?

“Hey, you’ve gotten me ‘birthday’ presents before,” Bill pointed out. “Like my piano and those frog slippers that were actually made out of frog leather! Aren’t we even now?”

“Well-”

“Plus, what could I possibly gain from this? You owe me when my next birthday rolls around? Does that even make sense? No, it doesn’t,” Bill answered himself, knowing just how mistrusting Stan was of seemingly free favors. “I did this because this is what partners do. I wanted to blow your puny pee-brain with my amazing birthday magic. Start preparing for next year, Bruiser, because you won’t know what’ll hit you! Maybe even literally!”

Then Bill smiled that crazy wide grin at Stan. “So? How’d I do?”

Stanley took him in. William looked a bit manic right now. The tips of his hair were singed, the baking ingredients were all over him, and he had bags underneath his eyes. How long had he been doing this? And all for Stan? Just because he wanted to? It was weird, and Stan shouldn’t trust it because nobody besides his family had ever celebrated his birthday for him, but…he knew Bill. Could tell that the gleam in his eye was because he was nervous, that he was anxiously waiting for Stan’s approval. That he genuinely wanted Stan to enjoy what he did.

And Stanley, as he looked at this loose-cannon of an amnesiatic man who constantly riled him up and challenged him and built him up and supported him and believed in him, couldn’t help but love William Birch.

And if he was reading his partner correctly, the other man shared these feelings, even if he never said it out loud. Bill’s actions always spoke louder than his sleazy words. And it terrified Stan.

So, instead of sweeping the blonde into a passionate kiss and demonstrating just how much he appreciated his presents right there on the kitchen table, the brunette simply got up, went over to Bill, and pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” Stan choked out. Some of the Billcake must have gotten stuck in his throat because he was finding it hard to breathe. He rapidly blinked his eyes. They were very wet now. Damn allergy season messing with his tear ducts. “You didn’t do half-bad, Bill.”

Bill slowly returned the hug, a bit awkward. The two only got this close when they were having, ahem, intimate encounters. The platonic display was a bit lost on Bill, but he warmed up to it easily enough.

“That’s how I roll, Stanley.” Bill carded his fingers through Stan’s hair, as if his hand had a mind of its own. “Dazzling people and bringing excitement to their boring, plebeian lives.”

“That you do.”

“...does this mean we can go 50/50?”

Ugh, this guy. But Stanley had already shared his life with Bill. His most important secrets, save his newest, most precious one. What was sharing the business they built together?

“...Sure, why the hell not?”

Stanford was still gone, and Stanley was celebrating with a cake that was probably gonna give him food poisoning, but the day wasn’t as shitty as he’d thought it’d be. Not with William by his side.

Chapter Text

Ford had been expecting a visit from the dream demon for days now, and tonight, his hunch was proven correct. In the grassy, dead field, with the monuments of his life’s regrets in the distance, Ford stared up at the being he had pledged his life to destroying: Bill Cipher.

Entering Ford’s mindscape to taunt him was all the triangular monster could do thanks to the metal plate. While Ford knew that he couldn’t be physically harmed here, the tendrils of unease still wrapped around his heart as Bill’s shadow grew and rose above him, the shrill, layered voice taunting Ford about the rift as he held a replica of it in his hands.

“You’ll slip up and when you do…!” The fake rift was thrown into the field, burning the surroundings as an upside-down triangle ripped the seams between worlds to create a portal.

“Get out of here!” Ford shouted, “You have no dominion in our world, and I won’t allow you to use your secret weapon against my family!”

Cipher went to respond, his form shadowed while that dark pupil focused on the man below him, but paused at Ford’s last statement. “What? Secret weapon?”

“What do you mean ‘What’? Don’t think I haven’t caught on how you snuck in and messed up everything! I’ll figure out a way to ensure William Birch is no longer a threat to us,” Ford seethed, now a bit unsure of himself. Was he showing his hand too early?

That big eye blinked, a sequences of images flashing too fast for Ford to make out, before scrunching up, indicating interest. “Hehehe, I see now. Look out, Stanford Pines. Things are about to change.” The last word was boomed in a deep, unnatural octave as Bill flew away where Ford could not follow. A series of images now flickered across his own eyes before he suddenly found himself awake on his sofa, panting. The demonic laughter still rang in his ears.

Ford adjusted his glasses from their skewed position on his head, anxiously rubbing his scarred knuckles. The day he had been dreading was fast approaching: Bill Cipher’s next attempt to invade their dimension.

He had to warn his family that Bill was coming! But…

The last time he had tried to emphasize the danger Cipher posed, Stan had dismissed it due to his insistence that William Birch was the three-sided demon. While Ford knew better now, that Birch was Cipher’s human counterpart and mortal double agent, it still wouldn’t get through to Stan, who held such affection for the wolf in sheep’s clothing. He would have to take a different approach to appeal to his stubborn, loyal brother while also not alarming Birch to his plans. For now, he would at least introduce the kids to the concept of Bill Cipher. Figure out how to keep the two-dimensional being out of their minds until he could fully secure the rift. He already had a few options in mind.

~

“Family meeting! Family meeting!”

Stan was in the middle of a pug exchange when he heard Ford calling from inside the house. He let out a weary exhale, wondering what big announcement his brother had to share, before directing Santiago to get the wooden barrel across the border. Hey, he had to build up funds for his and Bill’s road trip/vacation/three-fourths-life crisis somehow! Despite the comic gig paying well on top of the Mystery Shack and Bill's academic ventures, most of those funds went into maintaining and powering the portal, so he had to quickly make a profit now. And he had all these pugs lying around!

And while a part of him wanted to just ignore whatever crazy conspiracies or new fantastical project Ford was probably about to share, another part of him also took notice. He didn’t believe anything Ford had accused Bill of, but it was clear that his twin was seriously spooked by that triangle asshole. If this family meeting was about that again, he should be there. To keep him from scaring the kids and to check where his nerdy brother’s head was at.

Stan found the twins had already seated themselves at a table cluttered with books and scrolls across from Ford, who was setting down a dark bag on the floor. He was tense, and a deep, worried frown had overtaken his face as he grabbed a scroll from the pile.

“Good, Stanley, you’re here,” Ford acknowledged, eyes swiveling around the room. “Is this everyone?”

“If you’re trying to sneakily ask if Bill is here, then no, he’s not,” Stan grunted, leaning on the wall behind Dipper and Mabel. “It’s tamale day.”

“...Is that a code I should know?” Ford asked, already his brain working faster than the speed of light. “An undercover operation you two run?”

Mabel giggled. “Grunkle Ford, it’s just tamale day! Unless it is an undercover operation we don’t know about?” She addressed Stan, who shook his head.

“Nah. He just goes to Mrs. Ramirez’s house with Soos and cooks. He sucks at it, so he keeps trying to prove that he will one day beat Soos’s grandma in making the ‘perfect tamale’. Which will never happen, but you can’t stop the guy,” Stan explained, a small smile finding its way onto his face as he reminisced at all the failed meals Bill would bring back, ranting how he swore he followed the instructions exactly and that the Mexican cuisine gods must have cursed him a thousand years ago to sabotage him. The food at least became more and more edible as time passed.

“I see,” Ford deadpanned, clearly not caring much for the tale. “Well, back to the original purpose of this meeting. Tell me, especially you children, does anyone recognize this symbol?”

He held up a scroll with several columns of some ancient hieroglyphs on top and a drawing of a one-eyed triangle in a top hat and bow tie posing at the bottom. Bill Cipher. The subject of his brother's obsession and fears. Stan was just about to scoff and berate Ford for bringing this up again in front of the kids when the two youngest members of the audience gasped in unison.

“Bill,” Dipper muttered darkly, correctly identifying the shape. Both Stans were taken aback at his knowledge.

“You... you know him?” Ford questioned, surprised. He made eye-contact with Stan, who was just as floored as he was.

“Yeah, just how are you on a first-name basis with isosceles head?” Stan added, trying to think back to when that could have happened. Sure, he wasn’t the most diligent caretaker in the world, but even he’d notice if that demon messed with his niece and nephew, right?

“He's been terrorizing us all summer!” Dipper revealed, much to the horror of the elders. “I have so many questions and theories…”

Mabel jumped in, “Dipper's been pretty paranoid since Bill turned him into a living sock puppet.”

“Eh, can we just call him Cipher? Too many Bills around here,” Stan grumbled. “Wait, sock puppet?”

Dipper shifted in his seat. “I made a deal with him to learn the password to McGucket’s laptop, but he tricked me and took over my body,” he admitted, ashamed. “If it weren’t for Mabel, who knows what he would have done.”

“I tickled him to death,” Mabel declared. “And made him so tired from running around in Dipper’s weak noodle body that he lost.”

“It was more heroic than it sounds.”

Ford turned to Stan, upset at the news he was receiving. “Stan! How did you not notice all of this?!”

“How could I have known?!” Stan shot back, defensive. “I’m not a mindreader who can tell when someone’s possessed!”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“To be fair to Stan, we hid most of the stuff about Bi-Cipher from him and Bill,” Dipper jumped in, stopping Ford from ripping Stan a new one. “Mainly because we knew they didn’t want us to get involved with dangerous creatures. Wait; how do you know about him, Stan?”

“I know about him from Ford.” Stan rubbed Dipper’s hat roughly, much to the boy’s annoyance. “Way to nearly lose your body, kid.”

“Yeah, I know now,” Dipper huffed, fixing his cap. “The important thing is we defeated him twice.”

“Twice?” Ford repeated, trying to make sense of the timeline. “Just how many times have you faced him?”

“Oh, just the two,” Mabel assured him. “The puppet thing was the second time. The first time was when Gideon had him go into Stan’s mind to get the code to the Mystery Shack’s deed.”

“What?!” Ford shot up. “He went into Stan’s mind?!”

“He went into my mind?!” Stan gripped his hair, dislodging his fez.

“Me, Mabel, and Soos managed to follow him,” Dipper elaborated. “We protected the code from Cipher and learned how to fight him in the mind! Though he kinda let us off easy…”

“Well, that’s an extreme invasion of privacy.” Stan noted. “Was that why I dreamed of two brightly colored and radical young men before Gideon took over the Shack?” Stan tried to remember that horrible night. One moment, he had been sleeping semi-decently, snoozing for a quick nap while Bill was out coming back from one of his last-minute guest lectures, the next they were homeless.

Mabel nodded, clearly proud of her contribution to Stan’s unconscious dreams.

“Yup! Y’know, now that I think about it, I didn’t see any memories about Grunkle Ford in there,” she mused, tapping her chin. “Why is that?”

Stan glanced away from Ford as he gave his reply. “No clue, sweetie. And thanks for driving that triangle parasite out of my head, you two. Kinda disturbing to know that he can get in there.”

“Very much so,” Dipper shuddered. It was clear that the demon had really got to the boy. And Stan wasn’t able to protect them from such a threat, even if they managed to handle it on their own.

Stan didn’t think it was possible for Ford’s frown to turn into even more of a frown, but it did. “The fact that you've dealt with Cipher is gravely serious,” he emphasized.

Dipper and Mabel looked at each other, not liking that this creature was being brought up again. They were hoping they could just forget about him and move on with the rest of their summer. “So, how do you know Cipher?”

Stan turned his attention to his brother, wondering just how much of his past, his failures, he would reveal to the kids. Not much, he’d guess.

Ford thrummed his fingers across the book he was leaning on. “I've encountered many dark beings in my time, Dipper,” he deftly evaded, just like Stan knew he would. “What matters is his powers are growing stronger, and if he pulls off his plans, no one in this family will be safe!”

Dipper and Mabel gasped at the dramatic yet serious warning. Stan narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. And just how did Ford know that? Did something happen to light a fire under his ass? Something stank around here, and it was Ford, both literally and not literally. Did the guy not shower?

His geeky other half went on to explain how unicorn hair of all things would shield them from Cipher, and only a pure-hearted person could retrieve it. Obviously, that meant Mabel was the perfect person for the job, and she was ecstatic to volunteer herself for a magical quest. Armed with a crossbow and a small pair of knuckle dusters from her grunkles, Mabel ran off to gather her friends to meet the unicorns.

Dipper watched her go. “So, what are the odds she gets that hair?”

Stan pushed himself off the wall, leaning to the side to crack his spine from standing for so long. “Eh, those rainbow ponies are more trouble than they’re worth, but if anyone can do it, it’s your sister.”

Ford disagreed. “I've dealt with unicorns before, and if I had to describe them in one word it would be... frustrating. So, rather unlikely.” He then turned to Stan, curious. “Does that mean you’ve met a unicorn before?”

“Once with Bill,” Stan shrugged, walking off. “He knows all of the crawlies that creep around the forest. He once said something about them having a bunch of gold, so we tried our luck. Didn’t get very far with it, though. We’re now banned indefinitely from the magical forest.”

He heard Ford scoff. “I bet.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two nerds to shield the house from the geometry devil,” Stan waved behind himself. “Just don’t mess with the cable lines.”

Stan hadn’t been convinced before, but it turned out some of Ford’s fears were proven right. Since this Bill Cipher really was messing with the rest of the family, he’d let Ford do what he wanted to protect the house and its inhabitants. But he wanted the full truth from his brother, first, before he did.

~

Bill glared down at his plate, the corn husk already loosening and exposing the filling. “I WILL defy you, Mexican cuisine gods,” he hissed, trying to shove the insides back inside, uncaring of how hot it was, but it just made his tamale even messier.

“Mr. Birch, you don’t gotta hurt them like that. Be nice to the tamale, and the tamale will be nice to you,” Soos advised, him and his grandma expertly folding and placing the food in the steamer. Bill eyed the younger man darkly before picking up a fresh husk and starting again, muttering under his breath. Do it too tight and it spilled out at the end. Too loose, and it sagged sadly and fell apart. A careful balance needed to be struck, and Bill barely managed to strike it most of the time. This was why he stuck to ordering take-out or mixing drinks when it came to food.

Mrs. Ramirez hummed softly along with the radio station, hands moving fast despite how slow the rest of her body moved. One of her grandma powers, he reckoned. He tried to mimic her movements, smoothing the filling and adding the meat, but he messed up the ratios yet again and couldn’t get it to fold properly. Bill pushed the plate away, properly pissed off.

“I’m being conspired against,” he seethed. “There’s no reason for these dead corn shells to be so finicky.”

“That was only your fifth one,” Mrs. Ramirez commented, eyes never leaving her tamales. “What’s wrong, Billy?”

“Yeah, you’ve been upset since this morning,” Soos added on. “Something the matter, dawg?”

Bill leaned back in his seat, suddenly the picture of zen. “Me? Upset? I’ve got nothing to be upset about! In fact, I’ve never been better! With that whole portal business out of the way and six-fingers back, I’ve never had more me-time! I can soak in the tub as long as I want, now!”

It was true: with that decades-long project completed, Bill’s nights were no longer spent pouring over blueprints or consulting journals or spelunking old alien space crafts with Stan. No more wondering what was out there and if this was what he was meant for as he gazed upon the triangular machine. All that hard work, and for what? To get kicked out of the only home he’d ever known in a couple of weeks? To restart his entire life?

Without anything to distract his busy mind, his nights grew long and difficult. Both his and Stan’s sleep schedules were messed up from their decades-long late-night routines, so they both had trouble falling asleep at a decent time. Stan was at least starting to get back into the normal circadian rhythm, passing out in front of the TV with Bill’s weight blanketing him or after cuddling in bed, but Bill didn’t have it as easy. He would walk and walk, around the Shack, in the woods, along the road, and come back just as antsy as when he left, even with him lighting up a cigarette or two to take off the edge.

Even sleeping was quickly becoming an experience he wanted to avoid, not that he ever really enjoyed doing it. Each dream was a nightmare with its own unique flare of terror, and not the fun, thrilling, or sexy kind.

In one, he watches as the Mystery Shack falls apart, blue flames spilling out the windows, and no matter how many times he tries to put out the fire and hold the house together, there’s nothing he can do but witness as it burns before his eye. And he has an inkling about who set it ablaze.

In another, he’s on the town lake’s dock, watching as the Stan O’ War gets smaller and smaller in the distance, with Stanley and Stanford laughing with each other on the deck. Stan pays no attention to Bill, as if he’s worth nothing to him, and Ford throws him a gloating look over his shoulder as they sail away.

He always wakes up feeling distinctly alone, yet also distinctly not-alone. Watched, like an insect underneath a microscope, even though Stan had already left the bedroom.

The frequency of these nightmares reminded him of the early years, how he’d wake up not trusting that his body was his or if his surroundings were real. Like the rug was going to be pulled out from underneath him at any second. But he wasn’t supposed to feel like that anymore. Bill was supposed to be better.

Bill probably should say something to his usual confidant to get it off his chest and receive reassurance, but if Stanley wasn’t gonna spill about how he felt about everything, constantly deflecting and focusing on how great their future was gonna be, then Bill didn’t really feel the urge to open his mouth about his problems. It was just the stress of his life changing, right? Once the summer ended, nothing was going to be the same, but once they got into a new routine, he’d go back to normal. Well, his brand of normal. He was fine. They were fine. Everything was fine.

The Ramirezes didn’t look too convinced, exchanging knowing glances between each other. They knew him for too long and too well to buy that. It was annoying.

Bill refused to admit defeat, though, because he wasn’t defeated! Insomnia and bad sleep episodes were nothing he couldn’t handle! And his personal relationships with his family, despite what his dreams might suggest, were fine! So what if Dipper thought Ford was cool! So what if Ford and Stan were slightly warming up to one another! Bill’s place in life, his family’s lives, was unchanged. They were his.

With that belief firmly locked into his head, Bill’s competitive drive revved to life and he reached for another corn husk. Tamales, meet your maker!

~

In Ford’s private study, which apparently wasn’t so private as he intended for it to be since he found a note vandalizing his desk that said “STAN AND BILL WAZ HERE”, the aging scientist began to hook his grandnephew up to his very dubious-looking mind machine, turning on the necessary screens and tuning to the correct frequency. At least the passcode changed every time one entered according to a pattern only Ford knew. It was unlikely they got in here more than once.

Dipper glanced around at the set up. If these precautions were made to ward against Bill Cipher, then his uncle must have a good idea of his powers and the danger they posed. You didn’t do all of this for a one-off enemy. Ford must know Bill Cipher very well. Dipper wanted to know just how well. “So what is Cipher, exactly?”

“You can refer to him however you wish, here, Dipper,” Ford assured, continuing with the calibrations. “And no one knows for sure.”

Dipper picked up and flipped through a folder labeled “The Cipher File” as Ford continued to talk.

“Accounts differ of his true motivations and origins. I know he's older than our galaxy and far more twisted. Without a physical form, he can only project himself into our thoughts through the mindscape to make deals with mortals. That’s the only way he can interact with our world physically at the moment: collecting human puppets to do his bidding for him. His influence stretches far and wide across time and various geographical regions, but it is still limited.”

Ford let that sink in before holding up the rift. “That's why he wants this. I dismantled the portal, but with this tear, Bill still has a way into our reality. To get his hands on this rift, he would trick or possess anyone,” he stressed.

Dipper mouthed that last word to himself before shaking himself out of it. “So how do we keep Bill out of our minds?”

The boy listened to his uncle explain how the machine worked to protect their thoughts, and after an embarrassing demonstration that displayed way more than he was comfortable with, Dipper broached a question that had been nagging at him during the family meeting. Maybe even before it. Maybe since Ford tried to blast William Birch the day he returned home. There had to be more to the story than either man made it out to be.

“By the way, you never told me what your history with Bill was,” Dipper brought up. “Both of Bills, actually.”

Ford came up from behind Dipper and clasped his arm. “Dipper, do you trust me?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Then you'll trust that that's not important,” Ford interrupted, gesturing back towards the screen. “Now, focus. It's time to strengthen your mind.”

~

Stan whistled a little ditty to himself as he dug out a book he never thought he’d read again: his brother’s journal. It held little importance to Stan now that the portal shebang was over with, but old habits of keeping them close by die hard. He was left with only a copy of the third journal since Ford had collected the three original versions.

Stan hadn’t read anything in this particular book due to his intense focus on finally having the rest of the portal’s instructions, but Bill had. His partner gave him the run-down of Ford’s last years in Gravity Falls: Ford hit a dead end in his theories, met a “muse” who taught him how to make the portal, got an old college friend to be his assistant, got abandoned by said assistant-turned-cult-leader (who turned out to be McGucket of all people), found out his muse was a demon in disguise who wanted to destroy their world, and then tried to get out of the hole he dug by reaching out to Stan. And Stan thought his life over 30 years ago was crazy.

While this information drastically altered their theorized timeline about Ford and Bill’s life before Stan came to town, it didn’t really change anything in the grand scheme of things. They were still opening the portal, dream triangle demon or potential end of the world be damned. Which sounded pretty selfish and dangerous looking back, but these two con men weren’t ones to back down from cashing it all in. And their bet paid off! Ford was home, and Gravity Falls lived to see another day. And with the portal demolished, Bill Cipher was no longer a threat to them! At least, so Stan thought.

Clearly, Ford believed otherwise. But even during their talk about Cipher, Ford didn’t go into depth about the exact evils Cipher had committed beyond tricking people and plotting absolute destruction like one of those Saturday morning cartoon villains. That and obsessing over the “Bill-is-Bill Theory”, as Stan had coined it. But whatever these evils were, they sure spooked his twin.

So, Stan was gonna check out his brother’s notes and see what they had to offer. Was this an invasion of privacy? No more than living in the guy’s house and assuming his identity for 30 years! Besides, this was for a good cause: protecting his family from some dream goon. And maybe he could get some hints as to why exactly Ford was so twitchy around his partner. Why was Ford so convinced that Bill was Bill?

Stan settled back in his chair and began to check for any mentions of Cipher in the entries.

My Muse, that strange, whimsical creature who speaks to me in my dreams, has returned to me at last, this time with an insight so brilliant it can only be described as divine intervention…

…how lucky I am to have come across my blessed Muse…

… truly appreciate the complex fates that brought me and my Muse together?

Yikes, and Ford had said Stan was head-over-heels when he first started dating Carla and would draw her face on his pillows to kiss her to sleep. First loves are no joke! But this all sat uncomfortably in Stan’s stomach. This “Muse” stuff was too good to be true, and it obviously was, but Ford was clearly blind to it at the time.

… warned me that my assistant may not be committed to the cause…

…offered to take it over for a while to help me…

It fascinated me. To put your hand in fire and not get burned…this is a feeling like no other.

I know my true friend. It is my Muse.

Aaaand there it was. The flattery. The blaming. The isolation. The obsession. This was how Ford crashed and burned. The sickening guilty feeling grew worse as Stan witnessed his brother’s fall from the outside, from far away, unable to help.

This is not right at all. It is almost as though my Muse is contacting others.

“The door is open”...What have I done?

MY MUSE WAS A MONSTER

I WAS A PUPPET

BILL CAN’T BE TRUSTED

Stan stared at the page titled “Bill Cipher”. The same one he had mocked his brother with. It was splattered with blood. Stanford’s blood. Well now he definitely felt like a shitty brother.

As punishment, he read on, the next bunch of pages detailed Ford’s spiral in real time as he tried desperately to be a one-man army against an impossible force. Refusing to sleep, taping his eyelids open, running after cult members, freaking out in public…who knew what other horrors went unwritten. Where was Stan when this was happening? New Mexico? He couldn’t remember. It all seemed so unimportant now.

Then he flipped to the “Hiding Places” pages, all vandalized with tiny doodles of Cipher. Well this would have made the last 30 years a lot easier! Imagine he had this journal starting out! Things would have turned out a lot different…

Then he got to the last paragraph.

Ironically, the only other person left that I can trust is the least trustworthy person I know. He is a thief and a charlatan - but a well-traveled one. I have no doubt that he is familiar with mob hangouts and back alleys the wide world over. He will find somewhere to hide Journal 1. I have sent word to him and now must await his arrival.

Perhaps he can prove his worth to me.

Perhaps the mistakes of the past can be undone.

There is nothing I can do but wait.

Underneath, while crossed out, was clearly Ford’s science fair project.

Oh.

Stan numbly flipped to the last two pages, letting the big, bold, words stare up at him.

TRUST NO ONE!

…

…

…

…was that all he was to Ford? Someone who had to prove his worth? A desperate last resort? One final bet?

Was Ford even wrong to think that? After everything that happened?

The usual reflexive anger Stan typically felt when wronged by his twin never made its appearance.

Stan closed the copied journal. He took it to the parlor, dragging his feet as if there were a disconnect between his mind and body. He threw it in the fire and let it burn within the multi-colored hearth until there was nothing left but ashes. He never looked away.

~

Dipper slipped off the mind-encrypting helmet, having successfully rationalized to himself that this breach of trust for the greater good. He just wanted to understand, but Ford wasn’t letting him in on the most important part of this operation yet! If he truly wanted to be useful to his great-uncle, he had to do this.

Dipper slipped the contraption onto Ford and heard the locking mechanism successfully click into place. “Just a little peek. What are you hiding about Bill?” He wondered aloud as he turned to the screen to watch.

Words came and went on the screen quickly before the image changed. Over a background of blue, Bill Cipher suddenly appeared, cackling. However, he quickly became overlaid with William Birch, the two’s laughter echoing together, chilling Dipper to the core. Just like his nightmares.

The main screen then changed to Ford tossing and turning in his sleep while the smaller screens showed the portal as the audio of a young Old Man McGucket demanded answers from Ford, then to switching to Ford writing in the journal in red ink "I'M LOSING", "MY MIND", and "TRUST NO ONE".

Stan’s voice spoke over the videos, “...you stay away from the kids and Bill; I don't want them in danger. Cause as far as I'm concerned, they're the only family that matters in this house. And don’t go spreading any rumors about Bill to them either…”

The “TRUST NO ONE” message got overlaid by the human Bill, who was sitting at the kitchen table as he drained a drink from his wine glass. “And now, you have nothing. So, I just wanna say thank you,” while photos upon photos flashed on the main screen of Dipper’s two con uncles across the years.

Then it was back to Ford, “He would trick or possess anyone…” Until he became a young man again, holding out his hand in the vastness of space. ”Then it's a deal. From now until the end of time.”

And the person he was addressing was none other than Bill Cipher, reaching back with a hand on fire.

“Just let me into your mind, Stanford!”

They shook on it.

“Please, call me...a friend.”

Dipper watched on in horror as Bill possessed Ford, maniacally cackling together. “FORD AND BILL?!” He gasped, turning round to face who he saw as his hero, but could actually be his greatest enemy.

What followed was almost an absolute disaster, but at least Dipper finally got an honest admission from Ford.

“I'd been betrayed,” Ford acknowledged the obvious. “I shut the portal down, severing the link between Bill's world and ours. I had to hide my instructions so no one could ever finish Bill's work.” He gripped the rift firmly in one hand. “Though Stan and Birch have done just that. It was very dangerous of them! Bill's been waiting for the gateway to reopen ever since. All he needs to do is get his hands on this rift.” He approached Dipper, letting the boy behold the most important item in the universe, currently. “To Bill, it's just a game, but to us, it would mean the end of our world.”

“Oh, man,” Was all Dipper could utter.

Ford agreed. “Oh, man, indeed.”

“And how does Bill, I mean Grunkle Bill, tie into all this,” Dipper asked, suspicion welling up inside him despite his best efforts. “I mean, he seems pretty similar to triangle Bill but…”

“You noticed it, too?” Ford jumped on the opening immediately, delighted. “I thought I was the only one, but I should have known we’d be on the same wavelength! From what I recall, though, you had told me before that you believed Birch was on our side. What changed your mind?”

Dipper flustered. So both he and Ford drew connections between the two? That meant he wasn’t being paranoid!

“There’s nothing concrete,” Dipper hedged, the guilt making its reappearance, but the warm feeling of pride Ford had encouraged took over. “Just the way they talk, trick people, kinda have the same eye…”

“Those little clues are typically the precursor to something bigger and more darning, Dipper,” Ford assured him. “And a good detective learns to follow these clues till the end. I noticed them the day I arrived: William Birch is not who he seems.”

Dipper shifted uncomfortably. “But…Grunkle Bill’s never-”

“I know,” Ford cut in. “But Bill Cipher is an old and terrible being. He knows how to play the waiting game and how to shift pieces around to his benefit. He must have planted himself in the perfect spot years ago, and now that the rift is so close in his grasp, you’ll see a change. He’ll make his move soon. And we must anticipate and guard against it. Already he’s gotten the trust of our loved ones. We cannot let him influence them any longer.”

“I dunno...” Dipper trailed off, but with his resolve hardening. “Mabel’s not gonna like it. Stan’s really not gonna like it. You tried to warn him before, right?”

“Yes,” Ford admitted. “But don’t blame him too much, Dipper. A man in love is the most beguiled creature in existence. He won’t hear a word against his partner, no matter how sensical and no matter how much proof. But I am working on finding a way to break the news to him in a more…considerate manner.”

“I don’t think there’s any easy way to say, ‘Sorry, but your husband is an evil triangle demon who has been tricking you this entire time’, Great-uncle Ford,” Dipper replied bluntly.

“Probably not, but an effort will be made.”

They decided to take a break in the living room to drink some Pitt Cola and mope around, but were instead given great news as Mabel returned with the unicorn hair. They now had a full-proof way to protect the Shack. Well, almost.

Dipper helped Ford count each individual unicorn hair needed to set up the magical wards, both back in the privacy of the study. “So…what will happen to Birch once the shield is up? How does it keep out Bill, exactly?”

“The unicorn hair is what ‘judges’ the soul and detects one’s harmful intentions. The moonstones and mercury are what amplify this ability to form the shield. As a being of pure malice, Bill Cipher has no chance of entering,” Ford explained, carefully laying down the hairs. “And if Birch is as connected to Cipher as I suspect, he should not be able to access the house easily once it is complete.”

“So…if he can get in, then he’s not Bill,” Dipper put together.

“It’s not as simple as that,” Ford shook his head. “Yes: if he is the Bill Cipher that we have encountered, he will be completely rebuffed. But if he is a different form of Bill, who can be manipulated to be a specific person with certain intentions, then he may be able to pass through. Nonetheless, he will have difficulty existing within the shield. The wards will still weigh heavily on his soul.”

“So if Birch can get in and has no trouble inside the shield, he’s innocent?” Dipper pressed, trying to figure out exactly the conditions that had to be met. “And what do you mean by ‘a different form of Bill’?”

“I suppose so,” Ford admitted reluctantly, moving on to collect the moonstones. “And by a different form, I mean a dimensional variant of Bill. One possibly born into this world as a human, but who has been contacted by Cipher to fulfil his plots. The coincidences of his life in Gravity Falls and his behavioral eccentricities align too perfectly for him to not be involved.”

Dipper gaped. “That’s insane. And all this time, I thought he was my family…” He clenched his little hands into little fists, shaking with hurt and betrayal. “Let’s finish this warding circle. But once it confirms who he really is, what will we do with him? We can’t just let him stay, can we?”

“We’ll have to be careful,” Ford stacked the stones into a satchel. “Our first priority is ensuring that the rift is as safe as possible and making sure that Birch cannot plot against us. He is just a man for now, but if he contacts Cipher, who knows what they’ll do to us. We cannot be hasty. We’ll lay low for a bit in the meantime until we come up with a way to isolate Birch from any allies he has.”

He zippered up the compartment. “Including Stanley.”

Dipper shifted uncomfortably. “Poor Stan…he really cares about Birch. How will get him to believe the truth? What’s Stan gonna do without him? They’ve been together for so long.”

Ford pursued his lips, before pulling out an old, small photo of two young boys on a run-down sail boat for his eyes only. An idea came to mind. “Leave that to me, Dipper.”

~

Ford was directing Dipper to place the moonstones in very specific locations, carefully making sure they were in their proper orientations, when he heard someone come up behind him.

“We need to talk.”

“Not now, Stanley,” Ford waved him off, not looking up from the chart he had made. “Me and Dipper are in the middle of setting up the anti-Cipher shield so-”

“Now, Stanford. Please.”

Oh. His brother sounded quite serious. Especially if he was saying “please” willingly.

Ford turned around.

Stan looked off. He was trying not to show it, but Ford could tell from the tense line in his brother’s shoulders, deep frown, and fidgeting hands. This wasn’t something Ford could put off.

“...okay,” he agreed, then called out, “Take a break for now, Dipper! Don’t proceed without me!” The boy yelled out a verbal confirmation, and with that, Stan turned around and walked towards his car. Ford followed.

A sinking feeling kept growing in Ford’s stomach as they both got in and Stan started driving. His twin was too quiet, but he found himself unable to say anything to break the silence. So he just sat in the Stanmobile. It had been a long time since he rode shotgun. He watched the trees roll past them as they started turning down familiar streets and shortcuts, realizing where his brother was taking them. His favorite spot in Gravity Falls.

They parked in front of “Tate & Backle’s Bait & Tackle” and got out to walk along the dock. Stan led them to the edge before he sat down, legs hanging over the water of the lake. A small, shoddy-looking wooden boat tied to the dock bobbed up and down not far from them. On its side, its name read “Stan O’ War”. Ford’s heart clenched tightly. He had to say something.

“The lake is as nice as I remember it,” Ford blurted out as he watched the water ripple. Ugh, that was horrible. But he couldn’t stop now. The deluge of words began to spill out. “Did you know that a relative of the Loch Ness Monster actually resides about-”

“Do you hate me?”

The flood suddenly receded from Ford’s mouth. He turned to face his twin. “What?”

“Do you hate me?” Stan repeated, sounding far away, as if removed from it all, looking straight ahead at something Ford couldn’t see.

Ford gaped, lost as to how they got to this point. “Wh-why would you even ask me that?!”

“Is that why you’ve been treating me like a nuisance since you’ve come back?” Stan continued, like he was reading a monologue, not acknowledging Ford’s demand. “Why the first thing you did was punch me when you came out of the portal? Why you won’t thank me?” He started to visibly tremble.

“Why you didn’t reach out to me until I could prove my worth to you? Why you closed those curtains on me? Why you wanted to go across the country as far away as you could go from me?” The previous monotone faded away as anguish took over.

“Stanley stop-”

“I’d get it if you do. You must, though,” Stan spoke over Ford, lost in his own world that he couldn’t hear anything else. “I just wanna know when it started-”

Ford reached out and gripped Stan’s shoulders tightly so his other half would look at him.

“I DON’T HATE YOU,” he shouted, desperate to be believed. Devastated that this is what Stanley believed. He lowered his voice, but was no less emotional, “Not once in my life have I ever hated you. Resented? Yes. Blamed? Of course. But never hated.”

Stan stared wide-eyed. “You’re lying.”

“I am not.”

“You have to be. You said I ruined your life.”

Ford reached into the inner pockets of his trench coat. “You did, and yet I couldn’t.” He handed Stan the photo he kept close to his heart. “I’ve had this with me the entire time I was at school and when I lived here and while I was stuck in the portal. If I hated you, would I do that?”

Stan’s hand shook as his eyes grew wet, looking at the snapshot of two boys with the same dream. “Why not? Why don’t you?’

Ford gripped the bottom of his sweater. “I just couldn’t.” He let out a sigh, and reluctantly admitted, “I tried, though. After that day, when you never came home, I tried to convince myself that I was better off without you. That I didn’t need you in my life.” He shrugged helplessly. “It didn’t work.”

Stan handed back the photo. Ford took it gently.

“I’m…I’m supposed to be better,” Ford struggled to say, thumbing over the old paper. “I’m not like everybody else. So I had to be good at being different. But with you…I was okay with just being me. And I couldn’t be okay with that. I was meant for more.”

Stan stayed silent, letting his brother say his piece.

“The reason that I went to Backupsmore? I just…gave up. With you gone. I didn’t try anymore at school. It took a while for me to regain my footing. Only Backupsmore would take me once I tried to get my life together,” Ford put away the photo. “...why didn’t you ever come home?”

Stan laughed bitterly. “You don’t think I wanted to? That I didn’t try? After my schemes started to fail, I’d call Ma up every month for five years, asking her if I could come home, if Dad would let me back in, promising that I’d work hard and be good.” He huffed. “But she always said I couldn’t. That he didn’t want to see me unless I had a bank account number higher than six digits. Shoulda seen that coming, though, since he had my duffel bag packed and everything that night. Like he was just waiting for me to screw up big time.”

Ford bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. That sounded like their father, alright. “You never called me, though.”

“Oh, I did. Always chickened out when you answered,” Stan revealed. “I didn’t want you to hang up once you realized it was me. Besides, I thought you made it clear that you never wanted to see me again after that stupid science fair schtick.”

“It wasn’t stupid, Stanley,” Ford cut in, a flare of bitterness rising up despite the conversation. West Coast Tech would never not be a sore spot. A dream unfulfilled.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Oh, you know what I mean. I call all those things stupid.” He let out a breath and rushed to say, “And I never meant to break your project. I did break it, I’ll own up to that, but I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t want to mess up your chances of living the life you wanted.”

“But the Stan O’ War,” Ford brought up. “It was your dream to sail away with me. Didn’t you want to have that? No matter what?”

“It wasn’t really the boat that was the dream, Sixer,” Stan denied. “And I wouldn’t choose a world where you were unhappy because of me. I just couldn’t believe that you’d think I’d do that to you.”

A sharp flash of guilt cut through Ford. “Well…if I believed that you did it by accident, then I couldn’t be angry at you,” he tried to explain his younger self’s rationale. “And then you would have been kicked out for no good reason.”

Stan clicked his tongue. “Even if I did do it on purpose, would that have been a good enough reason to kick me out? I had no cash, no diploma, and no skills. Just some clothes and a car. I was seventeen. Only a couple of years older than the kids.”

Ford tried to picture a seventeen year old Stan. He was strong and he smoked, but he still had baby fat around his chin and acne still littered his cheeks and his voice still cracked. He tried to picture how that seventeen year old survived once he was kicked out of the only home he’d ever known. He didn’t like what he imagined.

“No,” he whispered. “There was no good reason, no matter the circumstances. He should have never done that to you. I…should have stopped him.”

“It took me some help to figure that out,” Stan slouched. “I thought I deserved it for years. But really? He just hated me. There was nothing you could have done to stop him unless you wanted to follow in my footsteps.”

“Stan, he didn-”

“He did.” It was final.

They both sat in each other’s silence.

“We could have gone about that night better,” Ford admitted. “We could have worked through it, but with you gone, it was easy to remember all the good times badly. Made it easier to bear it.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Stan waved it off. “You were just a kid, too.”

Ford wiped his glasses. They were oddly fogging up. “And you were…okay, all those years? On the road?”

Stan pursed his lips. “I lived.”

“That’s not very reassuring, Stanley.”

“Listen, Poindexter, I got into a lot of hairy situations on the road, and most of them are nothin’ to write home about. Most of them…I ain’t proud of.” Stan adjusted his fez as the wind blew harshly against their backs. “Just failure after failure after failure. I scraped by until your postcard found me. Can we leave it at that?”

“Yes, we can.” Ford let it rest. For now. He didn’t realize that Stan wasn’t doing as well as he had thought all those years ago, but if what Stanley had mentioned in their fight about his life thirty years ago was just a fraction of his troubles…Ford should have done more.

“And I know our reunion thirty years ago went badly, to put it lightly. I wasn’t in the best state of mind,” Ford continued, continuing to think back on some of the worst days of his life.

“I know. I read your journals,” Stan traced the grooves of the wood underneath him. “Shoulda known more was going on when you answered the door like that.”

Ford flushed in embarrassment. So his brother knew all about his mistakes, huh? “You must think me such a fool.”

“Eh, hindsight's 20/20, Sixer. Who wouldn’t wanna believe a god-like being who said they were special? And once you figured out the truth, you’ve been fighting him ever since.” Stan looked at Ford again. “He hurt you, didn't he?” The sympathetic words didn’t sound patronizing out of his mouth.

Ford nodded, feeling exposed. But this was his opportunity to impress upon Stan the danger Bill posed, even if he wanted to keep his greatest shame hidden. “You don’t know half of what he’s done to me, Stan.”

“Try me.”

Ford couldn’t unload over thirty years-worth of hurt onto his twin, but maybe a bit of release after all this time would feel nice.

“Meeting Bill felt…like I was finally meeting my destiny,” he started off, watching as the marine birds took flight off the water, leaving ripples in their wake. He followed their ascent into the sky. “Like it was meant to be. That everything I had been working towards led me to that blessed moment. Led me to him.” Ford let out a sigh as he felt himself relive the memories of the beautiful heavens he and Bill would meet in, as if they were gods above Earth.

“Bill knew exactly what to say to me. What made me feel so important. So seen. It was like he understood me completely and had total confidence in my abilities and skills. And the little bits of information he would feed me only made me starve for more.” His six-fingers moved to grip the edge of the dock. “He fascinated me.”

“You always did like the unusual,” Stan uneasily joked, earning a snort from his brother.

“That’s putting it lightly.” Ford paused, trying to make it make sense. To Stan or himself, he wasn't too sure.

“He made me think that he truly cared for me. That my dreams were important to him. That the portal project he pitched to me would be a creation we’d share in. As partners,” he emphasized, watching to be sure Stan took it all in. He did. Stan’s eyebrows furrowed at Ford’s words sunk in. After all, wasn’t that exactly what Birch did for Stan?

“But once his intentions were revealed to me, he finally showed his true colors. The real monster that he always was.” Ford continued. "He tormented me relentlessly until…well, until you came. But even now, especially now, I can never be completely free of him. He haunts me, Stanley, even when he’s not there.” He laughed a bit too hysterically as he finished his spiel. “He ruined me.”

A warm hand grounded him. “Hey, if this is what ruined looks like, then you're doing a hell of a lot better than most people.”

Ford clasped the hand, wordlessly acknowledging the support. “Bill Cipher consumed my life. I hunted him constantly throughout the multiverse, making plans to bring him to his demise. When you opened the portal, I was seconds away from finishing him off for good.”

Stan winced. “Oh…”

Ford’s lips quirked. “Yeah, oh.”

The smile disappeared. “Bill could have easily followed after me, and we would have been doomed. Unimaginable destruction would have soon followed. That’s why I can’t thank you. It wasn’t worth it.”

“Well, it was to me. Getting you back was worth it, even with all the risks,” Stan said firmly. “I would do it all over again if I had to.”

“...Okay,” Ford sighed fondly. Stan was too reckless for his own good. Thank goodness he was here now. “I can accept that reasoning, at least.”

Now was the time. While Stan still thought they were baring their hearts to one another. He hardened his heart against any guilt he’d have about this.

“Knowing all of this now, can you at least see why I am…wary of Birch?” Ford brought up. “There are similarities between the two I cannot shake. It’s…difficult for me,” he gritted out.

Stan scratched the back of his neck, seemingly conflicted. “Well…”

“Yes?” He tried not to seem too eager.

“There is some stuff about Bill that is kind of odd,” Stan revealed. “I trust him despite it, though. I know him.”

“Tell me, Stan. It could be important.”

And important it was. Ford listened with rising agitation as Stan revealed how Birch appeared to him after wishing on a star in the middle of the woods wearing Bill’s symbol, how he could read the Cipher codes instantly, how he could barely use his body properly, how he automatically knew what the portal was, his weird premonitions…it was so obvious!

“Stanley, why didn't you say any of this before!?” Ford shouted, irritated. “William Birch is clearly connected to Bill Cipher, and you lied to my face when I asked you about it!”

“Because you were seconds away from killing him!” Stan yelled back. “Look, I know it looks bad, but just because it looks bad doesn’t mean it is bad.”

“How could it not?!”

“Hey, I know what it’s like to be caught in a bad situation but still be innocent,” Stan snarled defensively. Ford quieted instantly.

Stan sighed, the anger draining away fast. “Just…just listen, okay?”

Ford dipped his head begrudgingly in acknowledgement.

“Me and Bill have spent nearly 30 years together. I don't think the Cipher you know could keep that up without slipping up a few times. And I didn’t trust Bill at first at all. It was a lot of trying and failing to get him to stop hiding the rat poison, stealing my car for joyrides, or holding a conversation with him that ended in death threats. But he got better. He actually tried to do better,” Stan reminisced on Bill’s journey. “It was the little things that showed me that Bill just wanted to find a place to just, y’know, live. A lot of the time, he was scared because he didn’t, and still doesn’t, remember shit and had nothing to his name. But he worked hard to be someone. And I began to trust that someone. And as the years passed, we became who we are today. Looking back, if it weren’t for him being by my side, I don’t know how I would have gotten to this point.”

He looked Ford straight in the eye, showing his resolve. “I get it: Bill and Bill are pretty similar on the surface, but that’s as deep as it gets. Bill isn’t evil. Uncaring of the law? Yeah, but so am I. And most importantly, he cares about this family,” Stan insisted. "He cares about me."

“Stan, are you sure?” Ford interjected. “That you can completely trust him? That Birch doesn’t hide secrets from you? Never lies to you? What about during your mayoral campaign?”

They both thought back to that event.

“That was just a fluke,” Stan dismissed. “Besides, it’s not like he did anything worse than what the kids did. He just wanted to help me.”

“But he still lied,” Ford pointed out harshly. “How could you trust him?!”

“I know you think I’m blind to all of the weird shit because of my feelings, but it ain’t like that,” Stan swore, pleading for his brother to understand. “I know it all, and I still say he isn’t working with Bill. Maybe the two do have some weird past together, but that doesn't mean he’s guilty. He coulda been like you and got tricked by Cipher! Why is that not possible?”

“...fine, let’s say he’s also an unknowing and unwilling pawn,” Ford went with it. If this was the only way to get Stan on his side, so be it. “That means he’s still a threat, even if he doesn’t realize it.”

“So what? You wanna lock him up? I’m not gonna let you treat him like a prisoner,” Stan immediately laid down the rules.

“No; that’s not necessary. The shield that me and Dipper are assembling should block Cipher's influence. Anyone who is free from Cipher will be unaffected, but those whose minds have been corrupted will feel the effects,” Ford told him, weaving a convincing premise. “Nothing harmful, but it will be straining. But such is the price to pay to protect the family.”

Stan took that all in. He probably wanted to believe that he’d notice if Cipher was using Bill, but then again, if the dream demon tormented the kids several times this summer, who’s to say how many times the tricky foe bothered someone else? “So if Bill starts acting weird, that’s because Cipher’s been messing with him?”

“Yes,” Ford agreed. It was the truth, in a sense.

“And this will protect him and the kids from that demon?”

“Yes: Cipher will be unable to reach anyone inside,” Ford reiterated, able to tell that his brother was warming up to the idea.

“But what after that? We can’t stay in that bubble all the time. How do we stop that isosceles loser,” Stan asked, getting more fired up. “Why does he keep bothering us? The portal is destroyed, right?”

“It is, but I received a disturbing visit from Cipher last night,” Ford revealed. “Promising to find a way in. That could only mean that a rift between dimensions might pop up soon, and he could use it to create a portal,” Ford toed the line. He couldn’t be sure that Stan wouldn’t mention the rift to Birch, so it was better to just keep his brother in the dark. It was for the best. “Once we can be sure that there are no rifts that risk our safety, we’ll be in the clear.”

Stan frowned. “You didn’t mention that in the family meeting.”

Ford glanced away from his accusing eyes. “I didn’t want to alarm the children too much. Let them live out the rest of the summer in ignorant bliss and all that.” He knew Stan would not appreciate Dipper knowing about all this, much less how involved he had been in everything.

“Huh,” Stan seemed to accept that. “And once that’s all under control? We act like nothing happened, and we all go our separate ways at the end of summer?” An undercurrent of hurt leaked in at the end.

Time to put his newest plan into motion.

“I was thinking, Stan. There’s so much of this world I haven’t had the chance to explore and study yet. I love Gravity Falls, but there are abnormal events that occur all over the globe. I want to see it all.” He purposely paused, letting his declaration sink in. “And if these past thirty years have taught me anything, it’s that I’d rather have someone come along with me for the journey.”

Stan froze, eyes wide as he focused on his brother. “What are you saying, Stanford,” he asked shakily. Disbelieving, but hopeful.

Hook

Ford gestured down to the rickety vessel below them. “We’d have to make some major upgrades, but I’d like to finally set sail and go on adventures. With you, Stanley.”

Line

“You’re serious?” Stan breathed. “But...your research-”

“Oh, I can do both,” Ford dismissed the concerns. “I can easily juggle publishing my findings and traveling with you. It would require a strict routine, but nothing too extraordinary. We’d sell the shack, pick out a boat together, and go wherever we want. Me and you.”

Ford was sure he broke his brother’s mind with his proposal. “You’re serious?” Stan repeated.

“I am.”

“What changed? You said you wanted me gone,” Stan pointed out, still hesitant, but so close to giving in.

Because I have to save you. Because this is the only way I can protect you from him. This is the only way you’d agree and move on.

“I was hurt at the time,” Ford excused himself. “That you didn’t believe me and my warnings. But I’m past that. I’m now looking towards the future.”

Stan thought it over. “And Bill?”

Ford frowned. Damn it. “What about him?”

“He’d come with us, wouldn’t he? I’m not leaving my husband behind,” Stan reminded him. Ford resisted the urge to roll his eyes in disgust. “Once Cipher’s plans are foiled, he’ll leave Bill alone, right? If he really is being used by that asshole triangle.”

Stan truly believed in his partner, didn’t he? Ford pitied him. He had had that blind faith, once, even in the face of other’s concern.

“If he wants to, he is welcome to tag along,” Ford forced himself to say. “Since he means so much to you.”

He knew he made the right choice when Stan smiled so broadly and brilliantly. “Then you got yourself a deal, Sixer! Let’s do that unicorn voodoo and show that three-sided loser he picked the wrong family to mess with!”

Ford answered with a grin of his own. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Stanley.”

Sinker

~

From the Nightmare Realm, Bill Cipher watched as the three male Pines glued the last unicorn hair into place, a force field forming around the shack.

“Perfect!” He listened Ford declare. “This will protect us from Bill! As long as we're inside, our minds are safe.” The three of them all patted each other’s back, satisfied with their work.

“Oh, Sixer. You really think you got it all planned out,” Bill taunted to unhearing ears. “You’re more devious than you’d ever admit, aren’t you? That’s why we worked so well together. It’s too bad that I’ve already found a secret way INSIDE.” His voice deepened at the last word, eye glowing as it focused on his next target. Oh, this was gonna be glorious.

~

Bill hopped off of his moped, grumbling to himself as he unhooked the bag of food from the back. The nights have been chillier recently, and the wind went right through him. He couldn’t wait to get inside and warm up, even if it meant Stan was gonna make fun of his deformed tamales again. His last one, though, came out great! He was going up in the world!

But as he entered the Shack, he felt as if his entire being was being squeezed, stealing his breath away. It was only a moment, but Bill swore that every part of him was being scanned. Then the grip lessened, and Bill gasped once he could breathe again. But he still felt like he was still in the clutches of something.

“Bill? You home?” he heard Stan call out from the kitchen. Bill forced himself to stop panting and answer as casually as possible. What was that?

“Yes, dear, I’m back,” he answered, kicking off his shoes and heading deeper inside.

As he came into the kitchen, though, the sight in front of him caught him off guard. There, sitting at the table, was Ford. Right next to Stanley. And they were both smiling at each other! Mabel looked like she was about to have a heart attack from happiness at the sight. Bill instantly felt suspicious. Just what happened today?

“How was tamale day, Grunkle Bill?” Mabel asked, bouncing in her seat. Bill plopped the leftovers in the center of the table.

“You’re all gonna eat and enjoy,” Bill grunted, pulling out a chair on the other side of Stan and collapsing in it. Wow, he was more tired than he thought.

Dipper eyed the container oddly as Stan started to open everything to be served. “Why? What did you put in it?”

Bill grinned sinisterly and waggled his fingers at the children. “The blood of my enemies and the broken dreams of divorced men who took out loans on a pickup truck during their midlife crisis!”

Dipper flinched away. Bill instantly dropped his hands. Okay…that hadn’t happened in a while.

“Just the normal stuff, kid,” he assured the boy. “Meat, beans, various spices. All good things! Abuelita would hang me from her laundry line if I messed with her recipe.”

“Right,” Dipper agreed unconvincingly, taking a smaller portion than usual of the food after his sister. Bill deflated a bit. Well someone really didn’t like his tamales.

Surprisingly, it was Ford who took a heaping serving. “Thank you for the food, Bir-Bill,” he thanked the blonde. Stan shot him an approving smile. Bill narrowed his eye.

“Where am I? The Twilight Zone? What’s going on here?” he demanded, not appreciating feeling so out of his comfort zone. Stan patted his arm reassuringly.

“It’s all good, now, Bill,” Stan told him, a pleased smile on his face. “We talked it out.”

“Just like you wanted,” Ford added on, a bit snide in Bill’s opinion.

Bill looked back and forth between the two Stans. Stanley’s quiet happiness was clear to see, delighted that he and his brother were on good terms now. But Stanford…there was something knowing in that man’s eye as he watched Bill while he ate the tamales.

Stan turned to his brother. “Huh? What does that mean?”

“Nevermind all that,” Bill moved past that jab. “Are you saying that you both made up? Holding hands and making friendship bracelets and singing kum-ba-yah?”

Stan and Ford nodded in unison. Mabel squealed. “Isn’t it amazing, Grunkle Bill? Now we can do all the fun family activities I’ve been planning together! Oh, I have so many ideas!” She whipped out a sparkly notepad and pen in the shape of a cat. “What strikes our interest first? Holding a parade? Creating the world’s biggest conjoined sweater so we can all fit? Or should we make friendship bracelets like you said? Ooo I think I got some pretty beads from the mane of that u-“

“We’re not doing that, Mabel,” Dipper cut in, stopping his sister from exposing the secret scheme.

Bill felt sick. This was good news, right? He wanted Stan to be happy, even if Ford didn’t deserve a second of his time. So why was he feeling so horrible?

Stan’s toe tapped against his. Bill didn’t tap back. He got out of his chair.

“I already stuffed myself at the Ramirezes, so I’m gonna get some shut eye,” he excused himself.

Stan frowned. “But it’s not even eight? You never go to bed this early.”

A yawn involuntarily took over before Bill could reply. “Guess the late nights have caught up to me. Don’t wait up.” And with that, Bill shuffled to their bedroom, energy draining rapidly to the point that the instant he collapsed on the bed, he fell asleep. He didn’t have sweet dreams.

Back in the kitchen, Dipper and Ford exchanged knowing looks as Stan and Mabel watched the door Bill left through with concern.

Later, in the privacy of Stan’s office, the elder twins talked while Dipper distracted Mabel from checking on Bill.

“Do you see what I mean, Stanley?” Ford probed gently.

Stan groaned, dragging a hand down his face, worried for his lover. “Sweet Moses. Are you sure this unicorn magic circle ain’t gonna kill him?”

“Cipher keeps a tight hold over his puppets. It goes deep, so it must be purged. Like going cold turkey. It will be worse in the beginning, but it’ll get better. It’s just until we can ensure that Cipher has no other avenues into Gravity Falls,” Ford tried to soothe his twin’s worries. Stan shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m gonna punch that pointy jerk right in the eye,” he promised, a dark growl entering his voice.

“Sorry, Stan, but I call first dibs if there ever is an opportunity to physically fight Cipher,” Ford countered.

Ford was glad that he had already warned Dipper against telling either Stan or Mabel the whole truth. Stan, who believed Bill to be another victim. Mabel, who wasn’t told of Bill’s connection to Cipher at all. It would be too cruel to expose them to the truth at this point. They wouldn’t believe it, anyway. They trusted their loved ones too much.

Thankfully, Dipper had sat back and let it happen. He’d protect Mabel from both Bills, even if she didn’t know. It was hard keeping another secret from his twin, but he’d trust Great-uncle Ford’s plan. Let Mabel enjoy the rest of the summer. Dipper would shoulder the burden of knowledge for her.

After that talk, Stan went straight to his bedroom to check on Bill. He found his husband sprawled awkwardly on the bed, still fully dressed. That definitely was a sign that something was wrong. Bill hated wearing layers to bed.

As gently as he could, he underdressed the slim man. He was thinner than Stan remembered. He must not have eaten much today despite his assurances. Or the day before that. A wave of guilt, worry, and anger coursed through him. Bill Cipher had tormented nearly everyone he loved. He’d never let the demon get away with this. He’d support Ford 100% on this crusade against him.

“It’s gonna be alright, Starboy,” he told his unconscious partner, tucking him in softly and patting the blanket down. “It’s not gonna make much sense now, but it’s for your own good.”

As if sensing his presence, Bill’s hand reached out and clung to Stan’s before he could move away.

“No,” the unconscious man groaned, tugging the appendage closer. “Don’t…don’t go. Please.”

Stanley’s heart ached even more.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning down and letting his lips dance over Bill’s eye-less lid. “There’s nowhere we won’t go together. I promise.”

Bill’s face still remained twisted, clearly plagued by something Stan couldn’t beat away with threats and fists. And he hated it. It made him feel so useless.

Ford had insisted they didn’t tell Bill about the shield lest it get back to Cipher, who could then use Birch against his will to dismantle the unicorn protection ring if he ever went outside it. Stan really didn’t want to keep such an enormous secret from his closest confidant, but it seemed to be the only way to keep him safe. Besides, Bill had shown that he’d keep a secret if it were for Stan’s benefit, right? This wasn’t much different, and for a much more serious cause. Bill would understand. He’d explain everything to Bill once Cipher was no longer a threat.

By Ford’s predictions, if a rift hadn’t formed by the start of September, they were home free. Then the three of them could explore the world. Go on crazy adventures. See the strangest sights. Stan knew Bill would take some time to warm up to it, especially having to live in such close quarters with Ford, but he loved the weird side of life, and he loved Stan. They’d be happy all together. They just had to pull through this. Bill just had to trust Stan like Stan trusted him.

Chapter Text

August was swiftly coming to an end in Oregon, with the summer heat dying down and a colder breeze blowing through the leaves at night. It was probably the most successful tourist season Stan had ever witnessed, and he couldn’t even claim all the credit for it. True, changing the business’s name from “The Murder Hut” to “The Mystery Shack” probably helped appeal to the families more, and the displays he put up were never better, but it was clear that everyone was interested in the newest act that had premiered: Mr. Mystique.

Whether you liked or hated the readings he gave you, there was something about the experience that seemed to stick with people. All the divinations appeared to apply to whomever received them, with previous customers coming back to excitedly tell Bill about their experiences. The more superstitious portion of the population became regulars, but just about everyone got a reading at least once to exchange tales about their personal prophecies.

Those obnoxious dancing teenagers that usually terrorized the elderly couple that ran the “Dusk 2 Dawn” convenience store were warned to appreciate their treats before they received a deadly trick. They did not seem to take it to heart, but only time would tell if they’d heed it.

Mr. and Mrs. Strange cried tears of joy when assured that their future son, who was due in a couple of weeks, would only be a “tad” unusual, thus breaking the “strange” family curse.

Daryl Blubs was informed that he’d meet his other half as they worked together and served the town. The man subsequently quit his job and entered the police academy, determined to meet his soulmate.

Bill was garnering quite the following, which was good for business, but it was going to his head, which was bad for Stan’s ability to deal with bullshit. Stan kept having to bring the soothsayer a few pegs down to keep the man’s ego from blowing up like a parade balloon. But it was clear that Bill loved the attention that came with being viewed as a helpful augur, so the guy really went all in to maintain his alter ego's otherworldly façade, even if the real Bill couldn’t care less about improving anyone’s lives.

Today’s tour included someone who Stan had seen quite a bit around town plastered on some eyesore billboards: a new hot shot used car entrepreneur by the name of Bud Gleeful. Stan wouldn’t have pegged him for the superstitious type, but every salesman had his quirks.

The large southern man hadn’t appeared very impressed with Mr. Mystery’s displays of rare, mythical creatures, just nodding and smiling along with the crowd, but as Stan moved onto the Mr. Mystique segment, there was a shift. He slid right up to Stan and flashed him a nifty fifty, his intentions clear. He wanted a full private session. Well, who was Stan to turn THAT down? Even if it made him wary. Just why did the guy wanna meet with Bill so badly that he’d shell out a whole Grant?

As he watched Bud disappear through the curtains, Stan loudly announced to the crowd that they were heading to the gift shop. He waved them along, but he himself stayed put right outside the room, listening in. Their underpaid teenage cashier would have to handle the customers alone for now.

~

Bill knew something was up the instant that big beaver covered in human skin made his entrance into the dark room. He peered out from his hood and was greeted with a smile that contained enough sweetness to give even the Halloween Trickster a cavity. Gross.

He simply gestured for his customer to sit as he heard Stan usher the crowd down the hallway. That meant this sleazeball was his only customer for this group. That meant this guy really needed Bill for something.

“Welcome, traveler, to my parlor under the stars: where the feeble seek strength, where the driven are given a direction, and where the aimless receive a purpose. Speak, and I shall consult with the heavens.”

The guy smoothed down his brightly-colored button up, inspecting the room with interest. “Well, if ah could just say before we start: ah really admire your set up here, Mr. Mystique. It’s like ah entered a completely different world! Ah bet that you are a very talented performer.”

“...thanks, bud,” Bill replied drily to the simpering before shifting back into character. “What brings you before me today?”

The buck-toothed man smiled, leaning forward towards Bill, who fought the instinctual urge to lean back. Ever heard of personal space, pal?!

“Ah’d ‘preciate knowin’ what mah future prospects look like. Not too long ago, ah came up the long windin’ road here to Gravity Falls to make a name for mahself. Where do you see the highway of life takin’ me?”

Ugh, all those driving references were so contrived. This pompous pig must be the newest car scammer in town. Bill could match that.

“You’ve must have taken a lot of routes you’ve never traveled before to end up here. You’re wondering if you should really be following the directions on the map into the unknown.” Bill raised his eyebrows knowingly. “You want all of this to be worth it, and for it to be worth a lot.”

Bud nodded in confirmation.

“Let’s consult the heavens and see what they have to offer you.”

After turning on the projector, Bill pushed his hair out of the way to reveal the most recent costume upgrade he made: his prosthetic eye.

Now these weren’t your average prosthetic eye with the black pupil and colored iris. Stan knew a guy who knew a guy who had a cousin who knew this chick who’s mom blah blah blah, and voila: glass eyes that contained galaxies, that sparkled across the visible light spectrum, or were as dark as a supermassive black hole. They were out of this world: exactly Bill's style.

Now, after he traced out some constellations and bullshitted for a bit, he’d close his working eye and invite the visitor to gaze into the universe that his fake eye beheld as he spoke of their future tales. It beat those large, old-fashioned crystal balls any day. This small one was inside his face!

“The life of a businessman means always staying ahead of the game,” Bill spoke, voice smooth and inviting. “Your current venture will create a foundation that you can build upon to explore what else can be in your grasp. The gleaming lights above agree that you’ll be the ringmaster of whatever tent you set up. You have the ability to create your greatest success. You just have to keep it close to you and let it flourish how it wishes.”

There, would that satisfy the greedy guy? Or should he have put more oomph into it?

Squirrel-mouth chuckled with his chest. “You sure know how to work the crowd, don’t you? Yes, you're sure to leave your mark on this here quaint little town. But don’t you want more?”

Bill’s intrigue and hackles rose. “Oh? This isn’t a session concerning my future, but yours.”

“But it could be,” Bud countered. “If we intertwine our futures, that is.”

“Look, casanova, that’s real flattering, but you’re not my type. At all,” the cloaked man immediately deterred, breaking character at the sheer absurdity of what had just been offered. “And frankly, it’s pretty lackluster of you to pop such an intimate question while I’m working. Where’s the wow? The effort? You didn’t even bring me any deer teeth!”

The much larger man immediately held up his hands, shaking his head fervently. “Oh, no, no. The only proposal ah am makin’ to you is a business proposal. Join me, William Birch, and ah will show you a life beyond yer wildest dreams.”

Bill was glad that his scarf hid his mouth at that moment. “Come again?”

“You can be so much more than an attraction at the Mystery Shack!” Bud stood up and gestured around the room. “Cooped up in a small, dark room, hidden from others. What you deserve is a stage so that you can shine like the star that you are!” He pointed at Bill, who was still sitting on his cushion, dumbfounded at the turn this session had taken.

Bill? A star? That was…more appealing than he’d like to admit.

“Stanford Pines can’t give you the life that ah could. Ah know exactly how to build you up and make you the biggest thing this town has ever seen. But that’d be just the beginning.” Bud was getting fired up. “We’d take you across the country! No - around the world! Yer own television special, an act in Vegas, the whole nine yards! Yes, ah can see it clearly!” He came to kneel beside Bill, slinging an arm around the boney shoulders and pointing up at the ceiling still covered with the projected light. “You’d be the brightest star there is.”

At that moment, Bill imagined it. The stage lights, the cheering crowds, the constant performances. Being seen by all, being loved by all. No one would be able to deny who he was.

“All you’d have to do is real simple: be mah partner. We'd have equal share in everything we do.”

…he’d have to leave all of this behind. His parlor. The basement. Stanley Pines.

Easy peasy, right? He was working in this badly-designed leaky wooden hut because he didn’t have anywhere else to go, right? Stan needed him to work on the portal, but if Bill had a better offer, how could the guy feasibly stop him? Blackmail? Bill had quite a bit of his own he could dish out need be. Bill held the winning hand, here. He was free to make his own choices. Plus, he was barely even 40/60 with Stan in the business! 50/50 was a lost cause Bill would probably never achieve.

He kicked out his legs and slouched against the cushion as Bud got up and went to stand in front of him, waiting for his decision. “Sounds like a sugary-sweet deal you’re offering me, Gleeful. Diabetic, even. I’d be a fool not to take it.”

“It is a very good bargain ah’m offerin’ you,” Bud schmoozed, already thinking victory was in his meaty grasp.

“But I’d be an even bigger fool if I took it.”

“Yes, yes you woul- huh?” The brightly-dressed man drew back, confused.

“You just failed Hustle 101, bud.” Bill pulled down his scarf and bared his teeth in a harsh mimicry of a smile. “Never try to scam a scammer. We know that a good deal is too good to be true. Now here’s another reading for you: if you drive one of your rusted piles of scrap up the mountain and straight off the railing, you’re guaranteed to make the newspaper headlines the next day! It’ll be the most attention you’ll ever get from this hick town.”

Bud gritted his teeth. “Yer makin’ a mistake. Any deal is better than being stuck here.”

“Shows what you know, especially if you’re coming here to beg for my talents. Seems like we’re doing pretty good compared to you, no? Now scram! The sight of you makes my eye socket itch.”

With that clear dismissal, Bud stormed out of the room, head getting whacked by the heavy curtains as he left. Bill could hear a bit of muttering, almost as if the sore loser was talking to himself, before the heavy footsteps faded down the hallway.

Bill sighed, rolling his shoulders. Well that had been unexpected. He didn’t realize that he was such a hot commodity, but it made sense! Too bad for that greenhorn that he didn’t realize that Bill wasn’t as easy of a catch as he thought.

A couple of seconds after Bud left, Stan peaked through the curtains. “Hey, uh…did everything go well? That overgrown badger didn’t seem too happy.”

Bill waved it off. “Oh, he just got some news he didn’t like. Just the typical entitled client.” No reason for Stan to know what just happened. It didn’t change anything.

But Stan, for some reason, just looked more contemplative, staring at Bill like he was looking at his soul. The inspection made Bill want to squirm. “...why didn’t you take his deal?”

Bill blinked, taken aback. “Huh? What are you - wait a minute. Were you listening the whole time?!”

“He was a weirdo!” Stan defended himself. “I just wanted to be sure he wasn’t plotting something, but he was, so I was right!”

The so-called prophet huffed. “Talk about an invasion of privacy, Fez. Do you do that for all of my performances?”

“Eh, some of them,” the bombastic con man shrugged, unrepentant. “So why didn’t you?”

“Well, since you were snooping, you should know the answer to that,” Bill pointed out, getting up and taking off his cloak. He was starting to get hot in here. The pink fire was really roaring. “Like I’d really work with a guy who looked like he was made in a petri dish.”

“Okay, yeah, but beaver boy got a point. Why are you still here? You…” Stan trailed off, not wanting to verbalize it, but needing to know. “You got what it takes to go solo. You don’t need to stay at the Mystery Shack. You could go off and do whatever gig you wanted. Make it big somewhere flashy.”

Bill hung up his garment, placing it on the rack. “Well…too much media attention on the big stage would be bad, right? They’d do a background check on me and realize William Birch doesn’t actually exist.”

“Hey, those IDs are the top of the line,” Stan defended his work. “Plus, a lot of those performance people come from outta nowhere. Just say you lost your paperwork. Worked for me for, like, ten years.”

“I don’t know how to pay taxes by myself.”

“You know damn well I don’t pay ‘em at all.”

Bill whirled around to face Stan. “Why?! You don’t want me to leave, do you?! You need me, Stanley, so why are you giving me all these reasons I should go?!”

The suited performer was silenced by those heated words.

Bill glared. “You don’t want me? Maybe I will go, then! In fact, I’ll go pack my things right now!” He went to storm out of the room dramatically, hurt filling his chest cavity that Stan wouldn’t even fight for him, when a hand caught his sleeve.

“I don’t want you to go,” Stan admitted. “Of course I don’t. You’re my partner. The only one I can really rely on to get the job done. And for the longest time, even though I let you in on my secrets, I didn’t fully trust you. That you’d sell me out. That you’d leave me the first chance you got. But you didn’t.”

“Obviously,” Bill scoffed.

“Why?”

The blonde swallowed, feeling strangely exposed. ”It’d be too much of a hassle. And what would my clients do without my readings? They’re so reliant on me already. I’ve got a decent gig going on here.”

“Really?”

“Really. Besides, I promised you, didn’t I?”

Stan relaxed, letting go of Bill. “Okay.”

Bill turned to face his partner. “So did I pass your test? Do I get a special prize?” He sneered.

Stan simply grabbed Bill again and gave him a noogie, despite Bill’s verbal complaints as he tried to break free, dissipating the tension. “Ah, don’t be such a sour puss! You aren’t the easiest guy to get along with, but I can see now that you’re a secret softie. You like it here, don’t cha?”

“Lies! Lies and slander!” Bill howled, thrashing in the constricting hold. “Unhand me, you big oaf!”

“You like being my partner,” Stan teased, unmoved by the spectacle. “Oh, I almost thought I’d never see the day! Told ya I’d grow on you, Starboy.”

“Like a persistent mold or fungus, maybe,” Bill growled, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“You’re right: you get a special prize for this. Let’s celebrate! And I know the perfect place for a vacation to end the summer!” Stan proclaimed, letting go of Bill. The smaller man rubbed his head from the rough housing, interest piqued.

“Oh? Where to?” Bill questioned.

Stan grinned wildly. “Only the greatest place on Earth! Where the laws are bent to one’s whim, cheating and lying are the standard, and anything goes!”

Bill gasped in excitement. “You don’t mean-”

“Yup, get ready, William! We’re going to Sin City!” Stan cheered, throwing his fez into the air as Bill eagerly joined in.

~

The two suited con men swayed on the stage of the karaoke bar, sharing the one mic they had left after Bill threw the other one at a waiter’s head point-blank. The bouncers were making their way towards them, but the two paid them no mind, lost in their own world together.

“Baby, ain't it something how we lasted this long,” Bill sang, clad in the gold-accented three-piece he had acquired all those months ago.

“You and me proving everyone wrong,” Stan belted out, any shame he’d usually have for singing for strangers completely gone.

The one-eyed man leaned heavily on his partner as he stumbled over his feet. ”I don't think we'll ever get our differences patched.”

He was then swept into the strong arms of the bigger man in a parody of a ballroom waltz. “It don't really matter 'cause we’re perfectly matched.”

“And I take two steps forward,” Bill moved towards Stan.

Stan stepped backwards in time. “I take two steps back.”

They harmonized in unison, “We come together ‘cause opposites attract.”

Bill spun Stan, “And you know, it ain't fiction.”

“Just a natural fact,” Stan dipped Bill.

“We come together 'cause opposites attract~” They finished together.

By this point, security had surrounded them on both sides and were closing in before they could finish their song. Stan, who still had Bill in a dip, heaved the lithe man into his arms bridal-style and leaped off the stage. He landed heavily, knocking down a few tables and splashing drinks everywhere onto the other patrons, and sprinted to the nearest exit. Bill leaned over Stan’s shoulder and sent their pursuers double middle-fingers, cackling unrestrained as he taunted them with the nastiest of curses over Stan’s booming laughter.

Las Vegas was truly their city.

~

Years later, Bill would seethe with pure hatred as the “Tent of Telepathy” was advertised on TV, with child psychic Lil’ Gideon Gleeful as the star of the show, singing alongside a piano and telling people vague one-liners about their future. It was a blatant rip-off of Mr. Mystique! And people were buying into it because of some chubby little pig child with a pompadour!

Needless to say, he and Stan immediately tried to burn the whole place down, but law enforcement got involved before anything happened. They were lucky that Blubs had a soft spot for Bill since he helped “send him on a journey to meet his destiny”.

Chapter Text

Bill was warm. Much warmer than usual since he naturally ran cooler than the average person. And more than a little squished, with a heavy weight draped across the front of his body, trapping him flat against the softer-than-normal mattress underneath him. For a moment, he just laid there in confusion, wondering where he was and how he got there and why was he perfectly content to stay there? Then a familiar snore broke the silence.

Oh, Stanley was on top of him. Now that the grip of sleep loosened and he was coming back into awareness, Bill could feel Stan’s stomach pressing against his own, their legs tangled together, the hot breath flowing down his neck…perfectly intertwined. Bill wrapped his arms around his lover, holding him as close as he could as he melted even more into the hotel bed.

The two had made an effort to visit Las Vegas at least every other year since the first time they terrorized the city. All vices flourished here, so Stan and Bill fit right in until they committed a crime that crossed the line and got them run out by the police. Rinse and repeat for their next stay.

As Bill rubbed Stan’s back, encouraging the larger man to relax and continue sleeping, an activity the two were never good at, he glanced around the room, taking in the view. An array of items littered the room: decorative potpourri they had swiped from the lobby, a whole bucket of poker chips, a very large and expensive camera that definitely didn’t belong to them, and their matching vacation clothes strewn on the floor next to the bed.

Hm, pretty tame of them. Last time, they had filched a small monkey from the traveling circus and used it to attack people at the pool so that they’d get the best lounge chairs. But it also gave them fleas, so that was an itchy, unpleasant experience.

Bill’s hands migrated from Stan’s shoulders up to his nape, untangling any knots that had twisted the strands overnight. They had been particularly wild with their activities, Bill’s lower half could attest to that, and had fallen asleep after crashing head-first into their post-sex haze. As he was combing out the tangles, though, he noticed something on his left hand sparkling in the beams of sunlight that pierced through the window. He brought it closer so he could see what it was, right up to his eye.

Oh, it was just a gold ring. Very high quality, too. 24-karat, perhaps? Now that would be a good score. And based on the simple, yet big and distinctive design, it was clearly a wedding band. Bill tilted his hand this way and that, admiring how it adorned his finger. His finger to the right of his pinky. His ring finger.

…

“WHAT?!” Bill yelped directly into Stan’s ear, causing the poor man to shoot up in alarm and topple off the bed, legs caught in the long sheets. With the curtains wide-open, he had given the people in the building across from them quite a show, not that either of them cared.

Stan quickly stood up and faced Bill, who was still staring at his finger in disbelief. “WHAT THE HELL WAS EVEN THAT?!” He yelled, more out of shock than true anger. “You almost gave me a fuckin’ heart attack! What happened?!”

“This is what happened,” Bill shouted back, matching the volume of the room, and shoved his hand into Stan’s face. Stan pried the offending appendage back to a decent distance so he could make sense of what Bill was referring to.

“Bill, there’s nothin - oh.” Stan peered blankly down at the ring. “...did you get married?!”

“I guess?!”

“To WHO?!”

“I DON’T KNOW I JUST WOKE UP LIKE THIS!”

Stan huffed out a baffled laugh, unsure how to feel. On one hand, it was kind of hilarious. Typical Vegas shenanigans and hijinks struck again! On the other hand, it was his lover who was potentially married. “Of course you would get hitched and not remember.”

“...Stanley?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not just me.”

“Huh? What are you saying?”

“Check your hand, Lee.”

Stan looked at his right hand.

“The other one. Get with the program!”

Stan looked at his left hand. Lo and behold, there was a gold band on his ring finger as well.

“Well shit! Guess we both got married,” Stan exclaimed, checking out the small piece of metal. “At least it’s good gold. Wonder who the lucky people married to us are.”

Bill made gimmee hands as he reached for Stan’s hand of interest, who surrendered it willingly. He put it across from his so that the two were mirrored. The two rings matched perfectly.

The two scam artists let the revelation sink in for a moment.

“Huh,” was all Stan could utter.

The younger man then noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

Bill leaned over to the nightstand and presented his partner with a folder that bore the logo of one of those cheap wedding chapels specializing in fast, barely legal, and binding marriage licenses. Inside was a contract that had both of their messy, scribbled signatures displayed at the bottom: William Birch and Stanl Stanford Filbrick Pines.

“Well, would ya look at that! Guess we’re partners in every way now,” Bill managed to joke. “I can take you to court for your assets.”

Stan closed the folder. “You thinkin’ of divorcing me already?”

“No~” Bill dragged out the word as he took the folder back and returned it to the nightstand. “You wouldn’t show up anyway.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t.”

Stan then sat on the bed in front of Bill, contemplative all of a sudden. Not liking the distant attitude, Bill crawled over and plopped himself into Stan’s lap, wrapping his legs around Stan’s waist and crossing them along the back.

“Aw, come on; what’s on your mind, big guy?” Bill noticed a rather sore-looking hickey right on his lover’s clavicle, bite marks still fresh and slightly oozing, and couldn’t help but lean down and lather it with his saliva. Stan, who was rather desensitized to Bill’s proclivity for licking every inch of his body at this point, took the time to put his thoughts into words.

“I just…is this what you want?” he questioned, looking up at the ceiling as Bill loved on his chest. “To be married to me? We can just go back to that chapel and - OUCH!” Stan flinched away at the sharp bite to the top of his pec. The perpetrator straightened up to gaze down at Stan incredulously.

“Ow, Bill, watch your sharp-ass teeth!” The victim complained, rubbing at the sore area. “You roughed me up a lot last night.”

“Well, did you also rough up your noggin last night or something?” Bill demanded, grabbing Stan’s head and checking for any sign of injuries. “Or are you just trying to pull my leg? ‘Is this what I want?’ Why wouldn’t it be?! Who else would I marry?! Old Goldie? The shrunken monkey head in the cabinet? The wax model of Larry King?!”

“Look: all I’m saying is that we got a good thing going on right now. Business is flowing, Ford’s jumbo science project is coming along, and we’ve never been better! Adding marriage to the mix usually yucks it up for everyone!” Stan laid it out, plucking each of Bill’s hands with his own and lowering them off of his head. “I know from experience. And I don't want that to happen to us.”

“Are you kidding me? What we got going on isn’t anything like your previous marriages, where you got hitched to shady women who you barely knew.” Bill shifted in Stan’s lap, tapping the bottom man’s chin so the undivided attention would be focused on him and him only.

“Listen Stanley: It’s me and you,” he stressed, poking at the hairy chest, directly over the heart. “The way I see it, why shouldn’t we be married? This was bound to happen down the road anyways. Totally inevitable! Like the Roman Empire collapsing, London Bridge falling down, celebrities cheating with their co-stars, and the Duchess rejecting Count Lionel! We’re meant to be! How could a flimsy piece of paper the government keeps in a dark cabinet change all of that?”

Bill lifted Stan’s left hand up to admire how the jewelry complimented Stan’s features. “Besides, you’re gorgeous in gold. I’ll have to get you more accessories.”

He brought the hand up to his mouth and kissed the ring sweetly, gazing into the brunette's eyes as he did so, making the other man’s cheeks flush.

“Come on, my Starlight; don’t tease me,” Bill breathed, a hushed sound meant for the one person he truly cared for. Who could ever inspire these soft pleas to fall off his tongue willingly. “Don’t you want to be my husband? My one and only for all eternity?”

Stan’s face was fully colored now, the rushing blood heated by such fervent exaltations.

“‘For all eternity’? I don’t think we got that long,” was pointed out shakily. “Thirty, maybe forty, years is all I really have left.”

“Then I’ll keep you for as long as I can. Or dabble in necromancy.”

“And y’know, if this is a proposal, people are supposed to get down on one knee,” Stan mumbled, but his words held no disappointment at all, eyes unfathomably bright and mouth curled up in one of those sweet, open smiles he only graced Bill with.

Bill suppressed a snort. They had probably already skipped that tradition. Maybe that stolen camera had some photos of whatever celebration occurred last night.

“But, yeah, I do,” Stan admitted freely, unable to rid the bashful undertone from his voice. “I want to be your husband. I want you to be my husband.”

“Then boom! We’re already married!” Bill declared. He exaggeratedly wiggled his eyebrows at Stan. “You may now get some sugar, hot stuff.”

Stan let out an achingly fond laugh, cupping Bill’s face. That chin fit like a puzzle piece into the palm of his hand, and he stole some time to admire the precious sight on top of him.

Wild bright locks the color of Stan’s favorite rare metal, that striking eye that always caught people’s attention, a cute nose that wrinkled when in deep thought, and the stupid little goatee he thought made him look slick…Stan never imagined that he could have this. Not after everything.

A single, stupid mistake.

A curtain closed shut.

A decade and more of demoralizing struggles.

A postcard pleading for his help.

A harsh, lonely mission imposed upon him.

A dream left broken and unfulfilled.

Stanley Pines had been convinced his life had ended the day he lost his brother.

The first time he was seventeen years old, staring from the street up at his former room where his twin disappeared with only a duffel bag and his car to keep him afloat.

The second time he was thirty-something years old, staring in an empty lab up at a fantastical machine into which his twin disappeared with only a journal and a new brand to always remind him of his sins.

It ended again when he introduced himself as Stanford Pines to the town. And again when he cut the brakes on that car and killed his own name in a fiery crash.

Over and over, every day that he spent in Gravity Falls, suckering people into overpriced tours of lousy attractions by morning and pouring over infuriatingly tricky equations by night, Stanley tirelessly maintained an endless cycle of dying and reviving himself. A cheap mockery of a phoenix.

As those three years passed, he began to grow desperate riding solo. The routine despair was always rising and receding as he pushed forward, but like the tide growing ever stronger. He was always aware of its ebb and flow. He was always aware that it was only a matter of time before he was swept away. He just wanted to save Ford before he succumbed to and drowned in the dark depths of a chilling, ruthless world.

Then Bill came into his life.

Well, dragged his way onto the Shack’s porch and passed out half-frozen. Even Stan couldn’t lie about how challenging it had been in the beginning.

Bill had been more akin to that of an obnoxious otherworldly spirit he had invited into the house than a human guest, seemingly uncaring and unknowing and unfeeling of what it meant to be a living being. Maybe all those fairytales had been onto something about inviting odd strangers of potentially magical origins into your abode. Bill was just another burden for Stan had picked up and shouldered for his crucial knowledge in the name of bringing back Ford.

Yet Stan had always known that there was more to Bill. More to that sharp, warning smile that promised a worse bite than his bark if given half the chance. More to that hysterical laugh that held a tinge more of fear than enjoyment in tense situations. More to that taunting gaze that tried so hard to appear in control of every situation, yet knew nothing of the world. Knew nothing of himself. All they had to go off of was that simple, complicated cloak that preached a warning they didn’t know how to heed.

At first, this had made Stan wary. And it was second-nature to be wary when you never trusted anyone. Just who was Bill? What did his past hold? Was he connected to Ford? These questions ultimately came secondary to his convictions. Nothing was more important than his brother.

But overtime, as he watched Bill face trial after trial to contort his body to carry out basic tasks, write out countless ciphers in the bright light of the basement computer screens for hours, and practice socially-acceptable smiles in the bathroom mirror when he thought he was alone, Stan became more understanding.

He left more openings than he should have for Bill to fill. More opportunities to prove himself. A chance to become someone he wanted to be. The creation of William Birch was just that: a chance. A chance for a lie, a story, to become truth. Reality. And it did. He did.

Stan couldn’t help but gain another purpose. One that uplifted and supported him instead of dragging him down. Ensuring that he was accompanied every step of the way. Encouraging him to fight against the pull of the stream, buoying him up as he pushed and pushed and pushed. Filling the hole in his heart and healing the innumerable other injuries it had incurred over his lifespan.

Even if the beginning years had been trying, Stan wouldn’t change their difficult past for anything. Because it was theirs. Theirs that they painstakingly lived through to arrive at the present they rightfully earned.

Truly, he had been awarded with a blessing from above. He still couldn’t believe it sometimes.

Time after time, failure after failure, he had thought the universe was making it clear to him that Stanley Pines was not deserving of a meaningful life. That nothing good ever lasted.

And he knew that it wasn’t certain he’d have this forever. That which he cared about rarely stayed around, slipping through his fingers the instant he tried to hold on tightly. As if his very touch caused them to flee however they could.

But he couldn’t help but have hope for this. For Bill, he would always try to have hope.

“Did I ever tell you that I wished on the morning star once?” Stan whispered into the space that only existed for them for this exact moment. “To have someone in my life?”

“No, you haven’t,” Bill replied just as softly, eye colored the same shade as that beautiful dark sky all those years ago.

“The day I met you, I did.”

“Guess we really are meant to be.”

“I bet so. Now come here, Starboy.”

He tilted Bill’s mouth to meet him, pressing the softest kiss he ever bestowed on the man he loved lips. Trying to express how much he cared and how he’d never stop caring.

Bill knew instinctively what Stan was conveying, gently returning the gesture as he cupped Stan’s hands from where they rested on his face. It was so innocent, and so at odds for their current positions: naked as the day they were spat out onto this drifting rock and their bodies touching with no barriers.

There wasn’t a thing that could be more fulfilling than this in any timeline, reality, dimension, or whatever else was out there in the wide, gaping multiverse. Of that, Bill was completely certain.

The celestially-sent man smiled into the kiss, a sweeping and exhilarating wave of pure satisfaction exciting his body’s electrons as they jumped between his atoms, making him feel alive.

To have and to hold.

From this day forward.

For better, for worse.

For richer, for poorer.

In sickness and in health.

To love and to cherish.

For as long as they both shall live.

In other words…

He pulled away and gazed upon Stanley Pines, the hunger of an insatiable monster gleaming brightly in his all-consuming stare as he claimed what was his.

You are mine.

Chapter Text

Bill found himself seated in one of those slightly-comfortable-but-actually-hard-and-will-hurt-your-ass-in-30-minutes plastic chairs. He just wanted to get this over with. Whatever…this was. Why was he here again? He couldn’t recall. No amount of digging into the core of his memories has ever yielded any answers. Just empty, uneven pits formed with blunt fingers.

He was stuck in what must be a doctor’s office. The too-blank, minimalistic white walls meant to cloak the mind in a clean slate blocked in the space. Bill could have sworn at a certain angle, they shimmered iridescently and allowed a brief peak at dark brightness that lay beyond the confinements. The boundaries existed, but were they real? He felt like he already knew the answer to that.

Tall metal filing cabinets with numerous drawers were lined up in the corner as they stretched up high towards the ceiling. A radiant, hanging light fixture hung directly above Bill, searing its brightness into his body. No shadows to sink into and hide in as it glared intensely about the enclosure.

A rectangular desk sat wide in front of him, obnoxiously so. Pretentious in the way that it divided the room between doctor and patient. The holy healer and the earthly sick.

Bill was not sick.

Piles upon piles of files and folders on said desk created paper monuments that nearly blocked his view of what lay on the other side.

The wall across from him had many inspirational and informational posters on display. A quick read of one of them spewed the same repetitive, uninspired bullshit that all the degree-bragging automatons decorated their personal circle of Hell - he meant practices - with.

Actually, that was an insult to Hell. It was actually rather pleasant down there if you could handle the heat from the hellfires that roasted the damned in its cleansing flames. Bill personally enjoyed their natural hot springs.

“I don’t think the current routine has proved to be beneficial to your personal growth,” a voice, if it even was a voice, informed him, calm and infinitely collected. It hummed across the space between them, creating small vibrations across the surface of his shell, energizing his molecules so that they stood at attention, wired. He was naturally drawn to it, a force unable to be opposed.

“Your handlers have not noticed a marked improvement in your mindset regarding your past grievances.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Bill huffed, the clinical summary igniting a spark of pride that he continued to prevail over those mandated losers. “All the shrinks tell me is that I have a ‘problem’ and that I ‘live in a constant state of denial that keeps me emotionally stagnant’. YAWN. Gimme something new! I’m going for ALL the disorders!”

“Hm.” It went quiet. Contemplating. That meant nothing good for Bill. He knew from experience that when this being began to scheme, something more was at play. “I want you to humor me, for a moment. Answer as honestly as you can.”

“Hoo-boy! Which fun psychological game are we gonna play today? Rorschach and his ugly inkblots? Figuring out my MBTI personality? How about those fun quizzes where your favorite television shows decide what kind of smoothie you’d be?” Bill heckled to smother his agitation, twitching as he began to pick up a faint roar of something brewing in the background. Did anyone else hear that?

“I’m going to supply you with a word, and you’re going to express the first thing that comes to mind. You may use a physical medium to help express yourself. No overthinking, just action.” He suddenly found a notepad and pen in his hands, as if they were always there and he was just reminded of their existence.

Bill gripped them more tightly than necessary. He didn’t feel them. He couldn’t even make out his appendages.

“Writing? You sure that’s what you want me to do? After everything?”

“I think it is worth the risk. First word …” The doctor informed him.

Bill paused. He knew that he was told something, that the word had been transmitted and received, but he had no clue what it was.

“Uh, could ya repeat that for me?”

“Of course. I said that the first word is ….”

The voice became unintelligible, the clear sound becoming muted as the roar reached a fever pitch and disrupted the soothing hum. Like two radio frequencies interfering with each other.

The static that this created took over as it clouded over all of his senses, and he found himself spacing out as his panic began to spiral. He was now lost within the fog of overwhelming noise and glitching pixels of color. Unable to hide. Unable to be found.

Where was he? Who was he? Why-

Why did everything hurt so much?

Bill tried to hold himself, as if he could catch himself within the palms of his own hands, but he still fell apart in the embrace.

It was as if his body had degenerated down to its most basic components and thrown straight into the simmering primordial soup. The complex structures they had once constructed, that supported life and all its functions, were no longer recognizable as they were stirred round and round and round. Boiling sludge, stripped of any identity, yet able to bring forth anything and everything. Could they ever remake Bill again? Or will they cook him into someone completely new?

I grow maddened

The voices that were always there in the background, always watching and resenting and hating him, cried, going from near silent to deafening in an instant. They continued to chant like witches over a caldron as he bubbled and churned, helplessly sloshing about with no fixed form.

I grow maddened

I grow maddened

Igrowmaddened

Owirdmaddgene

Weirdmaggedon

Weirdmaggedon

WEIRDMAGGEDON

WEIRDMAGGEDON

A prophecy.

A warning.

An accusation.

Bill didn’t understand, but he knew. But he couldn’t remember what he knew. He tried to focus, but now the static was fading back into sharp, defined colors, and he was being shook awake.

“-ill? William? You good?”

Bill groaned, turning away from the voice and trying to hide underneath the insulated comforter, soaking in its stink of cigars, pennies, Old Spice, and a hint of gasoline, but a hand pulled it away from his face. He cracked open his one eye, glaring at the offender who would dare disturb his horrible slumber.

It took a moment for the grey, black, and maroon fuzzy blob to come into focus, but eventually it turned into slightly blurry Stanley observing him from above. He wore a slight, worrying frown as he gazed down on Bill, concern leaking through his eyes as he took in the sorry sight.

And what a sorry sight Bill was.

He had barely left the room after that first night when he practically passed out on the bed. Bill was no stranger to exhaustion, but this was a new beast.

The efforts to keep his eyelid from closing made Sisyphus’ eternal task of pushing that boulder pale in comparison. His spindly limbs were as stiff as sticks but as heavy as the logs Manly Dan would chop down, halting any movement that required the slightest bit of strength. Holding a conversation was akin to reciting every human languages’ alphabet simultaneously.

He had been too enervated to do anything more than eat, sleep, or watch television. Even worse, he had no clue what was wrong, which meant he couldn’t self-diagnose himself with anything. No fever, no positive flu tests, no coughing or physical ailments that would indicate that a disease or virus was to blame…just a draining sensation that sucked every morsel of energy from his ever-debilitated frame. Where did it go? It must go somewhere. Newton said so.

“Bill, you gotta get up if you wanna come,” Stan told him bluntly, but not unkindly. Bill was at least grateful that he didn’t fawn over Bill obnoxiously and treat him like a fragile porcelain doll one crack away from shattering apart. “I’ve already let you sleep as long as possible, but we need to hit the road soon if we wanna stay on schedule.”

Bill exhaled out the stale air from his lungs and attempted to push himself up on his forearms, ignoring their trembling.

“I dunno, Lee,” he muttered, forcing his mouth to move to form the words, pulling molten tar apart with his jaw. “Like this, I couldn’t carry out any of our devilishly amazing schemes even if I tried.”

“That’s exactly why you should go! Get out and breathe in some fresh air, have the sun on your face; plus it’ll be good for your soul to watch our competitors get humiliated. Don’t worry about what you can or can’t do. Just sit in the RV and enjoy!” Stan tried to sell his pitch like a product, complete with a showman grin as he gesticulated about.

The increasingly pleading offer from his partner managed to inspire Bill with a bit of motivation. Stan really wanted Bill to come along, didn’t he? Well, who was Bill to disappoint him?

Plus, as an extra special bonus, the boy who cried wolf was staying behind to watch the house. It would be just him, Stan, Soos, and the kids, including Mabel’s two best girl friends. The perfect, law-breaking crew.

So, after conjuring any possible latent energy he might have still possessed, Bill managed to do a quick bathroom run so he at least met the minimum hygiene qualifications, threw a bunch of random clothes into a duffel bag, and grabbed a few items for his own personal entertainment. After that packing montage, he was nearly wiped out, so Stan was tasked with shuttling everything down the stairs for him.

Bill hesitated a moment at the top of the flight, internally scoffing at himself. It was the same set of stairs he had gone up and down countless times! And there was a handrail! Had he really deteriorated so much that even this was a challenge?

Apparently so. The trip was treacherous, with Bill nearly tumbling down if it weren’t for Stan grabbing him just in time at the bottom. It was embarrassing, especially as Stan knowingly handed him a cane he hadn’t needed to use in decades. He reluctantly accepted it, but his admittance of weakness stung like a sharp sting from within, a slap of embarrassment. Talk about a regression! Bill was supposed to be better than this.

Stan opened the door for him, and Bill audibly hissed as the natural sunlight struck his eye point-black, the sensitive, unprepared organ having been secluded in the dim lighting of the house for days. He retreated behind the wall of a man to stop the bright onslaught from burning his retina.

“Yeah, you definitely need a break for a bit,” he heard Stan mutter as he dealt with the agony, commiserating with the vampires (not the sparkling kind). After rapidly blinking to vanquish the bright yellow spots, Bill tried to face the outdoors again.

It was a picturesque summer day. An azure sky was painted over the canopy of the emerald forest, with a few puffy clouds spreading across the backdrop. The warmth of the air seeped into his exposed skin, with Bill automatically untensed.

Soos was already packing up the RV on his boss’s orders, strapping the luggages in a tetris formation to ensure they all fit with some semblance of order. It looked more like the leaning tower of Piza.

Stan dropped Bill’s bags (carefully after being sent a warning glare) to the pile while he went to conduct important safety checks (adding more bumper stickers to the rear).

Bill took a deep breath to brace himself once more for another “fun” venture to get out of the house and stepped off the porch, fully leaving the building.

It was as if he broke through the surface after being stuck underwater for so long. The pressure he had been acclimatizing to receded, no longer straining his lungs, weighing down his heart, or squeezing his head by the temples. Bill greedily gulped in the refreshing breeze that swept across his cheeks and unwound further.

Huh, maybe this vacation idea was a good idea. He was feeling better already! All those other locally-owned, lackluster tourist traps better watch out! William Birch was ready to make them wish they never signed that business permit!

Confidence restored, he strutted his way over to the rusted RV Stan had picked out from one of those shady newspaper ads that vaguely described the product and appraised the space.

Okay, okay; it was kinda roomy with the booth dining area and open entryway. The color scheme gave the interior a nice warm hue that was soft on Bill’s eye, though the area carpet reeked of moth balls. They could have done worse. A future living in this on-the-road fashion didn’t seem too bad. Bill would just have to do a major cleanout of all the trinkets and other collectibles he hoarded in the spare bedroom over the years. Maybe he’d just pawn most of it onto Soos, who wouldn’t be able to dispose of anything that belonged to Bill.

“And don't forget bug spray!” He heard Stan call out from outside. “It's perfect for spraying in the face of hitchhikers.” What an innovative man.

After completing the short inspection inside and settling his cane against the wall, Bill popped his head out the window to add his two-cents as Soos and Stan explained the purpose of the spontaneous trip to Dipper.

“Last year those hooligans duct taped Soos to the ceiling,” Stan recalled as he wrapped up the tale from the previous summer.

“That was a fun 78 hours.”

“They finally made a break for it after I set one of them on fire,” Bill jumped in, smiling proudly at the arson-filled memory. “Now for the rest of her life that old hag has to wear a wig, not that she had much on that saggy scalp before nor does she have much longer to live. Serves her right for ruining my new carpet.”

Dipper only managed to put on a wobbly, unstable smile that looked like it would fall apart at the slightest push instead of congratulating Bill for enacting his rightful vengeance. What was the matter? Cat got the kid’s tongue? Or was the twitchy behavior from tamale night still at play here?

This wasn’t the first time Dipper had acted uncomfortable with Bill. From what he could recall, it had been after Mabel’s sock puppet show. Bill unfortunately could not attend despite hot gluing his fingers together several times and nearly losing half of his facial hair to help make the cheap puppets due to a sudden migraine. For the next couple of days, Dipper could not stand to stay in the same room as Bill alone, constantly stared him in the eye like he could pluck out Bill’s darkest secrets from his dark pupil, and would freeze up as if a violent blizzard was brewing inside the Shack whenever Bill made a sound even resembling a laugh.

Bill had chalked it up to a magical side effect of some random encounter and thought it was resolved, but apparently not? Or had something more recently dredged the old issues back up?

Stan, perhaps sensing the sudden drop in the conversation’s mood, hopped back in and regained control. He handed Dipper a map of all their future marks along the Redwood Highway, declaring their resolution to prank them all back for the previous offenses. Bill retreated back inside.

With perfect timing, Mabel and her crew of road dogs rolled up to the vehicle, excited to be joining the Pineses on their revenge tour. The NDAs were definitely warranted.

And even though he probably wasn’t supposed to be listening in, Bill couldn’t help but overhear Soos and Mabel’s private pep talk with Dipper. So the kid was still getting over his Wendy blues, huh? Bill was great at giving advice, just look at his résumé if you didn’t believe him, so he’d have to pull the kid aside later to give him a few pointers.

First crushes either ended tragically and you tried to use an armageddon to block out the constant debilitating whisper of what-ifs, or they worked out perfectly and you lived in domestic bliss scamming the general public with products that gave them rashes. Bill was in the later half, so while he couldn’t relate, he still wanted to remind Dipper of what a helpful grunkle he was.

Then out came Drama Queen Sixer, who suddenly was watching the travel preparations from the porch, solemnly surveying like an army general sending them off to war.

“It’s a good idea, Dipper,” he called out to his grand-nephew, who eagerly turned to listen to his respected elder’s words, attention instantly captured and entrapped. Bill slammed open one of the RV windows much harder than necessary, nearly hitting the top of Stan’s head.

“Traveling is an excellent experience for everyone! Take advantage of the opportunity and keep your eyes peeled for anything noteworthy. You never know what you may witness!”

Dipper looked thrown for a moment before a look of understanding crossed his face. He gave the older man a determined nod, acting as if he had been bestowed a noble quest by a wise wizard. “I will, Great-uncle Ford!”

What code were they communicating in that they thought no one else could pick up on? Nerd-ese? DD&mD roleplay? Whatever it was, it was suspicious. But in just a few more minutes, Bill would be free from the oppressive presence of Stan’s more annoying and less charming copy.

Something was going on with Ford, though. The few times the past couple of days Bill had gathered the strength to traverse downstairs, or have Soos or Stan lug him around, Ford was always there. Watching television with Stan, letting Mabel knit him a new sweater, playing more DD&mD with Dipper, and even testing Soos’ infinite pizza slice! Slithering in like a slippery serpent into his garden. Bill felt like he was the only one not on crazy pills, which he normally delighted in popping!

Reconciliation? Puh-lease! Stanford Pines was up to another scheme. That’s right: he saw that creep running around with that embarrassing mustache during the election! What the hell he was doing, Bill could speculate in a few directions. Especially when Bill would catch that dark, thundering look behind Ford’s lenses that promised nothing pleasant for Bill.

Soon enough, everything was tied to the top of the RV, and they were ready to depart. Ford watched them go, standing ominously in front of the house, reminding Bill of a golem, as they drove around the bend.

Bill involuntarily shuddered, furious that Ford still managed to set his nerves ablaze after all this time, and pried his eye away from the rear mirror. Good fucking riddance.

The occupants started to get settled inside: the kids claiming the booth, Soos peering out the shotgun window with Bill joining him, and Stan driving for the first leg of the trip. Mabel unzipped her tote bag and started handing out hats of various designs and combinations of colors. All were made out of aluminum and decorative tape.

“They were made special for the trip,” she declared proudly as she gave everyone their designated hat. “This way we can keep track of each other and not get lost. Like on school field trips they make you wear neon tape so they can find you when you run off!”

Grenda and Candy had no problem with putting on their matching berets, gleefully oo-ing and ahh-ing at each other. Dipper just put it underneath his actual cap. It was as if he wasn’t even wearing it much to his sister’s disapproval. Soos and even Stan put on theirs, making Bill snort at the sight of Stan in a fez made out of foil.

“Scratchy,” Stan muttered as he itched at the edge of the brim.

“Here you go, Grunkle Bill!” She leaped up onto one of the seats and placed a large yellow sun hat on Bill’s head.

Bill checked out his reflection in the mirror, adjusting the brim a bit as he voiced his approval. “You really know how to make a person’s features pop, Mabel-leaf. I look like a sunflower.”

“Aw, shucks! It’s no big deal,” she gushed before heading back to her friends and her brother.

Bill smiled fondly after her before going up to the driver's seat, leaning his chin on his partner’s shoulder and tilting his head so his new accessory didn’t get in the way.

“Granny Sweetkin’s Yarnball first, right?” He inquired, peaking at the map that was taped to the dashboard. Stan grunted shortly in confirmation, eyes focused on the road. Bill waited a beat before continuing.

“...Y’know, she really has it coming if all she can scrape together year after year is a big knot of processed animal hair,” Bill tried to draw the man into conversation. “Maybe this will finally push her to actually create something worth all this effort. Like a giant knitted dragon or giant baby or something. Now those, I’d love to destroy.”

Stan glanced into one of his side mirrors nonchalantly. As if Bill was a mere speck of dust that hung in the air. “Yeah, maybe.”

Well, okay then. Maybe another topic would entice Stan to string together more than three words at a time?

“It was a good choice to ‘rent’ the RV,” Bill moved on to more pertinent matters, like their rapidly-approaching future. “When this is all over, we could give it a makeover once your twin kicks us out. See the sights across the country. Just you and I.” He leaned a bit closer so his teeth teasingly nipped at Stan’s earlobe. “We’re going to have a lot of fun~”

The driver shuddered and leaned away from the touch, ring-clab fingers gripping onto the steering wheel tighter. “That’s a thought.” Stan responded, a bit flustered, but otherwise not engaging with his flirty partner.

Bill tried not to pout pathetically despite the thudding hurt his heart pounded out. What was up with these dry lines? What happened to their natural and easy banter? Was a few days enough to throw them off their groove?

Feelings slighted, he went over to the one person who wouldn’t brush him off him: Soos. Who was currently panting like a dog with his head out the window.

“Soos, can I ask you something?” Bill asked at a much lower volume than he typically did, letting the other conversations occurring in the background obscure his voice.

Soos stuck his tongue back into his mouth. “Sure; what’s up Mr. Birch?”

Bill poked Soos in the chest, nail digging into the t-shirt’s flimsy fabric. “Now you gotta be honest with me, Mr. Fix-it. Blunt and brutal, got it?”

The buck-toothed man floundered at such a request that could require him to speak harshly of one of his beloved bosses, but he rallied quickly, snapping to attention. “Of course, sir!”

“Have I lost my magic touch?” Bill asked, holding out his arms like he was being scanned by the TSA. Not that he had ever been to one after TSA was formed but schematics. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s holding a conversation. Getting people to talk. And so far today, I’ve failed twice at it! What’s up with that? Did my sick spell drain me of my sweet skills?”

Soos took the question seriously, humming to himself as he had Bill do a 360-spin and visually inspected him from head to toe with a magnifying glass. “You’re as engaging and charismatic as you are on your best days. It’s like you were never sick at all!”

Bill nodded thoughtfully at the observation. “I agree. I’ve never felt better.” Did illnesses really come and go like this? Like a freak thunderstorm in the middle of a sunny afternoon? He didn’t get sick often, and thus didn’t have enough experience to know how his body operated.

“Ok, thanks Soosie. Go back to…whatever it was you were doing before I interrupted.”

“Right!” And Soos did just that.

Bill sighed and went over to where he had hung up his “man purse” as Stan nicknamed it. Yeah, laugh it up! Bill liked being able to hold his belongings in a cute bag for quick access. Was that a crime? He wouldn’t care even if it was! He took out his hand mirror and mascara, hoping to make himself look at least a bit more presentable after days of neglecting his appearance. Distract himself with his beauty.

Was that why Stan had rebuffed him? Unlikely: Bill could roll around in mud and Stan would still make out with him (he knew from personal experience). So what could it be? If Bill had an eye in his other socket, he would have been able to see both Dipper and Stan watching him as he zoned out doing his touch ups.

By now, they were already at the most foul elderly woman who lived in Oregon’s tourist trap, that disgusting fuzz ball sitting innocuously on a little raised platform. Stan had already explained the game plan to everyone: the girls go in and find the end of the yarn, Dipper retrieves it and ties it to the RV, Stan keeps watch, Soos checks inside the gift shop, and Bill drives away once everyone’s inside. A solid plan with a lot of moving parts.

Bill got out with everyone else, stretching his legs before he assumed the role of the getaway driver. He took a moment to center himself and focus, head buzzing uncomfortably as his thoughts clashed and bashed against each other, fighting for dominance.

He was starting to act just like his least favorite member of the household: paranoid. Bill didn’t do paranoid. He was above the constant feelings of fear and worry that drove people to act irrationally. Bill didn’t need paranoia to act irrationally. He did that all on his own!

He went to stand next to Stan as they watched the kids together. The girls were, predictably, having the time of their lives playing inside the yarn ball like a bunch of kittens, while Dipper was…talking to a girl?! On his own volition?! Someone was acting uncharacteristically bold! The kid must really wanna forget about Wendy.

“It feels like it was only yesterday he was hiding behind the register when a cute girl asked him where the bathrooms were at the Shack,” Bill cooed, a touch too dramatically. But Dipper really had grown a lot in terms of self-confidence over the course of the summer. The constant trials and tribulations Gravity Falls threw in their way so far had made the boy come out stronger. Bill nudged Stan’s shoulder with his sharp elbow. “Don’t tell me you’re not proud of him. I’ll know you’re lying~”

Stan paused his watch for the devil woman and looked over at his nephew as he blundered his way through the conversation with all the grace of a Gremloblin. It didn’t look like it was going smoothly, but the kid was giving it his best shot. Stan smirked slightly at the sight. “Yeah, he’s really gotten out of his shell. I guess I’ll give him that much.”

Then the smile disappeared as something else caught his attention. “Shit, I think I saw her getting ready to leave her cursed cottage.” He immediately radioed Dipper on the walky-talky while shooing Bill to the driver’s seat with a wave, barely giving his husband a second glance as he moved the plan forward.

Offended at the dismissive sendoff he received, Bill huffily marched back to the RV. He got into the driver’s seat and started the engine, watching the rest of the group from the car mirrors, unable to make out what was being said, but understanding the gestures.

He absentmindedly scratched at his arm, flaking the already extra-sensitive skin and letting them flutter to the ground. Sand in an hourglass streaming down to the bottom.

Tick tock.

~

“At this rate, I'm going to grow up to be a sad loner like Toby Determined,” Dipper finished, resignation clear in his defeated, little pre-pubescent voice. This was more serious than Stan had thought.

“Whoa. Never say that about yourself,” he placed a supportive hand on Dipper’s shoulder.

“Lucky for you I'm an expert in the art of wooing all sorts of people!” Stan started laying out the ground rules to form a foundation of advice. “Listen to me, kid. When it comes to bagging someone, always be confident. And be funny, but not too funny. And be kinda annoying but in a lovable way.”

Dipper didn’t look too wowed. “I don't know, Grunkle Stan. This sounds kinda jerky. Are these tips really how you got Bir-Bill to fall for you?”

“Bill is a rare exception to this full-proof method. Even I don’t know how that happened,” Stan stated bluntly. How they came to be was a much more complicated and hard-earned journey. Nothing like the little encounters Dipper was gonna have on this trip.

“Anyways, jerky is just a term non-jerks use to bad mouth innocent jerks.” He stood up and cracked his back from crouching for too long, grimacing at the jolt that followed. Damn spine.

“Confidence, comedy, some third word starting with a C,” he held up three corresponding fingers. “The three Cs of the Stan Pines dating technique! And hey, at the end of the day, someone willingly married me and stayed married to me. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

A complicated mixture of emotions crossed Dipper’s face at his last comment, and while he wanted to ask the kid what was wrong, they were in a time crunch and he had to finish his pep talk.

Stan cleared his throat and continued. “At the next tourist trap, try out my advice on the first girl you see.”

“Cool. Grunkle Stan, thanks,” the nephew told his grunkle, genuinely seeming to consider Stan’s tips, which didn’t happen often. He felt a sweet rush of pride at this rare accomplishment.

“Hey, I'm full of good ideas. Speakin' of which-” Stan turned to the rest of their crew, “Everyone! Now! Get ready to gun it, Bill!”

They quickly absconded from the premises, leaving behind a completely unraveled string in their wake and gaining a dangerously-large nail in the back of their RV as Bill drove away, Granny Sweetkin cursing them out as they left her in the dust. Everyone cheered at their first success of the revenge trip.

Their next stop was Upside-Down Town, which was just a house flipped…well the name spoke for itself. Stan set the kids loose to run around before they messed with the place. Let Dipper try his hand at using his newly-acquired advice. Bill joined Soos, the two of them theorizing what kind of glue the owner used to keep the house in place (both agreed it must have come from an alien species of gorilla called “saiyans” from that show they watched in Japanese). Stan stayed a bit aways, punishing himself in the brief moment of solitude.

The past few days, while Bill was bearing the brunt of the side effects that came from Ford’s protective measures, had also been weighing on Stan.

He had never hid anything so huge from Bill before, especially not a plot that directly involved the other man. Ford had managed to assuage his fears on the matter, but every time Stan would go into the bedroom to check on the lifeless-looking blonde to convince himself that this wouldn’t be Bill's deathbed, the guilt always reared its taunting head. Suffocatingly thick as it forced its way down his throat until he choked on it. Especially when Bill would curl into Stan’s arms as always at night, seeking refuge in what always should be a safe haven.

But Stan allowed this to happen. Hell, Stan helped make this happen. Laid down the thin rainbow hair around the Shack alongside his nephew and brother with the same hands that held his partner close to his chest, solidifying his allegiance to the cause. A good, worthy cause. To save his family from the demon that had been haunting them for over 30 years. It didn’t make him feel any less shitty.

At least it seemed the worst of it was extreme lethargy and long sleeping sleeps, though Stan caught Bill rubbing his temples several times as if that were also bothering him. But hey, exorcising an evil mind spirit from one’s head was bound to do that, right?

That’s why he pushed Bill to come with them on this road trip: to get a break from the tiring effects of the unicorn voodoo. Bill hadn’t equated the Shack with being ”sick” yet, so he stayed in their room to sleep it off, but that just reinforced the ailment. Stan did have a row with Ford about it, but he was adamant about taking his favorite accomplice with him.

“Stanley, what’s the point of constructing the protection circle if most of us are spending several days and nights outside of it?” Ford brought up, grimacing as Stan laid out the road trip to him. “Those asleep are most susceptible to Cipher in the mindscape, but he has the ability to contact even the waking by lulling them into a meditative state without them ever being aware of it!”

“Ford, we can’t live our lives always thinking about Cipher,” Stan dismissed, a now instinctive flare of annoyance licking at his rib cage at the mention of the Illuminati symbol’s inspiration. “We got things to do! How did you manage to get anything done worrying about that creep all these years, anyways?”

“I’ve had a metal plate installed in my brain by an oracle from another dimension.”

“…you’re fucking with me, right?”

Stan could only stare at his clearly unhinged other half as a metallic sound rang out after Ford knocked on his temple, at a loss for words. He then shook his head in resignation after a moment.

“Only you, Poindexter, would go that far to keep an alien out of your mind. Couldn’t you have just, I dunno, worn some tin foil on your head? Block out the signals or something? That’s, that’s how it works, right?”

“Stan, such old school theories about extraterrestrial contact aren't the most grounded in science…” Ford trailed off as Stan’s suggestion sunk in and he lost steam. “That…IS what I did…”

Stan had burst out laughing at the flabbergasted expression that took over Ford’s face as he understood the implications of his actions. “Betcha feel kinda stupid now, right?”

“Oh, shut your yaps,” Ford growled, turning away as if he could avoid the embarrassment. “On that note, I promised Mabel I’d do arts and crafts with her.”

So that left Stan stranded in his current mess: wanting the best for Bill, and feeling awful that he couldn’t entrust Bill with the truth.

Staying in the anophthalmic’s presence for too long was proving to be too risky. Stan wanted nothing more to soothe Bill’s worries about his sudden “sickness”, but he’d bet that Bill was going to figure out sooner or later Stan knew more than he was letting on.

It was one thing to play the dumb grunkle for the kids most of the summer. It was another to play the dumb partner for his right-hand man for almost three decades. Bill knew him. And he knew Bill.

Already, Stan could tell that his and Dipper’s shift in behavior had been throwing the poor guy off. Stan just hoped Dipper wouldn’t get too twitchy around Bill. It wasn't his fault that he was being used as a puppet. He was honestly surprised Dipper wasn’t more sympathetic considering he had also been messed up by Cipher, but the boy was probably just worried about his sister and keeping her safe while the demon was still at large. Being wary of a potential threat was expected, even if it was in the form of a family member.

Stan would be lying if he said he wasn’t eying Bill more closely too, trying to find even the slightest hint of Cipher within the man, laying dormant to take over the sleeper agent at an opportune moment.

Once the kids had ample time to fool around, Stan gathered Soos and Bill in the main room so the three of them could roll the house to a right-side up position, downgrading it to just a run-of-the-mill house before they split.

Stan got to hear about Dipper’s exploits once they heckled Upside-Down Town’s owner and got back on the road, delighting in how excited Dipper was now that he had entered the world of casual flirting. Oh, to be young again. Don’t tell Bill.

“I can't believe it worked!” Dipper exclaimed, looking at the writing on his hand, a physical sign of his first achievement. ”What do I do now? Do I e-mail her?”

“No, no, no,” Stan immediately shot down the question. “You practice. The more girls you talk to, the better you get at it!”

And Dipper actually jotted that down! When had the kid ever followed Stan’s directions so dedicatedly? “Grunkle Stan, these tips are priceless.”

“And that's just the tip of the advice-berg,” he assured his nephew as his ego was stroked, checking the rear view mirror instinctively. On one of the seats in the back, Bill was curled up and looking out the window, looking like a pissed off cat who you shooed off the window sill, though the big sunhat ruined the severity of the image. Stan immediately looked away from the pitiful display as a familiar feeling ballooned in his guts.

Dipper noticed his change in mood and quickly glanced back to check what Stan was looking at.

“Oh,” was all he uttered. “Has he done anything suspicious recently?” His voice lowered so that they couldn’t be heard by the rest of their group.

Stan silently shook his head, keeping the motion short. He figured Ford had let Dipper in on why Bill was acting so loopy up these past few days, though he was sure that his brother hadn’t actually told the boy that Cipher was actively trying to find a way in. No need to freak the kids out. “No, he’s been as Bill-like as he’s ever been, but he knows we’re acting weird. We gotta do better. Somehow.”

Dipper huffed and scribbled more ferociously onto his notepad. “Kinda hard to act normal when things aren’t.”

“Aw, kid, don’t be like that. Bill didn’t ask for this,” Stan admonished, not liking the bitterness he was picking up on. “He’s doing the best he can while being kept in the dark. I get you’re spooked by ol’ isosceles head creepin’ in, but Bill’s fine right now. Play nice.”

“Grunkle Stan-” Dipper went to speak, but cut himself off immediately, clearly rethinking what he was about to say. “...just be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Aw, this boy. He wasn’t as mushy and gushy as his sister was about feelings, but he clearly cared. Stan reached over and ruffled that big head under the cap. “Don’t you worry about me, Dipper. I got my family watching my back.”

The boy pushed away his hand quickly before he could mess up what was already a scruffy mess, but at least Dipper smiled again. But there was a gleam to it that spoke of something else. “You know it, Stan.”

“Grunkle Bill! Come here! We’re just about to do our nails!” Mabel called out to the quieter of the two grunkles. Bill started, clearly having been lost in his own little world, but got up and slid into the seat next to Mabel, letting her grab at his fingers. She frowned as she examined the nail beds.

“Bill! Have you been biting your nails? The tips are totally uneven!”

“I have?” Bill looked honestly surprised by her exclamation. “I guess I didn’t notice.”

That meant Bill was nervous if he was chewing on himself again. The nails were first to go, and his eczema would flare up.

“Here, let Mabel fix you up!” the pre-teen brunette declared, grabbing the nail filer as she began to restore her grunkle’s nails with a manicure. Bill surrendered easily, always one to love receiving attention.

Stan forced himself to keep his head straight ahead. He’d rely on his niece to look after his husband in the meantime. She had already been fussing about how tired Bill was, but the rest of them had managed to keep her from worrying too much. Now, it seemed that she had picked up on Bill’s glum demeanor. And if anyone could cheer up the glum, it was Mabel Pines.

~

After hitting up and subsequently vandalizing Log Land and Corn Maze, they decided to call it a night and settled down in “Septic Ridge RV Park”. It even came with a hot tub! Stan and Dipper immediately jumped in, but unfortunately for Bill, he had not packed a swimsuit.

While he generally didn’t have any qualms about going in with his underwear, even he knew that was weird to do in front of a twelve-year old boy, so he decided to leave them be. Especially since he didn’t appear wanted by either of them at the moment, caught up in each other’s company. Fine then. Bill could entertain himself. He was the most entertaining person he knew, after all.

Without Soos there to lend a helping hand, they must have forgotten him at one of the previous attractions, it took him a bit more effort than he would have liked, but Bill retrieved the special item he had thought to pack for the trip. A gift Stan had presented him with once he started his thesis for his PhD: a high-quality telescope. Stan never did say how he got his hands on it. Bill loved it all the more.

He camped out right between the girls and the boys so he could still watch and listen to everyone while he adjusted the instrument’s settings, the routine second-nature to him as his hands fiddled with and turned the knobs idly.

One of his favorite pastimes was to go to different areas around Gravity Falls and just stare up at the dark abyss. The town’s abnormal magnetic fields impacted how the stars and other extraterrestrial objects appeared in the night sky, which was fittingly the topic of his Astrophysics paper. In order to preserve the town from being flooded by the scientific community, though, he slightly fudged the results to make it appear like it was a rare event that popped up randomly across the globe. But he knew the truth.

When he could, Bill would have Stan accompany him so his partner could partake in his love of star gazing. And Stan, if he wasn’t busy with their other responsibilities, was always happy to be included.

They’d drive the car to a clear view point, drape a blanket over the hood, and curl up together under the lights after using the telescope for a while. Sometimes they’d even turn on the radio and twirl each other under the twinkling orbs. Secluded in their own little galaxy that just held them, that just existed for them.

Bill cherished those nights, blissfully content. Like he finally possessed everything his heart pounded and gushed for. Like all of life’s battles that had left him battered and had stolen pieces of his mind from him were worth it if it meant he was able to exist in this moment. Where he was held and doted on by the one person who saw how ugly and deranged and imperfect he truly was and found him beautiful anyways.

Hoping to recapture those soothing feelings, even if he was alone, Bill began to examine the heavens, a little notepad in hand as he scribbled down his observations. The scenery was much different than back home, with the tall mountains growing high in the distance and no leaves or branches obstructing the view.

It was a tranquil evening in the RV park, or as tranquil as it could be with the Pines and their crew. The girls were roasting marshmallows and squealing loudly as they played Truth or Dare or Don’t. Stan was regaling one of his many scar stories to Dipper, showing off the deformity proudly. Heh, Bill remembered that one. Good times.

Even though Bill was supposed to be looking up, his eye kept trailing back to his partner.

Leaning against the wall with his wide chest and stomach out…those defined arms casually splayed out on the rim of the “pool”...the temptation was rising to just jump in and join them. But Bill had a lot of something called self respect. He wasn’t going to trail after Stan like a starving dog begging for scraps of affection. So he forced himself to focus on something even farther out of reach, even with the girls howling like a bunch of shrieky coyotes in the background.

Bill managed to center himself as he contemplated another bright body in the sky: the moon. So much more pleasant to look at than the sun. It was full and round tonight, like a wide, pupil-less eyeball staring at all the inhabitants down below. And he could have sworn, as a yawn racked his body, that it blinked back at him.

He rubbed his eye, now drowsy as he found it more burdensome to keep his lid open. Maybe he should sleep outdoors tonight. Maybe he should get some shut eye right no-

“Grunkle Bill!” A small hand was magnified by the telescope, a large white pillow in its grasp. “Do you want a marshmallow?”

Bill pulled away from the eyepiece to look at his niece and her friends. They must have snuck up on him as he started to nod off.

“Don’t mind if you do.” Bill accepted the gelatinous sugar blob and popped it into his mouth, smacking it around as it clung to his teeth. The girls gathered around him, checking out the instrument curiously.

“Star gazing again?” Mabel asked, noting the red ring around Bill’s eye. “Can me, Candy, and Grenda join?”

Bill held out a hand and gestured towards the telescope, pleased at the interest. “Be my guest. You remember how to do it?” He had taken the young twins out quite a few times this summer, teaching them how to properly calibrate the telescope and how to distinguish between the astral objects. They had proven to be fine protégés.

“Of course, but I think we’d all like it if the expert showed us,” she responded, braces shining in her smile. Her friends backed her up, asking Bill to give them a demonstration in overlapping tandem. Bill’s chest puffed, adorning a more didactic demeanor he’d assume for his guest lectures and other lessons.

“Well, ladies, you couldn’t have asked for a more knowledgeable teacher! Let Dr. Birch show you the ropes, and by the end of the night, even NASA will be envious of your skills.”

For the next hour, Bill delighted in jumping between the cat fights he’d get into trying to get his research approved, his favorite constellations, and extraterrestrial life. It was especially amusing to watch the girls gape as he explained Crash Site Omega to them. A whole alien spaceship right in Gravity Falls, and practically no one knew of it! Well, almost everyone.

“How do you think your trenchcoat-obsessed uncle got the parts to make the portal in the first place?” He pointed out, letting Grenda take a turn at looking at Orion, the hottest constellation in her booming, deep opinion. “Those seventh-dimension know-it-alls were lightyears ahead of Earth in terms of fancy tech. Stanley and I splunked a fair bit of gadgets ourselves to repair the machine as well. No need to put in the extra work when someone else has already done it, and better, amiright?”

“Why did it crash land?” Candy questioned as she took in this lore drop. “If they are so good at space travel?”

“Eh, that remains unsolved, but if you’re asking for my personal theory? I think once it entered our atmosphere over Gravity Falls, it couldn’t escape the land’s weirdness magnet and went-” Bill reenacted the scene, making his fist smack into his palm, hard. “PLOOSHHH. Down they went! And now all of them have been dead for millions of years. Probably.”

“Weirdness magnet?” Mabel piped up, latching onto the one-off phrase. “You mean the town attracts weird stuff? Is that why Gravity Falls is so special?”

“Exactly right, my little fireball!” Bill exclaimed, thrilled she put the pieces together. “And it’s not limited to the forest and magic. Check out all the people in town! Even the humans are oddballs! That’s why we all fit in there.”

Mabel laughed delightedly, and Bill couldn’t help but beam back.

Grenda pulled away from the telescope, letting Candy have her turn. “With so many crazy things like that in Gravity Falls, why do you study stars?”

Bill’s train of thought suddenly halted at the question. Why did he love the stars so much? How could one explain such an intrinsic aspect of their being that they themselves didn’t fully understand? “I…they always caught my attention. In fact, the first memory I have is of the stars, lighting up the sky behind Stanley.” No matter how many years passed, that image never went away, though faded it had become.

Mabel yanked at Bill’s collar, forcibly bending him down to her level. “What?! Your first memory is of Grunkle Stan?! With stars behind him?! Why didn’t I know this?!”

“It never came up,” Bill knelt down so that they could more easily be eye-to-eye and not strain his back. “But that's the truth. Your uncle found me all alone, unable to remember my past, and let me into his life. My guiding light.”

“Your Starlight,” Mabel breathed. “That’s why you call him that! AWWWW GRUNKLE BILL THAT’S SO CUTE!” The girls all cooed at the romantic reveal with all the gooiness usually reserved for Waddles and his piggy shenanigans.

“And why does Stan call you ‘Starboy’?” His inquisitive niece and her friends pried for more, the telescope now forgotten as they eagerly clustered around Bill to learn more about his relationship.

“Well~” Bill dragged it out. “At first I thought it was because I liked the stars so much and the fact that I was a natural performer. But he told me years later that right before we met, he had wished on the morning star for a companion. Not long after, he found me. As if I was sent by the heavens themselves.”

That triggered another round of obnoxious squealing, all of the pre-teens babbling how sweet that was and how obviously they were meant to be. That it was fated. Destiny. Bill couldn’t agree more. He must have someone in his corner up there.

“But,” Candy piped up, face turning slightly red, “If they aren’t sent to you, how do you know if someone is the one? Someone you might not have thought about before…” she trailed off, looking out into the distance. Bill followed her eyes to see them focused on the younger male in the hot tub. Ah. That was gonna be trouble that Dipper couldn’t leave behind on a road trip.

“Now don’t get it twisted, my young padawans: it took a while before Stanley and I became a couple. For the longest time, I didn’t want to be in love,” Bill reminisced, thinking back to the absolute agony he put himself through trying to wrestle his feelings away. Always playing a losing game.

“I thought it was a fluke when I realized my feelings for him. That I was weak. That it would go away if I just ignored it. But as I went through life with him by my side, I began to understand that there was no other way I’d rather live. Stanley Pines was it for me. There was no one else. That’s how I knew. And when you know, you know,” he reflected as the years flashed through his mind, a brief reel of highlights that defined their relationship.

The girls stared at him as if he had revealed the secrets of the universe to them, and he was glad the darkness allowed his embarrassed blush to go unnoticed. Well that was a lot more candid and heartfelt than he meant it to be. He was getting too sappy in his old age. Time to stop watching those telenovelas with Mrs. Ramirez. He cleared his throat as he tried to end his spiel on a final note.

“All that is to say, be careful with whom you share your world with, because they’ll hold your heart in the palm of their hand,” he finished. His only eye couldn’t help but look at who held his.

As if alerted by some magical force, Stan turned to look at him as well, meeting his gaze. Then they looked away.

Candy and Grenda swooned, both thinking of the boys that were currently occupying their minds, while Mabel looked between her grunkles, a bit confused at the weird tension she was picking up on. Then again, while she had been pretty busy most of the day, she also noticed that something was off between Stan and Bill. Was there more to it? If so, then love-expert Mabel was on the case!

Soon enough, Stan and Dipper got out of the hot tub and Bill packed up his telescope, ready to get the kids to bed. The girls were allowed in the cramped bathroom first, all brushing their teeth together, before bundling up in their blankets to giggle in the dark about more gossip. Stan also made quick work of the sink before letting Bill take his time, going outside to put up some “heat-containing tarp”, whatever that was. Bill didn’t remember Stan buying or shoplifting that recently.

As he wiped off his mascara and took out his singular eye contact, Bill noticed Dipper walk behind him to retrieve a bag he had left in the booth. Bill should probably warn the kid of what was to come.

“You’ve been pretty smooth today, Dips, shooting your shot with all those girls,” Bill started casually, clicking open his skin lotion and squeezing it onto his arm. “It’s good to see you getting over everything.”

“Oh,” Dipper startled at being suddenly complimented. “Uh, thanks? I guess…”

“Just be careful, though,” Bill continued, rubbing the moisturizer into the dry flakes that had been irritating him all day. “Stan’s advice is more suited for picking up ladies during a night out. They know it’s not serious. But these girls? They may not.”

Dipper’s face colored more the longer Bill talked. “Grunkle Stan said it was fine. I’m not going to be seeing any of them again, so don’t start trying to make me feel bad about it!”

“Woah there, kid! I’m just trying to dispense some helpful advice! Some girls are gonna take the way you’re acting as you actually being into th-”

“Well, I didn’t ask for your ‘helpful advice’, now did I?” The boy cut him off, narrowed eyes holding a dangerous, warning glint in them. “You can’t just involve yourself whenever you want.”

That certainly made Bill shut up, any words he might have had at his disposal suddenly missing.

Dipper grabbed his bag roughly and brushed past Bill, heading to his bunk. He didn’t once look back.

Bill stared after him, dumbfounded and unable to snap back. What was going on? Dipper only acted like that when he felt wronged. Did Bill do something wrong? He was pretty sure he hadn’t. So why…

Stanford Pines.

This had to be due to him. The man Dipper idolized most for some nerdy reason.

Bill and Dipper had been fine after the Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons incident! At least, Dipper said that he was. Had that been a lie? Or has something changed since then?

Bill had noticed that Dipper had been spending more and more time in the basement with Freaky Fingers since then, so who knows what the old man with a vendetta against Bill had been telling him! Lies and slander, that’s for sure! The boy had looked at him with such bristling fury and distrust…don’t tell him that Ford was feeding the kid that delusional “Bill-is-Bill” theory!

He had to talk to Stanley.

But…did he want to talk to Stanley? The guy had been dodgy all day. And they hadn’t had a deep conversation in weeks. Besides, now he had patched the rift with his twin, he’d probably be blind to Ford’s schemes in the face of their familial love and trust. Did Bill really have the patience to needle and prod the immoveable wall for a few words? Only to be disappointed?

As the kids huddled in their seats and drifted off to sleep, the two adults began to follow their lead and settle in. Stan had finished securing that tarp and dropped himself back into the driver’s seat after shucking off his suit jacket and fez. He gave out a loud sigh before reclining back and placing his lenses on the arm rest next to him.

After a brief hesitation that was forcibly squashed because William Birch was NOT a man who hesitated, Bill came up and climbed on top of his husband, sitting in Stan’s lap like he owned it. Because he did. Every part of Stanley Pines was his for the taking.

“Woah there.” Stan instinctively reached for and held onto Bill’s hips, shifting the man into a more comfortable position for the both of them. “What are you doing?”

Bill looked down at his partner. “Lounging on my throne of human flesh.”

Stan eyed the empty seat next to his that Soos was supposed to fill. “Okay…”

“This was always the sleeping arrangement,” Bill reminded him, offense starting to unfurl inside him, like a beast starting to awaken. There were only so many slights Bill could weather before he started to get nasty. “You were all for it before. We fall asleep like this all the time! Why is it now suddenly an issue?”

“I got no problem with it, babe,” Stan retorted, getting a sense that Bill was getting worked up. “Just thought you’d want more room.”

“I don’t.”

“Fine by me. I get a boney blanket out of it.” Thick fingers teasingly pinched at what little meat was on Bill’s thigh, the playful gesture draining some tension from the blonde. “You’ve been feeling better today.”

Bill nodded, resting his cheek on the top of Stan’s head and breathing in the sweaty hair follicles. “Totally recovered. You were right that getting out of the Shack would help. Maybe you’re the real Doctor Pines instead of your brother.”

“Ha, a quack doctor is all I’d be! And that’s good. I hate seein’ you like that.”

“You and me both.”

A pause, and then once Bill pooled together some courage, “What have I missed while playing Sleeping Beauty up in my tower? Things at home seemed…different.”

“Different?”

“Yeah. Because of Ford.”

Bill could feel Stan tense as they went down this conversation path. Bingo. “Have they? I mean, yeah, he’s finally showing his face and not running off after a minute. It’s…nice.”

“Nice,” Bill repeated, not convinced by the short and sweet description. “I bet he’s really entertaining, sure.”

“He’s definitely got a lot of stories to tell after all these years. You’d like some of them. There was this one time that he was in this crazy dimension where-“

“What’s going on, Stanley,” he cut the retelling off, the question on the verge of sounding like an accusation.

“Stanford’s doing something, and it’s more than just playing nice with all of you. Have you seen the way Dipper had been looking at me this trip? Hell, the way he just spoke to me?! It’s like he hates me or something,” Bill let the hurt that had been stewing since that conversation leak out. “Place your bets as to why, or who, that could be due to.”

Stan chewed his lip and he gazed out the side window, watching the edges of the tarp flutter in the evening wind. Like he had something to hide. “Dipper doesn’t hate you, Bill. And Ford isn’t trying to damage your rep with the kids or trick any of us into believing his old theory. He’s past that now.”

“That implies that he has a new theory,” Bill shot back, wanting his worries to be impressed upon Stan. “And guesses as to what it could be?”

“William,” Stanley’s tone now held a stern note. “You and Ford got off a very bad foot, I know that, but things are finally looking up. He’s getting over his issues with you. Maybe you should get over yours with him, too.”

Bill stared disbelievingly down at Stan, a faint static buzzing in the recesses of his consciousness, increasing accordingly with his distress. Were his ears’ cochlea impaired or something? Did his sudden bout of exhaustion scramble his brain irreparably? Or did he unknowingly end up in an alternate dimension?

The sight below him now seemed so familiar yet so foreign. Who was this man?

“Stanley. He tried to murder me without a second thought,” he snapped, the sharp crack of the word snapping between them, making Stan flinch in his seat.

“And sure, let’s say it was allll due to some silly misunderstanding where he accused me of being the devil incarnate. That he’s seen the light since then,” Bill continued as he spat out the mocking explanation.

“Maybe your negative 20/20 vision doesn’t let you see it, but he’s still constantly watching me like some crazy beast that’s going to maul all of you any second, and he’d gladly put me down. I can tell that he’s been snooping around my parlor, looking for my dirty dark secrets in the drawers. And you want me to get over it?!” He hissed in a whisper, the sound still cutting to Stan’s ears. “You’ve got a few more screws loose than I thought if you think that sounds like issues I should get over.”

With that, Bill promptly got up and out of Stan’s lap and into the shotgun seat, pointedly facing the windows and away from the silver-haired man.

“Aw, toots, don’t be like that,” a hand reached over and a large thumb rubbed circles into Bill’s bicep. “I didn’t mean-“

Bill pulled away from the touch, though he loathed to, but he had to make a stand. He wasn’t some cuddly domesticated pet you could pat on the head and all would be forgiven. Especially for this betrayal. Bill was more wild and intelligent than that. Stanley should know better.

And know better he did. Soon enough, the warm hand was retracted and silence grew between them as the world chilled. The abyss yawned ever wider.

“Well, uh,” Stan cleared his throat awkwardly and with no little amount of dejection. “Night, Bill. Get some shut eye.”

Bill didn’t reply. He just settled deeper into the seat next to his soon loudly-snoring husband and stared out the front window at the sky.

His own words echoed back to him.

Be careful with whom you share your world with, because they’ll hold your heart in the palm of their hand.

Make sure they never crush it.

He didn’t sleep that night.

~

Mabel woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning with two missions on her mind. One: have Candy and Dipper to go on a date at Mystery Mountain! Two: get Stan and Bill to make up! The second one was more tricky because that required figuring out what they had to make up about. Maybe Dipper would know?

She joined her twin at the sink as he was brushing his teeth. “Ready for another day of the revenge trip, bro-bro?”

Dipper spit out the blob of toothpaste-water-saliva mixture that was still in his mouth. “You bet. This trip’s been surprisingly great so far for something Grunkle Stan planned.”

“Hey, the guy knows what he’s doing,” Mabel teased back. “I’m sure Bill and him have pulled a bunch of heists like this back in their glory days!”

Dipper’s smile faltered, falling down at the corners. “Yeah, I bet they have.”

Mabel’s own smile fled from her face. “Dipper, have you noticed that something’s been off between our grunkles? They’ve barely hugged, kissed, or made fun of the other tourists together this entire time! It’s not natural!”

Her less-romantically inclined brother scoffed, washing away the mess in the sink with the faucet water. “Mabel, don’t get involved in whatever relationship issues they’re having. You’ll just make things more complicated for them.”

“So they ARE having issues!” was all Mabel got out of Dipper’s response. “We have to fix this! What if it gets worse and they start fighting?! What if they separate?!”

“So?” Dipper shrugged as if the possibility didn’t bother him. “If it gets to that point, maybe it’s for the best.”

“Dipper!” Mabel admonished, taken aback by his heartless dismissal. “This is Stan and Bill we’re talking about! What they have is true romance!”

She couldn’t forget the many times this past week Mabel would peek through the thin crack in the door to watch Stan keep vigil over Bill in their room throughout the day, never out of reach for long. The way Bill soliloquized about Stan last night into the open universe. How they couldn’t resist the urge to watch each other when their partner wasn’t aware. All that love was still there. There was still hope.

If they didn’t work out, then who could?

“And of course they still love each other! They just need a little help remembering that.”

“Oh boy,” Dipper groaned, knowing his sister was too far gone now, but giving it one last try to dissuade her. “Look, I get that you want to help them, but sometimes helping someone just makes things worse. This isn’t something you should force.”

“Too late! I’m already committed!” Mabel declared. “Those two are so stubborn that they need some outside intervention! And love-expert Mabel’s got them covered!”

With that, the constellation-marked body watched his sister run off to her friends, an ugly feeling churning about his body. He knew that this issue wasn’t due to typical marital tension.

This all traced back to Bill Cipher, who planted himself as a seed into their family to play the long game as he took over like an invasive species. Who managed to hoodwink Stan, the most shameless con artist the boy knew, for years about his true identity. Who could easily get the rift in his clutches if Birch knew of its existence to take over their world.

Mabel knew the bare minimum about the unicorn hair and its effects, and Stan still believed his husband capable of being rescued, but Dipper and Ford knew the truth of this dilemma. They had to stay one step ahead of the game and ensure that the rift was fully protected before they confronted William Birch and saved their family from the final threat. But it was difficult to stay focused and remain vigilant, like Great-uncle Ford asked him to.

Birch still acted like the Grunkle Bill Dipper had let into his heart these past few months now that his energy wasn’t being sapped. He still made fun of people, flirted with Stan, went star gazing, tried to give advice…it was hard not to fall for it, to believe maybe some part of this act was grounded in truth, but Dipper was the only one here who knew the true danger that was lurking in the shadows a realm away. He had to stay on guard, even if he was taking the time to flirt around and have some fun. It gave him a light-hearted distraction from all of the challenges he was dealing with. It was all up to him. Ford trusted him and only him with this.

It was hard to balance this burden on his small shoulders.

But make no mistake: Dipper Pines was not going to let anything or anyone hurt his family. Not without a fight.

~

Bill gazed up at Mystery Mountain, letting out an impressed whistle at the view. An eerie fog covered the highest peaks in the distance, and the redwoods stood tall, looming over them like long legs sticking out of the ground. At the entrance, huge statues of Paul Bunyon and his blue ox greeted them.

The girls ran off to go tip the big metal animal for $5, but Dipper looked suddenly queasy. Probably from the revelation that Candy suddenly was into him and his cool new flirty tricks. Bill refused to look at Dipper with sympathy, or even in his direction.

He tried to warn the kid, but got rebuffed! That’s how the world worked, kiddo! Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. This was a lose-lose situation.

Bill’s shorter than average temper wasn’t helped by the previous night’s restless torment, and he didn’t have the mental fortitude to walk around Mystery Mountain with Stanley in awkward, upset silence. Neither man had mentioned their unsatisfying conversation that morning.

“I’m gonna go swing by the other attractions and grab Soos, wherever he is,” he interrupted before Stan could question Dipper on his moping. “We’ll be back to pick you all up when you finish.”

Stan blinked in confusion, taken aback. “Huh? You don’t wanna help ruin our biggest competitor?”

Bill busied himself with fixing his sunhat’s brim that was starting to droop in his face. “Nah, I’m sure you guys will be fine without me. Do everything I’d do!”

He sped out of there before Stan could even try to talk him out of it. Cowardly? No! Bill considered this a tactical retreat. Running from your problems worked 100% of the time if you got away fast enough.

~

Stan watched Bill drive away in the RV, a heavy stone dropping into the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t looking good. Bill was starting to avoid him after that blunder-filled heart-to-heart they shared. Ford better fix everything, and soon, or else Stan was spilling the beans.

Dipper, having a feeling where this was headed, quickly interjected with his own problem that was getting out of control. Thankfully, this momentarily distracted Stan from his partner as he assured his protégée that this was all part of the process of getting over a flame.

“If you wanna move on, you've gotta say yes to whatever comes your way,” the older man finished. He then glanced at the nearest ticket booth, noticing the bleach-blonde woman with too much spray tan manning it. Maybe what the kid needed was a practical demonstration. “This ought to help ya put it in perspective, Dip Dop.”

Dipper whipped his head towards his Grunkle in complete shock. “Grunkle Stan?! Are you really gonna-”

“Kid, it’s just to show ya how easy it is. Bill won’t know, and even if he did, he wouldn’t mind. Do you know how many times we flirted with the police to get out of speeding tickets? 53, that’s how many!”

His newest target grinned invitingly at Stan. See? He already had her hooked!

“Bu-but I don't wanna lead her on!” Dipper stammered, taken aback by this turn of events. “And I know Bill will HATE what you’re doing. I saw him once blind a woman with sunscreen at the public pool because she looked at your backside for too long!”

…yeah, Bill wasn’t gonna appreciate this, and Stan was probably going to find a nail sticking out of his ass in the near future, but it was in the name of helping their nephew! What more worthy cause was there? “Ah, ah, ah! Watch and learn.”

And he totally hit it out of the ballpark with his smooth moves! Okay, not the smoothest moves ever because he was still married and didn’t want to come on too hot, but enough to score him a trip up the sky tram up to Widow’s Peak.

Stan tried to put his nephew’s conflicted expression out of his mind, as well as how his husband would react if he ever caught wind of it. At least Mabel hadn’t seen this. She’d totally get the wrong idea and go into hysterics about the sanctity of love.

Besides, he’d come clean once they got to the top. This Darlene lady seemed like a very understanding person with a good sense of humor. She’d get a kick out of it!

~

Bill pulled up to the Corn Maze, grumbling nonsensically to himself. He was pretty certain that of all places to get lost, this would be the one to ensnare Soos with its ears of grain. Now he just had to find his handyman. Fun times all around.

The proprietor of the Corn Maze had apparently left that morning, though, according to one of the bored teen attendants. Something about “enacting revenge”. He should have figured these chumps wouldn’t take the destruction of their property laying down. Hopefully Sixer would be useful for once and scare them off with his death beam or something. Bill wouldn’t mind if Granny Sweetkins got obliterated.

So into the corn maze Bill went, glaring as his shoes got covered in dust from the dry dirt getting kicked up. Such an idiotic attraction. Who enjoyed looking at the same row plants for yards on end? And little kids kept popping out of nowhere, clearly not following the routes. Bill had mistook them for living scarecrow children at first. All of the little inconveniences and annoyances were piling up on Bill. He just wanted to grab Soos and be gone.

He had just rounded the corner when a hand touched his shoulder out of nowhere. Bill definitely did not scream, nor did he rip himself away and fall into the corn stalks with a thump.

“Woah, dawg, it’s just me!” Soos peered down at Bill apologetically, offering him a hand up. Bill, heart still racing unsteadily, shakily took it and allowed the large man to pull him up. Soos helped him brush off the dust that had accumulated on the back of his shirt, spewing out more apologies that Bill waved off as he inspected his hat. It had ripped right down the middle almost halfway. He’d have to ask Mabel to fix it.

“It’s fine, Soos. Let’s just get outta here,” Bill muttered, leading the way back based off of the directions he wrote down in his notepad. “I can’t wait for this roadtrip to end.”

Soos padded behind him. “Aw, why’s that Mr. Birch? You seemed to be all for it earlier.”

The weary blonde sighed, really not wanting to get into it. As much as he could trust that he wouldn’t be judged, it also went against his instincts to hide away all of his ugly insecurities from the young man who still admired him. Who still believed the illusion of the illustrious Mr. Mystique and not some guy named Bill. “Just some things haven’t gone the way I expected, is all. Nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

“Okay…” Soos trailed off. “Y’know, that new anime movie is coming out later tonight if you wanna sleep over at my place and watch it. Maybe it’ll cheer you up!”

Bill contemplated the request. “I dunno…”

“We can get slurpees with your favorite straw and eat my grandma’s dinosaur cookies.”

“Well, now I’m sold!”

Maybe what he needed wasn’t a change in scenery. Maybe what he needed was some time away from Stan and the kids. As much as he cared for them, he could use a little break from the Pines family. Especially if they were becoming infected by a disease by the name of “F-o-r-d”.

Bill had his work cut out for him if so.

“Enough about me,” Bill focused the conversation onto Soos, definitely not deflecting. “How’s your special lady been?” He teasingly raised his eyebrows at his former apprentice.

Soos immediately broke out into a bright grin and he whipped out his phone to pull up the message history, easily taking the bait. “Oh man; she’s as wonderful as ever! I talked to her all night while I was stuck in that corn maze. She was telling me about…” Bill let the stream of gushing and fawning wash over him as he followed the road back to Mystery Mountain.

~

Stan sat next to Darlene on a bench next to a sign that read “Giant Spider Forest”, the spooky atmosphere also strangely intimate. He should probably break the news to her that this silver fox was not up for grabs.

“Look, Darlene,” he started off, trying to let her down gently. Losing a guy like him was always heartbreaking. “You seem like a real fine gal, but there’s something I need to say.”

“Oh?” She grinned at him knowingly, pointing to his left hand. “It wouldn’t have to do with that ring on your finger, would it?”

Stan glanced down at his wedding band, and it glittered harshly back at him. Ugh. He was making screw up after screw up, wasn’t he? Just what was he trying to prove anyway?

“Yeah,” he covered it with his other hand. “It does. I-”

“Oh, don’t worry, I get it,” the big-haired woman cut him off.

“You do?”

“Oh yeah. I meet men like you all the time.” Darlene scooted over. “Who tie themselves to someone they just can’t stick with. Who goes looking for something else out there. Like they’re some great catch.”

Stan chuckled nervously at the accusations despite the dread they struck him with, sliding away from her. “No, no! That’s not what I-”

“Well, good news! You’re gonna be my catch of the day.” Then she blinked and her eyes were pitch black.

“Uh, I think your contacts fell out-“ Stan started off before he watched her transform, letting out a horrified scream before she lunged.

After a traumatizing experience where he was bitten and wrapped in some funky white gunk that came out of somewhere he did not want to say, Stan managed to radio Dipper with the walkie-talkie he had hidden under his fez. He talked to the kid long enough to tell him his location before Darlene webbed it away from him.

She walked towards him out of the darkness with her weird spider body, all eight-legs scuttling. “Ah, aaaah! Trying to escape?” She threw the gadget to the ground, instantly breaking the cheap plastic.

“You tricked me!” Stan accused, squirming about in his webbed trap. ”Not that I care, but I'm 80% certain you don't really love me at all!”

“Hah! Men will fall for anything.” She bounced the ends of her hair before mocking Stan with her previous one-liners. ”You’re so funny, great story, I love a man with shoulder hair!”

“Well jokes on you!” Stan shouted, trying not to get too offended about the shoulder hair. “My husband LOVES my shoulder hair! And I wasn’t actually into you at all! I was just teaching my great-nephew the ropes on how to flirt with people and all that.”

“So you mess around behind your husband’s back just to make a point? To teach your nephew how to play around with women?” Darlene called him out, a nasty sneer overtaking her raspy voice.

“What a joke. Human men are the most pathetic species I’ve ever preyed upon. Let’s hope you taste better than you look. Allow me to slip into something more horrifying.”

Then she used her…whatever those were to pull her mouth OVER his torso, revealing herself to be a creepy, big, hairy spider. The sight of it drew another terrified shout out of Stan.

“I wonder what beverage pairs well with a vintage 70-something year old man?” Darlene asked aloud, delighting in the frightened expression on Stan’s face as she scurried into another section of the cave, laughing. “Be right baaaack!”

Damn it. With Bill gone to get Soos, he could only rely on the kids now.

“Come on, Dipper, where are you?” He wondered aloud, frantically wiggling, now feeling bad for all the flies he had ever laughed at for getting caught in a spider web. This was way tougher than it looked!

~

Mabel was busy consoling Candy with Grenda after her poor friend had her heart brutally crushed. She couldn’t believe Dipper would act like that! She barely recognized her brother in Candy’s retelling of their date gone wrong. She just hoped that Stan and Bill used their private time to catch up and make up since she couldn’t be there to supervise. But then Dipper ran up to them, frantic and insistent that Stan was in trouble and needed their help. So, off they went, following him up the mountain.

“So,” Mabel huffed and puffed as she ran. “What happened? Why does Stan need help?”

Dipper heaved in air, not used to this speedy pace. “He got captured by a spider person! Apparently they’re the reason behind Oregon’s mummies, and Stan’s gonna become one too if we don’t save him!”

“What about Mr. Bill?” Candy questioned from next to Grenda, not breaking a sweat. “Does he also need to be saved?”

Dipper grimaced at the question, or was he just nauseous from running? “No. Bill wasn’t with Stan. He took the RV to go grab Soos.”

“WHAT?!” Mabel shouted, the birds in the nearby trees scattering at the piercing sound. “But this was the time they should have used to reconcile! Why did Grunkle Bill leave?! How did Stan get caught?!”

“I dunno!” Dipper replied as they turned around the bend. “It was the lady who was at the ticket station! Stan was uh…showing me something and went up the mountain with her.”

Mabel, who knew exactly what Stan had been teaching Dipper these past few days, figured it out instantly. “HE WAS FLIRTING WITH HER?!”

Grenada and Candy gasped in horror right on que.

Dipper kept his eyes forward so he didn’t have to see their faces. “He probably just saw it as any other con, okay?!”

“UGH! Why are there so many LIARS in this family!” The brunette girl yelled to the heavens.

“...Do you really want an answer to that?”

”I can’t believe Grunkle Stan,” Mabel growled, pushing forward with renewed, frenzied energy. “We’ll save him, and then I’m gonna yell at him!”

Let’s just say the girl had a few choice words for her grunkle when they were stuck in the slow-moving tram before Darlene attacked. Stanley had never been more afraid of his niece in his life than in that moment.

~

As Bill pulled up to the Mystery Mountain after grabbing some fast food for himself and Soos, he was greeted by a very different sight than the one he had left.

Instead of Paul Bunyon stepping on the ticket booth, underneath his foot was a very large spider. A huge ball of web with an exit for a door sat not too far away, with Stan and the kids crowded around it. Bill pouted in disappointment that he missed the climax of the episode. Of course it just had to happen when HE’S gone.

He hopped out with Soos, inspecting the damages the attraction suffered. “Hot belgian waffles; looks like you guys went for quite a ride!”

Stan groaned tiredly, a sound that always accompanied the kid’s shenanigans. “You don’t know the half of it, Goldilocks.”

Then a very familiar, nasally voice spoke up from underneath the Paul Bunyon statue. “Bill? Is that you, or are my several eyes deceiving me?”

Bill turned to face what he now recognized was an Arachnimorph who was trapped. And not just any spider person. “Darlene? Is that you?” He carefully walked up to her, ignoring the warnings from his family. “How’ve you been?”

She deadpanned as she gestured to the big metal boot squishing her. “Fabulous.”

“Clearly,” Bill sniggered. “Looks like you went for more than you could chew by going after my family, huh?”

“Huh? Your family? But that means…” she leaned around Bill’s legs to look at Stan. “...that’s your Stanley?”

Bill joined her in peering back at his husband. Stan gave an awkward little wave.

“Yeah, he’s mine.” He affirmed.

“You’re serious?” She double-checked.

Bill held out his wedding band for her to see. “As the dog star. Been together for about 20 years.”

The silence was judging. “You could do better,” she told him sincerely, ignoring Stan’s offended yell in the background. “I schmoozed all over him and he lapped it up like a dog. You’re really gonna stick by a man like that?”

Bill blinked, running her words over again until they computed. “He flirted with you?’

“Used the whole ‘I lost my number’ routine on me, too.”

Bill slowly pivoted back towards Stan to pin him with an accusing eye, who was now sweating nervously. “It didn’t mean anything to me, babe! It was just a little demo for Dipper! I didn’t touch her ONCE.”

“Don’t worry, Grunkle Bill! I already yelled at him a lot!”

Stan and Bill had flirted with other people in the past in the name of cons, but only when they HAD to. Stanley had no reason to be talking that way to anyone but Bill.

Bill started walking back to the RV, saying nothing, ignoring Darlene’s pleas to let her out, weren’t they friends? His rage, which usually expressed itself as an explosion that consumed everyone and everything, instead ran cold and kept him quiet despite the fury that howled within. Which was good because if he said something, it wasn’t gonna be pretty. The rest of the group followed him silently.

But of course, Stan had to poke the beast.

“William, it wasn’t like what you’re think-“

The wronged partner whirled around and glared at his “faithful” husband. Just how else was the man gonna let him down? “You’re lucky I didn’t free her and let her eat your insides after liquifying them,” he snarled. “Even that would be tame compared to what I want to do to you.”

No one said anything as he stormed into the vehicle.

~

Stanford Pines was right on schedule. In fact, he’d even wager that he was ahead of schedule! That always made him feel secure. Staying one step ahead of the game ensured you knew how to win it.

The protection circle had been working perfectly. No more taunting dream visits from Bill. Stan and the kids were warded and safe. And Birch was disconnected from Cipher’s influence as long as he remained within the Shack.

Ford had been hoping that until the rift was completely guarded against any malicious schemes, the demon’s counterpart would remain inside on bedrest, but he knew there was only so much more Stanley could take watching his partner waste away. Not that the man was dying or anything (unfortunately), but Ford had seen how much of a toll this had on his brother. That was the only reason he had begrudgingly agreed to watch the Shack as the others traveled out of town on a few conditions.

It had pricked him to witness how enamoured the old grifter was that even in the face of such blatant evidence and his own warnings, Stanley still stayed loyally by Bill’s side.

Such was the influence monsters had on people. Ford had come across many types of monsters in his life, had observed them and their tells. Learned their truths.

There were monsters who hid in the shadows, who stole away the youth, who consumed other’s dreams, who absorbed one’s vitality, and untold more.

But there was one type of monster a league beyond the rest: monsters who always told lies.

Yes, lying monsters were the real nuisance. They were the most cunning of the bunch.

They posed as people even though they did not possess a beating heart. They ate despite never experiencing true hunger. They collected knowledge even though they had no genuine interest in learning. They sought out friendship even though they did not know how to love.

If Ford were to encounter such a monster again, he ran the risk of being eaten alive by it.

He plucked the rift out from its designated compartment in his desk. As he turned it over in his palm, all six fingers resting on the small dome’s glass, it cracked underneath his touch.

His split reflection sat mirrored back at him, divided by the growing fracture.

You would know, wouldn’t you? Because in truth, you too, are that monster.

So be it. Stanford Pines would fight fire with even more fire.

~

Bill sat in the back with his niece as Stan and Dipper murmured to each other in the front. Mabel was nearly done with fixing his sun hat when Dipper got out of his chair and went over to Candy, handing her an apology pamphlet as he strapped himself in. At least the kid could admit when he did someone dirty. Stan just made excuse after excuse after excuse. Bill was getting so sick of it.

Mabel hummed, trying to remain upbeat for her grunkle’s sake as she finished the last touches on the hat. “I’m surprised that this lasted so long!”

Bill humored her despite his dismal mood. “Really? Why’s that? Did you do something special to it?”

Mabel giggled. “Nope! Actually, I didn’t make this one at all! Grunkle Ford did it all on his own!”

Bill’s blood turned to ice, crystallizing inside his veins and slowing the crucial fluid’s movements . “Ford? Made that?”

“Yeah!” The young artist added another piece of colored tape. “He was the one who gave me the idea, actually. I was having trouble coming up with a cute group accessory when he brought up making hats out of tin foil, but stylish! He’s such a nerd,” she finished her anecdote fondly.

“...did he specifically want to make my hat?” Bill asked.

“Hmmm,” Mabel considered his question. “You know what? He DID say he’d thought a tophat would suit you, but that kind of clashes with the whole vacation vibe, so we went with this instead. And you look fabulous in it!” She handed him said hat, and Bill accepted it automatically. His fingers crinkled the edges.

Tin foil hats. Regarded in science-fiction to shield against electromagnetic waves and other forms of mind manipulation. Suggested specifically by Ford to Mabel for this trip.

…the RV covering Stan put on at night was also made from tin foil. Coincidence? Bill thought not.

Ford was making plans, and right under Bill’s nose, just as he suspected. Plans obviously to fight against Bill Cipher, who Ford was apparently still convinced was him in disguise.

What else had he done? Bill frantically reviewed his memories of the past few weeks as they entered the town’s borders, everyone else piling up to the front to take in the view. He stayed curled up in the back. There had to be something he could recall that would hint at Ford’s plans.

Dipper being overly hostile, Stan acting distant, that weird sickness that started on tamale day, running around undercover during the elections, playing DD&mD-

Wait.

His sickness. It had started the instant he came home from the Ramirezes. It was also the night Ford started playing buddy buddy with Stan.

He’s planning something, his voice in his head warned. He’s turning them against you

Yes: Stanford Pines was definitely planning something while Bill was out of commission. He was likely the reason Bill was indisposed in the first place.

But how involved was the rest of his family? From what he could tell, Dipper seemed to be on his great-uncle’s side, Mabel appeared unaware, but how much did Stanley know?

The man’s twitchy demeanor during their late chat resurfaced in his mind. He ruthlessly drowned it out.

They pulled up to the Shack to find Ford fighting off an elderly woman who was trying to claw his eyes out, but he batted her away brutally. Yup: every tourist trap they had defiled tried to enact their revenge. Bet they weren’t counting on a violent old man to be protecting the premises.

“And stay out!” The former interdimensional vagabond yelled as they all vacated the premises with their asses beat, cursing out Stan. The returning group watched as they exited the RV.

“I don’t understand,” Stan wondered aloud. “What could they possibly have against me?”

“Thanks for protecting the Shack, Great-uncle Ford,” Dipper acknowledged his other uncle’s efforts.

“Oh, it was no trouble, Dipper. Though that old woman was rather feisty, I’ve faced WAY worse out in the multiverse,” Ford brushed off the praise a bit too smugly to be modest. ”On that note, I’d take it that your trip was a success?”

“You betcha,” Stan said, coming up to swing an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “The Mystery Shack is now the only functional tourist trap in this part of Oregon!” The kids laughed and Stan twins smiled at each other. Bill did nothing. It was as if he wasn’t there at all.

Then Soos nudged him, breaking him out of his stupor. “You still up for movie night, Mr. Birch?”

Bill nodded dazedly. “Let me just grab something from my parlor.”

Time to test his new theory.

He walked up to the front door and, after taking a deep breath, entered the house. Immediately, that same, sickening tightness squeezed him, but he didn’t allow himself to react outwardly. He just waited for it to pass. After a moment, the sensation reduced, and Bill was left shackled with a familiar fatigue.

“...Bill? You okay?” Stan asked from the yard, a note of concern entering his tone. Bill gave a shaky thumbs up before he continued inside.

What was happening? What did Ford do? Why was he the only one feeling like this?

Bill pushed back the curtains to his parlor and immediately went towards his desk, somehow relaxing once he was in his designated space. He paused for a moment, cataloguing his body. It didn’t feel so bad here, at least compared to the rest of the house. Interesting. He opened his secret drawer, grabbed the jewelry box, then made his way back out.

As Bill exited the Mystery Shack, he immediately felt rejuvenated, further confirming his suspicions.

He’s already started, his inner monologue pointed out. Finding ways to get rid of you.

Yeah. Bill had figured that one out already.

As Bill started heading towards Soos’ truck, Stan trailed after him. “Hey, hey; where are you goin’? We just got back!” A hand reached for his shoulder, and Bill let himself be spun around to face his partner.

“I’m staying with the Ramirezes tonight,” Bill found himself replying smoothly. Like nothing was wrong, when everything was. “Big anime movie marathon with Soos. With slurpees and cookies.”

Stan eyed him closely behind his glasses. “Yeah? You’re okay? Look, I’m sorry about the whole Darlene situation. I should have never tried to commit to a bit that it got to that point. There’s no one else in the world for me.”

Bill managed to grace his lover with a weary blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile, a thin veneer. Where was this openness before? It was a bit too late, and barely scratched the surface of what he was actually upset about. “Aw, don’t beat yourself over it too much, Stanley baby. I’m just spending a night out. You understand, don’t you?”

Stan nodded slowly, still not fully convinced, and relaxed his grip. “Okay…”

“Are you sure that you wouldn’t rather spend the night with us?” Their private moment was swiftly shattered as Ford inserted himself, coming up to stand over Stan’s shoulder. He gazed down at Bill, a probing note entering his voice as he persisted. “Mabel mentioned a board game that she wanted all of us to play together.”

Oh, Fordsy. You think you’re so slick, don’t you? You always show your hand too early.

“I’ll have to pass this time,” the slight man declined. “I already promised Soosie, and I would hate to let him down.”

And so Bill brushed past them and joined his handyman, who was now shuffling awkwardly about with Bill’s belongings from the RV. As he got into the truck, he looked over at the Pineses.

Stan looked glum, the picture of misery as Mabel gripped his arm. Dipper appeared alarmed, glancing between Bill and Ford worriedly, and Ford just stood there. Frowning. Like something didn’t go his way.

He now knew that Bill was onto him.

Two diametrically opposed forces. Who would come out victorious?

Bill maintained eye contact with Stanford as Soos drove them away.

But this wasn’t an admission of loss. William Birch was not waving a little white flag. He wouldn’t lie down and roll over. He wouldn’t let everything he ever lived for be stolen from him by a man who hadn’t lived in this dimension for 30 years. He just needed to collect himself is all!

It’s beginning

He reached into his pocket and opened the black box, tracing over the carved lettering of the locket’s shiny casing. If only he knew more. If only he could understand. What was he missing that would finally shift everything into place?

I grow maddened

If only he could remember.

Chapter Text

The two proprietors of the Mystery Shack were currently outside their business, restlessly playing with the long wooden sign that they kept throwing to one another as they waited for their special guest.

The night before, Bill had mentioned how in movies family members would wait with big signs at the airport with the visitor’s name on it to greet them. Stan thought it was a hilarious idea, so they threw together an obnoxious, colorful, eye-sore of a sign that looked like a unicorn had vomited all over it. It now served as a half-decent distraction, with them trying to outperform the other as a human billboard.

“Ugh, someone’s taking being fashionably late to the next level! Doesn’t your brother know that it doesn’t work nearly as well when you’re the only guest? The spotlight’s already on you!”

As Bill got distracted by watching the road again for what must have been the hundredth time, the corner of the sign just barely missed his forehead as Stan launched it at him in a spin attack. It smacked flat against his torso with a FWAP, slapping the air out of his lungs in one fell swoop. He immediately went into a coughing fit, dramatically gasping in as much oxygen as he could.

“He’ll get here when he gets here, Goldilocks,” Stan watched the hysterics nonchalantly, not bothered by the pitiful sounds. “I know you’re excited to see him, but quit bitchin’ about it.”

Bill turned to glare at his heartless husband, but its effectiveness was ruined by the wet, irritated sheen to them as he continued to wheeze. “W-well, I, huff, won’t be able to see him if someone keeps trying, ack, to maim me!”

“A sign can’t maim ya.” But he walked up to the still-hacking man and took the board in one hand while rubbing comforting circles onto Bill’s back with the other. After a minute, the breathing evened out and Bill relaxed. But now he was bored again. And so the cycle continues.

The curly-haired fellow began to draw circles in the dirt with the tip of his foot, dressed in his finest casual attire. Even though he and Shermie were already the best of buddies, this was an important milestone! That meant he had to look top-notch, but also as if he put little thought into the decision so he didn’t come off as a try-hard.

“He should have been here by now, though!” The previous topic of conversation was reignited by his whining. “I told you that you should have put up more signs on the road!”

“Hey, I put up boards all the way up to the highway! He’d have to be blind not to see ‘em!”

“That’s more likely than you imply since he’s from your side of the family. Remember last Thursday?”

“Hey! McGucket’s hat looks exactly like a traffic cone, so that doesn’t count! And YOU said it was a traffic cone, too!”

“Haha, I did, didn’t I?”

Down the road, the sound of tires rolling over the road grew louder, signaling that a vehicle was moving closer to them.

“I bet that’s him now.”

Bill grabbed onto the other side of the sign, and the men lifted it high above their heads.

“Make it straight, Bill!”

“It IS straight, Lee!”

“No, it’s not!”

Their bickering was quickly cut short once a small car swerved up next to them and came to a halt. They eagerly watched as the driver’s door swung open.

Shermie’s head popped up over the roof from the opposite side of the car with a wave. “Hello!”

“Shermie!” Stan greeted as his brother came around the hood and walked over to them, his tone downright jolly at the sight of the elderly man. “How was the ride?”

“Oh, the traffic wasn’t bad at all! I did get a bit turned around when I entered the town, but your signs helped me out a lot.”

Shermie gestured to the personalized one that read “WANTED: SHERMAN PINES” with an off-guard photo of Shermie with splotches of paint and glitter everywhere that they were holding up. “Especially this sign! Best looking one I’ve ever seen!”

“Made especially for you,” Bill chimed in, pleased that his idea was a hit.

“I love it!”

Stan pawned off the sign to his partner, approaching his brother. The two shared a quick hug, though Stan pulled away first to preserve his tough guy persona even if the two other people there knew just how much of a hoax it was.

“Glad you finally could make it out here.” Stan drank in the sight of the eldest Pines man.

Sherman’s hair was full, but devoid of any silver streaks that he had the last time they met in person, now just a snowy white. That mustache stayed exactly the same cut as always, the guy really had to experiment more, and his eyebrows were still bushy. And while there were more age spots doting his skin and longer lines around his eyes, his cheerful demeanor and relaxing smile made Shermie look as young as ever.

“And here I thought you kept tryin’ to get out of visiting us.” The tease held a tinge bit more of truth than he intended.

Shermie smiled apologetically, facial hair stretching with the movement. “I really am sorry about that. Believe me, I’ve wanted to come sooner, but something always seemed to pop up over the years. But I’m here now and ready to spend some quality time with my brothers!”

Bill set the sign against the car as Shermie moved towards him, letting his brother-in-law sweep him into an embrace. Brother. Bill had a brother. Well, technically two brothers, but you get it.

Shermie patted his back with a heavy hand, nearly pushing out the air Bill had just recovered. “Lookin’ good, Bill! My brother been treating you well?”

“Aside from him assaulting my ears with his corny one-liners, I can’t say I have too many complaints,” Bill responded, stepping back as the hug ended. “Stan’s as cheap and charming as ever.”

“His defining characteristics. Nice to see that hasn’t changed.”

As they caught up, Stan lugged Shermie’s bags from the trunk. “Alright, everyone inside! Put that sign somewhere where I can’t see it.”

“Oh, Stan, let me-”

“Nope!” Stan dodged off his brother’s attempt to help carry the load as he closed the rear door with his foot. “I got it. Someone has to worry about your elderly knees.”

“Well, then, my elderly knees say thank you. But at least let me take the sign home with me. As a memento.”

“Please do. That thing is so neon it hurts my retinas.”

“Is that coming from the artist who demanded we added more colors?” Bill pointed out snidely. Stan stuck his tongue out at him, and his husband returned the crude gesture.

Shermie snorted at the sight. “Children, both of you. Wait; what’s that smell?”

The two younger men paused with their tongues still hanging out of their mouths and sniffed. Bill’s eye widened in alarm as he recognized the burnt scent.

“OH FUCK THE OVEN!” He frantically rushed inside, where a bit of smoke was leaking out of the windows and door. Both Stan and Shermie grimaced at the sight.

“Just spit whatever he made into your napkin if you don’t like it,” Stan told his older brother in a low undertone, as if Bill could somehow overhear them from inside the house. “He’d been on a baking kick recently, so he’ll be forcing us to try his creations.”

“That’s…sweet of him.” Shermie then hesitated, and in a carefully light tone added, “But Stanley, later, we really should talk about everything. Now that we have time face-to-face to discuss it.”

All Stan could bring himself to do was nod, knowing that it was a long time coming. “We will, Sherman; I promise. Before you leave, I’ll show you.”

Shermie eyed Stan carefully, but must have seen the rare truthfulness in his little brother’s gaze because he relaxed. “Let’s not leave Bill waiting, then. I want to spend as much time with you two as I can while I’m here.”

“Shermie, you’re gonna get sick of us by the end of your stay.”

“You? Maybe. My brother-in-law? Not a chance.”

~

Bill and Shermie took to each other immediately, as Stan figured they would. Their long calls always raised the price of the phone bill for that month. They gossiped at the kitchen table as they all played poker, “read” each other’s futures (Shermie claimed he inherited the psychic gene from Ma), and exchanged stories about loved ones. And unfortunately for Stan, he was their favorite topic of discussion.

Bill would reveal all of the hijinks Stan had gotten up to as Mr. Mystery, such as his recent run in with the Mythbusters, and in return Shermie would spill young Stan’s secrets. Stan still stood by his claim that the mascot for the “Fussy Boy” Brand diaper rash commercials was Ford.

A good portion of the conversations also focused on the youngest members of the family: Mason, who had recently started going by Dipper to everyone (something Bill oddly seemed to already know much to Stan and Shermie’s confusion), and Mabel.

Being a grandfather suited his eldest brother, with the man gushing over every little milestone with the same fawning reserved for winning a Nobel Peace Prize. Bill and Stan didn’t mind though, perusing the little photos Shermie had tucked into his wallet, nice enough not to swipe any of the credit cards. Shermie promised to send more or bring some pictures with him next time. Stan didn’t even realize that there would be a next time, but he wasn’t complaining. Shermie would always be welcome.

The next few days were filled with a lot of activities.

Stan had let (forced) Shermie sit in on one of his tours, pulling out all the stops to put on a good show for his bro. Despite rolling his eyes nearly every minute at each of Stan’s puns, Shermie seemed to enjoy himself.

Bill decided to get in on the action as well by wheeling out his piano and playing a few tunes for the group, an event he would do a couple of times a week. He even “randomly selected” a request from a member of the crowd , and Shermie just shook his head fondly before choosing a song Stan recognized from one of those records Shermie would play as a teen. He and Ford would always sneak in and play them when Shermie wasn’t home.

They took him into town to see the sights: eating at Greasy’s Diner, booing the Northwest Mansion, nearly hitting Old Man McGucket with the car, etc. Bill also led them on a nature walk through the most scenic areas of the forest, though they came upon an unfortunate sight (a leprecorn). Shermie punted it out of fear.

One of the days winded down on the lake since Stan suggested that they go fishing. By which he meant that he and Shermie fished while Bill relaxed. His partner didn’t care much for the activity until they actually hooked something, though he always wore a matching getup with Stan. They piled all together onto the unstable Stan O’ War, with Shermie smiling wistfully as he read the name on the side of the boat, and they all took turns cracking one-liners from the “Jokes for Fishing With Over Middle-Aged Men” book.

Watching his two other fishing buddies mess around, Stan couldn’t help but let the warmth that was thrumming about his body become a smile across his face, though he tipped his hat down to hide it. He was with his family, aside from the obvious missing piece who was lost amongst all possible dimensions, just waiting to be added to the rest of the Pines Family puzzle.

~

That night, the moment Stan had been dreading for years had finally arrived. Just as the group was about to get ready for bed, Shermie pulled him aside. “So, Stanley?”

Bill, who was already a couple of steps up the stairs, paused from behind Shermie, wordlessly asking Stan if he wanted backup. Stan sent a wink discreetly his way. This was something he had to face alone. Bill sent him a thumbs-up before continuing to bed, though it was unlikely he'd actually go to sleep.

Stan then focused back on his brother and nodded, resigned. “I know. Just…keep an open mind, okay? Ford got into some really weird stuff here.”

“Stan, a little fairy creature barfed on me during our hike. My mind’s as open as it’ll ever be.’

“You say that now, but just wait.”

Stan swore that Shermie’s eyebrows left his forehead as he took him through the vending machine, past the coded door, and down the secret underground elevator. “What the…”

The elevator doors opened to reveal the main technical hub where all the computers were housed. “Yup, the nerd built himself a secret lab to live out his mad scientist dreams.”

Shermie gaped, head rotating this way and that to get a full view of the chamber. “This is incredible! But what’s it all for?”

A grim smile went taut across Stan’s face, muscles as tense as could be. “Let me show you the main attraction.”

Through the safety doors, Stan led Shermie to the huge triangular machine. Its shadow swallowed them whole as it loomed over them. Mocking. Stan always felt mocked in its presence. Every hurdle he crossed to fix it never closed the distance to the finish line.

Shermie examined it, stroking his mustache in a quizzical manner as if in deep thought. “I…have no idea what I’m looking at.”

That drew a snort from Stan despite the heavy atmosphere. “I don’t blame you.” He got closer and gave the metal a sharp knock with his knuckles, the sound reverberating around the space. “It’s a portal.”

Shermie came to stand next to him, the massive triangle reflecting in his eyes such that the hole in the middle held his pupil . “A portal? To where?”

“Uh, pretty far away.”

The older man mulled that vague response over. “How far away is that?”

“Like…other dimensions far away?”

“Other dimensions?!” Shermie backed away from the machine quickly, as if it could suddenly turn on, sprout arms, and drag him in. Stan had a nightmare like that before.

“Hey, woah, woah; relax! It’s just a hunk of junk right now! Damn thing’s been busted for years.” Stan demonstrated its safety by kicking it, bruising his toes but who cared about that. “See?”

It didn’t have the desired effect. “When you said that Ford was ‘far from home’...”

Sherman always had a great sense of intuition. Now came the hard part. “...yeah. He went through the portal.” No, that wasn’t right. That made it sound too innocent. Like a random accident where only the unfortunate circumstances were to blame. This was so much more than that. “It was my fault.”

“Stan, I’m sure-”

“I pushed him in.”

Stan couldn’t stop himself once he started. Maybe some masochistic part of himself wanted to be judged by the only other person in the world who cared about Ford like he did.

“He sent me a postcard, askin’ me to come to him, but when I got here, he told me to take this stupid journal-” he whipped out the gold-decorated red book, “-and sail away from him as far as possible. We fought, then the portal turned on, and the next thing I knew…” Stan blinked back the tell-tale sensation of tears brewing behind his eyeballs. What a little bitch he turned out to be. He had no right to cry when he was here and Ford was out there. “He’s alive. I know he’s alive and out there somewhere. He has to be. So I’m gonna get him back.”

The silence returned twice as loud, broken only by the low thrum of the active electronics kept powered on and his own shaky breathing. His older brother said nothing.

There it is, Stan thought to himself miserably. It was nice while it lasted, and he was glad that they managed to squeeze in some fun times, but Shermie must have finally realized how much of a screw up Stan was. How much of a curse he was on the whole Pines family. A blight that should have been culled before it could have spread and infected the rest of the household. He’d want nothing to do with him now, especially since Stan might as well have killed Ford. Stan would understand. A lot of the time, he wanted nothing to do with himself, either.

Shermie began to approach him, but all Stan could see were the tips of those worn shoes as he stared at the ground, unable to lift his heavy head. They stopped in front of him.

A hand tenderly gripped Stan’s chin and tilted it upwards. Stanley didn’t struggle against it but still wouldn’t meet the other man's eyes.

“I meant what I said last time we saw each other: if you say that you’re gonna bring him home, then by God you’re gonna do it or die trying.”

Brown eyes finally flickered up to meet their matching shade that was full of bittersweet understanding.

“You’ve dedicated your life to righting your wrong and bringing him back, right? Giving up your name, putting together a business to keep the building, maintaining his lab…no one who purposefully pushed their brother into a portal would go through all that.” The sympathy was nearly unbearable, on the cusp of being sweetly overwhelming. Such words shouldn’t be wasted on him, but they willingly were.

Stan’s eyes threatened to leak once more. “We haven’t found the rest of the instructions yet,” he admitted, the gravel of his voice even rockier as his vocal cords strained against each other. “Without them, we’re stuck.”

“You two will find them,” Shermie said with more certainty than the impossible mission deserved. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“But it’s been years. Ford-” Stan sucked in a shuddering gasp, “-he’s probably never gonna forgive me.”

“He might not,” Shermie agreed, not one to offer empty platitudes. “Or he will. You won’t know ‘till you save him. Such is life.”

Shermie came to stand beside Stan and leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder as they looked at the machine. “And I, for one, like to believe that life happens for a reason. It can be cruel, but also so beautiful. You’ve suffered, Stanley, but can you really say that there haven't been some good moments along the way?”

A too-wide grin and bright eye flashed across Stan’s mind, and suddenly the past couple of decades didn’t seem so bad.

“I can’t.”

The rest of the night was spent drinking a few beers and reminiscing about their childhood in Glass Shard Beach. There were so many moments that had been lost to Stan, ones that he likely buried in that dirty, coarse sand just to deal with the agony of the past, that Shermie reminded him of. He in turn helped Shermie recall a few details as well that the elder’s aging brain had lost to time. It was nice having another person who knew your dirty laundry. Well, at least the pieces that mattered.

~

The day before Shermie left, they decided to go on a bar crawl, and karaoke at Bill’s insistence, in town. Both Pines brothers drank a bit more than they should have, so Bill, in a moment of great sacrifice, decided to abstain from alcohol and be the designated driver. He and Stanley typically toed the line with the law, but neither of them would take chances while Shermie was with them. He’d never let the kids visit if he thought that the couple would risk their safety! Bill had to demonstrate how “responsible” they could be, even as he enviously eyed the liquor that was being liberally poured down their throats.

The three of them were just settling back down at their table after performing a show-stopping rendition of “The Loser Doesn’t Win Because They Lose” by BABBA (Shermie’s choice). As the two Pines brothers ravenously attacked another order of bacon-wrapped mini hotdogs, they had the same unfortunate love of grease, something caught the corner of Bill’s eye out the stained restaurant window. A tall, humanoid creature with long appendages sprouting out of his back was reaching for the light of the lamp post on the street corner. Ah, the most well-known urban legend of the Pacific Northwest: Moth Man.

Bill had run into the guy before in the backyard, who was drawn from the darkness by the bug-zapper, but when he tried to touch him, the monster burst into a hundred moths! Bill did manage to capture one of them to see if all were necessary for bug boy to reform into one being again, but then the Shack got infested with clothes moths and ruined one of Bill’s tuxedos. They summarily disappeared after Bill released his prisoner. His civil lawsuit for destruction of personal property never went anywhere.

Not wanting to get any more little holes in his nice shirt, Bill just watched on, amused as the shop owner that the lamp post was in front of came out armed with a broom. As if that would do anything. He tried to shoo Moth Man away, trembling with fear as he faced the cryptid. Moth Man did not pay him any attention since the insect side of his nature was in full control, too enamored by the artificial brightness. Then the broom got a bit too close and tapped Moth Man’s shoulder. The winged-being instantly dissolved, leaving a spooked human in his wake.

Now that his show was cut short, Bill went to tune back into the debate Shermie and Stan were starting to have about one of their old high school teachers when a flash of red appeared in his periphery.

A very familiar shade of maroon.

Bill swiftly looked back, a feeling that was reminiscent of fury, but equally balanced by anticipation, rising from within. Could it be?

It was.

There they were. His arch rivals. The bane of his amnesiatic existence. The secret cult he had tried to uncover for almost two decades, but could never capture (to his working memory).

The Society of the Blind Eye.

Since they crashed the Mystery Shack’s 1992 Halloween Party, Bill had used what little free time he could to try to uncover the origins of those lame groupies.

They were certainly a tricky bunch. Bill had depleted all of the libraries in Roadkill County searching for even a hint of their beginnings, but all he found were weird warnings written in back in the 1950s that rebuked a man called “Cipher” (a word that always sent a tingle spread across his temples) and a cult with the all-seeing eye.

Unfortunately, history was filled with all sorts of these weird trends focusing on mystical eyes. Even the Egyptians fell prey to it! Bill had to filter all of that distracting garbage through critical lenses no matter how well they matched his cloak's symbol. But at least it seemed that the society was only operating in Gravity Falls, so he didn’t have to run all over Oregon after them. It was odd, but what wasn’t in this town?

Thankfully, he had built up quite an information network as Mr. Mystique over the years and took advantage of his contacts whenever he could. At the end of his sessions, he would offhandedly ask his regulars about anything strange occurring around town and warn them about the “Men in Red” in order to interfere with their activities. From their testimonies, or lack thereof when they couldn’t recall what happened on a specific night last week and such, he could create a fuller picture of what he was working with.

In the beginning, he tried to play the victim card and acted traumatized by a bunch of gnomes who had tried to raid the soup kitchen. It almost worked, as they were in the middle of bringing him to their hideout, but then one of them touched his ass and he instinctively head-butted them in the nose and cussed out their parents. Then, since he had already botched the mission, Bill had tried to reach for the lightbulb gun on the offender’s hip, but no dice. Stan, from where he had been hiding in the El Diablo, had to extract him.

From then on, the cult either never took his bait or actively ran from him as he pursued them, shooting at him from afar while Bill returned fire with an actual shotgun. Bill never could scrounge up the courage to go all in. And it wasn’t because he wasn’t committed to this self-appointed mission because he was! Cross his heart and hope to die, stick a needle somewhere and all that. He felt very strongly about them.

Well, that was putting it a teensy-bit lightly.

He hated them.

He hated how they were probably the reason behind his, well, everything.

Why he woke up in the woods in the dead of winter, left at the mercy of the cold.

Why his mind was utterly devoid of his life before the year 1985.

Why he was missing an eye.

Okay he MIGHT have been born like this. He had never gone to the doctors to check it out; sue him! That meant it still COULD have been due to them.

And don’t even get him started on how they were also likely the reason Ford had gone off the deep-end and got everyone involved in this shit-show in the first place.

It made him toss and turn and pace at night to think that they could so easily toy with his life. Rip away any semblance of autonomy he might have had over himself and reduce him to a lost, weak man with nothing to his name, and he had no clue how to regain that control.

The progress he had made was startlingly small. Sure: he had a plethora of other responsibilities eating up his time. Running the Mystery Shack, watching Soos, fixing the portal, doing academia paperwork to stay abreast about new discoveries in the field, being a loving and doting husband…William Birch was a busy guy! His life was important! But this was also important. So, when he saw an opportunity, dangling temptingly in front of him, he’d have to take it.

Bill hopped out of his seat a bit too hastily to be casual, the urge to hunt growing every second. “You two stay put. I’m gonna take a little walk. Get some fresh air. You know how the stench of sweaty humans always makes my allergies flare up.” No need to mess up the Pines’ Bonding Night when they had so few of them together.

Stan perked up, eyes nearly cross-eyed as he attempted to push himself off of the barstool he was slipping off of. “Oh, we’ll come with you!”

“No, no,” Bill firmly corralled him back into his chair. For extra measure, he patted Stan on the head like a good, obedient pet. “I won’t be long. Just have fun and finish your drinks.” And with that, Bill hurriedly made his way out the door, eye locked on his targets.

Look, Bill may be impulsive and hot-headed, but he was far from stupid. He was no match for those creeps as he was. He was dressed for a night out, not an espionage mission, though he did have a kitchen knife on him. He was just gonna trail them for a bit and figure out where their hideout was. Then on one of his free days, he could sneak in while they were out and collect some evidence.

Bill followed from a safe distance as the robed men escorted the “victim” down the street, deeper into town. Just where could their HQ be? Underground in the sewers? A secret speakeasy? Toby Determined’s house? All mysterious locations befitting a mysterious group. He paused to hide within a narrow alleyway as the people he was stalking also stopped, looking back in his direction, but Bill made sure to stay out of sight.

Hey, this was going pretty smoothly! 5 points to Bill for getting this far. In fact, this was the most progress he’s had in years! It was hard to be in the right place at the right time to catch a glimpse of these bathrobe-wearing losers. He couldn’t let this go to waste.

But something was off, the wrongness churning in his gut. Were there always two cult members? Bill could have sworn that there were…

“Boo.”

Three.

Bill immediately withdrew his knife and jabbed it backwards in an attempt to strike the man behind him. His thin wrist was quickly caught, the tip of his weapon resting against the cloaked man’s chest, right over his heart. It caught on the dark red fabric, ripping a thin vertical cut. Close, but not enough.

“Well, someone’s jumpy,” that smooth voice commented, as if he didn’t almost get violently shanked. “You could have really hurt me.”

Bill snarled, his temper spiking. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I was going for.” He followed this up with a cheap shot aimed at the guy’s crotch. This forced his opponent to release him, but the commotion had already alerted his lackeys, who came up behind Bill and restrained him, making him drop his only weapon.

The one-man army twisted and bucked like a wild animal locked in a cage, baring his pointy canines and snapping at any fingers that got close to him. The man who initially snuck up on him clucked his tongue once he recovered from the low blow.

“Congratulations William Birch: you are single handedly the most persistent annoyance we have faced. Always coming in and causing havoc, distracting us from our mission. No longer. I’ve been waiting to do this for years.”

“Ohohoho; I’m shaking in my non-existent boots. What’s next on the menu for me today? Plucking out my eyeball and roasting it over a campfire on a skewer? Knocking my teeth out and making them into a pair of dentures? Or are you gonna go straight for the kill? I’d love to see you try!” Bill sneered, never one to give his opponents any satisfaction even when they had bested him, still tugging at the hands that were constricting his movement.

He caught a glimpse of a smile that was mostly shaded by the hood. “We don’t need to go to such extremes. We got you right where we want you. How about you say goodbye to today’s memories? Or, better yet, a year’s worth? A decade? More? You’ve been pursuing us for so long, we may have to wipe it all clean just to keep you silent.”

The threat drained away any bravado he had. No. No. Anything but that. Bill had expected it, but he would rather die than lose himself again.

The abject horror he struggled to wipe clean off his face made the three goons chuckle. “Not so feisty now, are you?” The ringleader pulled that accursed gun from his oversized sleeve, tuning the settings with a small knob on the side. “Normally, we’d have a more official meeting for this, but you’re so slippery I can’t risk it.”

“Hey, pal, there’s no need to go overboard,” Bill tried to appeal, smiling weakly as he desperately attempted to extract himself from this terrible situation. This couldn’t be the end of the line for him already!

“I get it! I haven’t been the nicest kid on the playground. Destroying your sandcastles, pushing you off the swing, cutting the line for the slide, but I can stop! Ju-just,” he gasped as the heated glass bulb pressed against his temple. A hot kiss of destruction that would wreck everything he had come to know. He could already picture the blue flames eating him and leaving not even a morsel behind.

“Just let me go and it’ll be like you memory wiped me, but without the memory wiping! I won’t say a word to anyone. I won’t do anything to stop you! Please,” he implored, strength leaving his legs as he fell to his knees. “Please don’t make me forget. Not again. Please.”

The man hummed, delighting in the show of begging. “Such pretty words. If only they didn’t come from a con man’s mouth.” He charged up the gun, the whirring noise grinding into Bill’s bones, the vibrations nauseating. “Goodbye, William Birch. I hope the new person who takes your place is more agreeable.”

“NO!” Bill yelled, one last burst of adrenaline spiking through him as he, in a rare display of strength, ripped himself away from his capturers. In the process, Bill managed to push the man directly behind him into the brick building that enclosed the alleyway, making him smack the back of his head against the hard surface with a pained hiss. Bill used the distraction to dart out and down the road. Back to the bar. Back to his family. Back to Stanley. He’d save Bill. He always did.

The two uninjured men pursued him, quickly overtaking him as he turned the corner. Bill had never been much of a trackstar, so even when he was at his most frantic pace, just trying to flee, one of them still tackled him to the ground.

The force of his body impacting the cement directly against his nose immediately made a burst of bright nothingness appear before Bill’s eye, a sickening crunch accompanying it. Bill choked as a flood of warm iron began to pour into his mouth, slipping in between the gaps of his teeth and coating his tongue.

“Enough of this!” The head man snapped from above, the calm now absent from his voice. “I will get rid of you once and for al-” His vengeful promise was cut off suddenly, the sound of flesh getting punched filled the air.

“Bill!” Two gruff voices shouted in tandem.

Bill definitely didn’t cry. “Stan! Sherman!”

“Get the fuck offah him!” Sherman Pines boomed, the formidable-sounding threat making Bill very grateful that he had the man on his side. You could take the man out of Jersey, but you couldn’t take Jersey out of the man.

The man that was pining Bill down made a wheezing sound like a squeaky dog chew toy as a large foot swiftly struck against his stomach, forcing him off of the thin, blonde man. Shermie immediately yanked Bill up and away from the cult member, who was now gagging as the pain turned to nausea. His brother-in-law checked his nose, face shifting from blinding rage to deep concern. “Are you okay? Your nose-”

“Hey, it’s a right of passage to get into a brawl that leaves you with some minor disfigurement. I’ll live,” Bill cut in, relief spilling out as tears that dripped out of his eye, joining the other fluids on his face. “Where’s Stan?”

“Takin’ out the trash,” Shermie pointed behind Bill, who followed the gesture.

Stan was currently beating the shit out of the chief cult member, smashing his sledgehammer of fist under what Bill estimated was the guy’s chin in a sharp uppercut. It must have hurt like a bitch because over the years, Bill had added more and more gold rings to Stan’s hands, serving as a decorative, expensive knuckleduster. With one final jab, the robed man fell to his hands and knees, clutching his probably fucked up face. No longer deeming him a threat, Stan hurried over to his family.

“Bill!” Stan immediately seized him from Shermie and enveloped his body tightly, trying to wipe the stream that was falling from Bill’s nostrils, over his lips, and down his chin. There went his favorite shirt! Even the dry cleaners couldn’t get this stain out. What a waste. “What happened?!”

“Recon gone wrong,” Bill managed to spit around a mouthful of blood, leaning against his partner and easing into the embrace. He was okay. He was safe.

Stan didn’t look too shocked by the response. He knew how obsessed Bill was with finding answers. “So you went after them alone?! Are you crazy?!”

“It could be my middle name.”

“Ugh, let’s get outta here,” Stan shifted Bill underneath his arm so that he was flush against Stan’s side. “I’ve had it with these bozos.”

Bill snapped to attention at that. “Not until I take off their ugly robes and find out who they are!” They were right there! All pathetically crippled from getting the snot beat out of them and vulnerable! This was the perfect time for an interrogation. When else would he ever have this opportunity?! Stan couldn’t make him back down now!

“Bill, come on-”

“STAN, LOOK OUT,” Shermie suddenly pushed his little brother hard, sending both Stan and Bill to the ground. The two immediately picked themselves up and watched, paralyzed, as a beam of light blasted Shermie head-on. The third Blind Eye member that had been left behind in the alleyway had rejoined the fight, using one last trick to strike back.

It was as if Shermie was suspended in a comatose state, eyes rolled back into his head and mouth falling open in a silent scream as his brain was rearranged in ways Bill could only guess.

Stan let out a wordless bellow of pure fury and launched himself at the attacker, as reckless and unhinged as a raging bull. The sight of an outraged Stan Pines was enough for the man to cut the ray off and book it, with his comrades taking advantage of the distraction to extract themselves as well. Stan went to pursue, mind focused on hurting the man who shot his brother, but Bill’s pleading managed to catch his attention before he could run off.

“Sherman?! Sherman, are you okay?!” Bill questioned frantically, reversing the roles so that he was now the one holding up the older man. Shermie groaned in answer, flinching as he rubbed his forehead. And Stanley, when faced with the choice between chasing after a stranger and staying with his family, chose his family.

“I’m fine, Bill,” Shermie weakly assured the shorter man after a moment. “But I feel like I had the strangest dream…where are we? Weren’t we just about to go out for drinks?”

Stan and Bill exchanged distressed glances as Shermie reoriented himself. It didn’t seem like the memory gun had removed too many of Shermie’s memories if only the past couple of hours were gone. Then again, the ray was meant for Stan. Could that have messed up the effectiveness of the machine?

“Uh, we’re done already, Sherm. You musta drank too much and tried to fight Moth Man,” Stan forced himself to say as if he were joking. “Let’s go home and get you to bed.” Thankfully Shermie was too out of it to call Stan’s bluff.

They rode back to the Shack in silence.

~

Once Shermie was safe and sound in the guest room and Bill’s nose was cleaned up, Stan and Bill went down to the parlor. There was no escaping this talk. Bill could already hear the verbal lashing that was about to whip his ears for his recklessness. He probably deserved it.

Not even a second after they both entered, Stan whirled to face Bill, the curtains billowing dramatically behind him. “You have to stop.”

“What?” was all Bill could dumbly reply with.

“You have to stop chasing after that cult,” Stan elaborated, tone final. No retrial was eligible for this verdict.

There it was. “Look, Stanley, I get it! Things went a little sideways tonight but-”

“A little?!” Stan burst out, all of the tension rapidly discharging, a voltage surge overloading the system. There was only so much a man could take, after all.

“You almost got wiped! Sherman did get wiped! I coulda lost my other brother! I coulda lost both of you and not been able to do a damn thing!” Those big, strong hands shook, now weak. “I already lost Stanford. Ain’t that enough?”

Bill achingly watched on in silence, the rare bite of guilt nipping at his conscience. The last thing he wanted was for Sherman to get caught in the crossfire, even if the shot was originally intended for Stanley, which was also terrible. That must have really struck a chord with the youngest Pines brother.

“I can’t let you keep going after them,” the brunette gathered himself after a moment. “I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I found you one day and you didn’t know my name. If you forgot me.”

“...What am I supposed to do?” Bill whispered after a moment, now staring at the fuchsia fire. It flickered at him, as if it wanted an answer, too. “I need to remember.”

“...do you?”

Bill paused, peeking back at his partner. “What do you mean?”

“Do you need to remember?” Stan elaborated slowly, knowing that he couldn’t take it back. “Would it really change anything?”

A flare of indignation engulfed Bill. Stanley knew exactly how much this meant to him. “Yes, it would!”

“Really? Like what?”

Bill opened his mouth, but nothing came from it. What would change, realistically?

“We’d still run the Mystery Shack, we’d still save Ford, we’d still live in Gravity Falls,” Stan listed out. “Really, William, what would change?”

“Well, lots of things! Do you want them in alphabetical, least to most important, or chronological-”

“ONE thing! Just tell me one thing that would change! Or can you not even do that?!”

“ME,” Bill blurted out. “I’d change! I’d finally understand who I am.”

It was Stan’s turn to be quiet.

The overwhelmed man floundered for a moment, the sickening sensation of vulnerability digging its hands into his internal organs and rising up to claw at his chest. Strangling him even now from speaking his truth.

Every time he attempted to look at his memories, it was as if he was stuck staring at an incomplete tapestry from the back. Woven by the fates or god or whatever remorseless being was in charge of Bill’s confusing existence, if there even was one up there. Depicting his life in what should be a grand portrait of glory, but equally could be used to highlight all of his follies and shame him. A warning to all those who wanted to follow in his footsteps, wherever they led.

All the colors and fine details displayed on the front, that would have bestowed upon him clarity about his past, were instead just thousands upon thousands of tangled threads as far as his eye could see. The small, frayed ends blurred and muted the mirror image until it was all weird smudges of obscure shades. No meaning could be discerned no matter how long he stared at it, until his vessels burst and his corneas dripped red and he was blinded.

What was he supposed to make of it? When would he finally see the final product from the front? When he was dead? What use would it have for him then?

Was the tapestry marred due to his condition? Covered up with black paint to never be seen and understood like the ones that lined his parlor? Or were the missing memories, now useless to him, ripped out and unraveled? Were those threads repurposed for the next stage of life he was still performing on? Or was the old tapestry of his past carelessly thrown out and restarted anew in a fit of artistic inspiration, uncaring of where it left him stranded?

How much more had to be added into was completed? Or would Bill’s creator get sick of this project and end it unfinished? Cutting the thread that had weaved his story with a single snip of death. Never letting Bill have a satisfying conclusion that all the other characters of life received.

Despite the unyielding grip around his throat, he wanted to at least try to tell Stanley something. The one person who could understand him, even when he didn’t. If not Stanley, then who could?

“In the beginning, I was living a lie,” Bill waved wildly around them to the surrounding walls that contained his life’s work within them. It all felt so little. “Who I was living as wasn’t really me. There wasn’t even a me to be. But I kept lying to myself. And after some time, the lie wasn’t a lie anymore. It became my truth. This is me now. I am William Birch.”

He focused on Stanley Pines. His galactic center. The supermassive black hole in the middle of his Milky Way. “But who was I before? What was my name? What was my life like? It must have meant something, right? I had to have meant something. Or did I-” he broke off before starting up again, “Or did I just not matter at all?”

Bill let Stan pad closer, grabbing his partner’s left hand once it was in reach. He traced a long, winding path along Stan’s wedding band. A physical reminder of everything that was his and would always be his. It soothed him. “Believe me, Starlight, I know I got a good thing going on right now. You and I are the best thing to come out of this mess. There’s just always these what-ifs, y’know?”

Stan reached behind Bill’s head to cradle the back of his neck, gently pushing down so Bill would rest his forehead against Stan’s shoulder. “I know. I know, Starboy. But you gotta choose: is learning about your past worth the risk of losing everything else?”

Bill bit his lip, the action hidden in Stan's dress shirt, contemplating his response. There was only one right answer to this question.

Understand who he truly was? Fill the void that stretched for years on-end? Or potentially lose his memories of being William Birch and everything he had accomplished since?

What if he forgot Stanley?

When presented like that, the solution was obvious.

“Okay,” he relented, slumping more against his partner. The surrender was unnatural, but it also felt like salvation. “I’ll stop.”

He felt Stan’s body relax in relief against his own. “Thank you, sweetheart. I know it ain’t easy. But hey, I’m sure my brother will have some answers once we save him from the portal. You two are connected somehow, right? He’ll know what’s up.”

Bill hummed as he flipped that thought about. That was true. If anyone would know, it’d be Stanford Pines. “Guess we really have to save him now, huh?”

“Yup,” Stan snorted. He then pulled back a bit so he could look Bill in the eye, brushing the man’s messed up bangs out of his face. “And even if he doesn’t, not to say he won’t, you’re still you. With or without your memories, you’re so…Bill, y’know? No one could ever take that away from you.”

Bill blinked rapidly as his husband pressed a sweet kiss over his eye-less eyelid. “Such a sap,” he choked out, unable to say anything more.

Stan winked roguishly. “Only for you, babe.”

Overcome with a rush of adoration and affection for this wacky aging man, Bill immediately knocked them onto the big cushion in the middle of the room, hungrily mouthing kisses down the other’s neck as he wrapped Stan’s legs around his thin waist. He made sure to stabilize his lover’s back while he was at it.

In the fire light, with all the gold he had adorned his husband with over the years, Stanley looked priceless. Could you really blame a guy for not being able to hold back?

Stan easily returned the touches and let Bill take control as the room heated up while the fire dimmed.

~

The next morning, Shermie gladly let the two of them dote on him after breakfast as he went to pack his car. The time to say goodbye had come.

“-and make sure that you send me some more photos, like of a young Stan or Dipper and Mabel,” Bill tacked onto the already-long list of requests he gave Sherman.

Shermie chuckled. “Keep an eye on your mailbox then.” He then swept Bill into a big hug, but then winched. “Ouch - back cramp! Just what did I get up to last night?” The con men just chuckled nervously in response as he quickly let go and turned to Stan.

“Now don’t you be a stranger,” Shermie teased. “Remember our deal, but also feel free to call me whenever. I’ll be there, usually.” He punched Stan’s bicep lightly, and Stan returned it.

“Yeesh, I know Sherm,” Stan grouched. “Now get your dinosaur butt into that car. You got a ways to go.”

And so into his car Sherman Pines went, started the engine, and slowly backed out of the parking lot.

“I had an amazing time,” he called out to them. “I love you!”

“Love you, too!” his family replied, waving frantically at him. And before they knew it, he was gone on the road, a faint cloud of dust the last thing he left behind.

Bill drooped like a sail without wind once the car was out of sight. “Aw, I already miss that old fart.”

“Oh, he’ll be back,” Stan dismissed casually, rubbing at the corner of his eye. “Maybe next time he’ll bring the kids.”

“Yeah right,” Bill snorted. “Maybe in a couple of years they’ll come during the summer or something.” Or something, indeed. He was still keeping that a surprise for Stan.

The two returned inside and began preparing for a late opening. Bill stepped into his parlor and, after a moment of deliberation, pulled out his cloak. His first, old cloak. He barely brought it out anymore. He flipped it to look at the wide eye on the back.

Bill had been following leads for so long, trying to understand. Checking into the Illuminati, old secret societies, various cults in the area that could be connected. But they were so old, worn, conflicting, and forgotten that they barely yielded anything except the triangle with one eye, a symbol that really wasn’t that unique in the grand scheme of symbols.

But he had promised Stan that he'd stop, and he intended to actually keep this promise. While he couldn’t deny that he wanted more, he could be content with this life and this life only. He had a place in this town with Stanley. He had a family, a purpose. That had to be enough. It had to be.

Besides, he had a feeling he’d get his answers. One day.

One day Stanford Pines would return and share the secrets he kept out of his journal.

One day the Society of the Blind Eye would fall. And Bill would dig through its wreckage to see what it contained. Then, he’d have his answers.

Chapter Text

Bill had been zooming around town like a headless pterodactyl looking for the kids on his moped when he came across a stream of people flowing out of the Museum of History.

Bingo. His little fireballs were always creating an uproar in this typically-sleepy neighborhood. It made it all the easier to keep track of them.

The reason he was even breaking a sweat over this was because Stan had pulled him aside earlier to mention that the twins, Wendy, and Soos had gone off to look for McGucket. Given how obsessed Dipper was with learning the true identity of the author of the journals, the boy had a habit of muttering aloud when he thought he was alone, that couldn’t be anything good. So Stan was manning the Shack while Bill tried to find them and prevent them from nosing around where they shouldn’t.

They were so close. And while the kids truly didn’t know the weight of the situation, they had already nearly got caught by the Feds when Dipper contacted them about the journal. Thank the stars the zombies probably gobbled them up and took care of that issue. They couldn’t afford another slip up.

That third journal really brought a lot of things to light for Bill, like the fact that triangular dream demons were real (assuming Ford wasn’t tripping balls). But something he couldn’t get over was the fact that Old Man McGucket turned out to be Ford’s assistant. That was a truth he had learned from a single coded message Ford had written in the book during his psychotic era.

The old hillbilly helped construct the portal. He created the memory gun. He founded the Society of The Blind Eye. All because the town’s eccentricities gave him a little fright! Boo-hoo, you yellow-belly hick! If you can’t get with the program, change the channel!

In the end, it turned out that there was no other cult in Gravity Falls, both now and thirty years ago. And Bill still couldn’t figure out how he fit into all this intricate mystery. There were no mentions of anyone who could be him in either of the other journals. It was highly unlikely he and Ford ever knew each other.

That just opened the door to even more conspiracies! Was he another human deceived by Bill Cipher? Another devotee beguiled by promises of prestige and power only to be double-crossed? Or was there more to him? Why did he end up in Gravity Falls? Where were his memories?!

Unfortunately, the journal entry did not yield any answers as to their headquarters, just their origins. And he hadn’t had the opportunity to go after McGucket and “interrogate” him before the kids did. Not that he had thought he’d get much out of the encounter considering how nonsensical the man typically was, but Bill should have covered all his bases earlier. Shame on him.

Bill spied on them from the safety of the shadows as Dipper, Mabel, and McGucket waved a bunch of people goodbye for “Gold Miner Appreciation Night”, listening in.

“I'm sorry, but what's my name? Where am I?” A man covered with head tattoos asked, a living diagram of phrenology, his smooth voice instantly clicking in Bill’s mind. He was at the Halloween party and that horrible night when Bill had gotten cornered. He was that carnival carny Ford had mentioned in the third journal. He was the Head of the Blind Eye.

Bill’s nails dug into his palms, nearly puncturing himself. He wanted nothing more to spring out of his hiding spot and strangle the conniving motherfucker himself.

“Oh, might have overdone that one,” Dipper cringed as he watched the former leader look around, confused.

Mabel jumped in and gave the now nameless man an insultingly ridiculous new name and sent him on his way with a banjo. Bill watched “Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle” bumble about happily now that he was given his life mission as a minstrel. Without a care in the world. So blissfully unaware.

How easy it was for a person to die and be reborn completely anew.

The kids must have put the clues together when they visited McGucket about the journal. Then they discovered the hideout, confronted the group, and wiped the members’ memories of the cult. Bill had no clue how they accomplished it but good fucking riddance. He secretly gave the finger to Bud Gleeful in particular as the man lumbered away. Of course that buck-toothed bastard was also involved in this. Bill should have recognized him way earlier, but his well-established hatred for the crummy car salesman must have blinded him to the possibility. How ironic. Bill was drowning in irony today, it seemed.

As his kids and the crazy hillbilly went back inside, Bill carefully followed from a distance, silent as the Hide Behind. Sue him, he was curious! There could be so much more that Bill could learn from this mess.

And good thing he did. He got a not-so-close seat to witness McGucket’s fall from grace as the memories that played on the screen jumped from days to weeks. In less than three years, starting from 1982, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket willingly lost his mind. No wonder Bill barely saw the man coherent. He was literally giving himself brain damage in order to ease his fears. Too bad the emotions persisted even without memories. Bill could personally attest to that.

Talk about tying your own noose. But the noose was tied wrong, so when you went to the gallows, it didn’t snap your neck properly. Now you were stuck hanging as the rope strangled you. A slow, cruel death instead of the quick mercy you wanted.

Instead of invoking pity, all Bill felt was disgust.

He knew exactly what went into that destructive creation.

Well, he had guessed. Engineering degree, remember? He had seen that gun enough first-hand and in his nightmares to remember its appearance and how it operated. Reverse engineering its mechanics was child's play once he actually stopped to think about it. And since he had dropped his in-person investigations into the cult, though he still kept a pulse on their general activity levels through his regulars, he dedicated more time to unraveling the core of the society: their technology. The source of their power. Without it, they were just a bunch of powerless humans with huge egos. Bill could outmatch them any day of the week.

The brain was simultaneously the most delicate yet most flexible organ harbored in the human body. As much as people loved to cite the soul as the embodiment of a person’s being, Bill could confidently tell you that such beliefs were even more of a hoax than expiration dates at the grocery store or federal taxes. The brain was what made you, well, you! Wipe that wrinkly, grooved baby clean of all its tailored neural networks, and you’d have nothing to work with. Or, rather, nothing that would work for you.

That was what made this “memory gun” such a tricky piece of tech. It necessitated a high level of understanding of neuroscience and all its subfields to have the desired targeted effect of erasing only specific memories. But one cannot change one part of the brain without irreparably changing the others to some degree. The short-term memory may be eradicated from the temporal lobe exactly as planned, but there are side-effects. Each brain region governs multiple bodily activities, after all. Clearly, all those other vital functions weren’t part of the equation for McGucket. For a man who supposedly quintuple-checked his formulas, that was a serious miscalculation.

It culminated in Bill making his own memory gun. Only one. He never let Stanley see what he got up to during his insomnia episodes, claiming instead that he was gonna work on the portal in the basement to keep himself busy. Hey, he had promised his partner that he’d stop going after the cult. And he was! But he still felt the urge to keep this hidden. He didn’t want to be guilted into giving this side project up.

Bill didn’t need the memories. Truly, he didn’t! He wasn’t that insecure about himself, okay? He was completely fine and absolutely perfect as he was. Those old wounds had closed, but they always itched. He couldn’t ignore the temptation to scratch it once and a while. Only a little. Not enough to reopen them. He was just curious. Was that really so bad?

As long as he kept up the portal work, he was allowed to pursue his own hobbies, like teaching himself neurobiology and biopsychology! All these new textbooks were simply a result of his overactive mind, and he was just exploring a new avenue of interest.

Stanley probably hadn’t bought it at the time, Bill knew that, but had trusted him not to be too reckless about it.

Of course he wasn’t gonna use it on himself, though! That was, like, the exact OPPOSITE of his problem! What he was REALLY getting at was figuring out a way to make a reverse memory gun from internal mechanisms of the original contraption. A memory restoration machine. If he blasted himself with that, would his history start to come back to him? If they did, and the memories were as horrible and traumatizing as he wondered they’d be, he’d just leave them in the past where they belonged. No harm, no foul!

But no dice. The science never worked out. While recently damaged synapses could retain their plasticity, the ones that had been sitting in his cerebral cortex had all withered away by time. There was nothing to restore, especially since he had no way of reliving those experiences again.

Destroying was always easier than saving.

He had locked the gun away in one of the secret compartments he added to the basement over the years not long after that revelation. He never knew when he might need it, after all. Every weapon had its purpose. And if his hand shook each time he picked it up, well, that never happened! Were YOU there? He didn’t think so!

And so, when Bill looked at McGucket, all he could think was pathetic.

Farm Boy should have gone back to California ages ago. Back to his family and all of his “safe” patents that didn’t physically, mentally, and psychologically damage people. He could have been a well-renowned billionaire in another life. But in this one, he had been too committed to Stanford Pines to deal with his issues like a normal person. He had wanted to be the perfect, reliable, helpful assistant. Now look at him: divorced, estranged from his family, stuck in a garbage dump, dreams dissipated, and mind collapsed.

Maybe Bill should feel something even the slightest bit similar to sympathy after watching the man’s tragic backstory. But this was the same nut job who tried to shoot Bill in front of town hall with a bazooka. Who attempted to destroy Stan’s boat with a man-made whirlpool while they were fishing on the lake. Who always hollered on and on about the “one-eyed beast” as he pointed a crooked, dirty bandaged finger at Bill’s face. All because of what? He couldn’t handle that fiction became fact in Gravity Falls? Why did Bill have to put up with it and be the bigger person?

As the kids consoled McGucket, Bill skirted away to see if he could find his own memories. The cult’s collection wasn’t hard to find, with piles and piles of containers just haphazardly strewn about the room. Nice to know that they had such an efficient and organized storage system. They should have done some spring cleaning once and a while or else they could have ended up on the latest season of “Gravity Falls’ Hoarders”.

Bill got to work, separating names he knew from those he didn’t. Hey, it was entirely possible that his name wasn’t even Bill, right? He had to keep an open mind even if he was 69.420% sure it was. Then, once the other group was gone, he played each of the memories on the monitor to see if he was among them.

It took hours to get through all of them. Memories upon memories from people who did not share his nose, have his ears, bare his smile, wear his hair, nor possess his eye. Not a single one of them matched him. And once he finished reviewing the final one, he had to admit it.

He wasn’t there. He never had his memory erased.

The Society wasn't to blame.

Was there anyone to blame?

In no time at all, Bill found himself wildly driving his moped, grinding his teeth so hard he thought he heard one crack in the back of his mouth. The darkness of the night enveloped him, and the eyes of the forest creatures followed after him as he sped down the road. They were probably wondering where he was going at a time like this. Bill was wondering that himself. He was on autopilot now, at the mercy of his rage and humiliation.

Twenty years .

It had to be them! It didn’t make sense otherwise! Why else would he have amnesia? Be missing an eye (not that any of the other victims suffered from this but COME ON)?! Or was he just forcing the evidence to fit his theory? Could he really not stand being wrong after all this wasted time and effort?

Well, Bill was always a bit of a sore loser. And he was positively aching right now.

Bill parked and jumped off his ride, stalking towards the jumble of junk that barely resembled a house. He knew McGucket heard him mow down the fencing as he entered.

“Fid-dle-ford~” He intoned, his light tone not enough to hide the vitriol that darkened it. “Come out and play. I don’t have all day~”

He’d shoot the door down himself and drag the Tennessee-born-and-raised man out by the hairs on his chinny chin chin if he had to. His handgun sat heavy in his pocket, but he doubted he’d need to use it.

Sure enough, the door swung open, and the bearded menace appeared with those dorky little green lenses. As if changing only a single part of your outfit by adding an accessory marked a prolific change in your character. Bill knew better. One night wasn’t enough to overcome thirty years of degeneration. This was still the same man Bill was always repulsed by. Nothing had changed.

“Oh,” the frailer man exclaimed, withdrawing slightly. “It’s you…ah…ah don’t know what ta say.”

“Have you ever?” The corners of his mouth were stretched as far and wide as he could. No one liked this smile. Especially not the other man.

A hand clutched at the door frame tightly for support, trembling. “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” Bill repeated. “What do I want? Oh, Fiddleford, I want a lot of things. A new hairdryer, the state of Oregon’s lottery system’s secrets, and my memories to name a few. All things that I’m probably never gonna get. Except for that hairdryer.”

He tilted his chin up to the sky, facing the moon. It held a tinge of red to its glow.

“All this time, I thought I could uncover the secrets of my past. That once my enemies were defeated, I’d be victorious. But tell me, screw-for-brains, what happens when there are no enemies to be defeated? When there’s no one in your way but you’ve STILL-” the volume of his voice raised, the pitch nearly at a scream, “-HAVEN’T WON?!”

McGucket shook like a small, kicked dog. Bill took another step closer.

“I’ve wasted years-” he dropped to a whisper, the sound barely even spoken. “-chasing after the cult that you created. Hoping that I’d find the answers I’ve been searching for. But there was nothing. Nothing.” A sound almost like a giggle broke up the words. “Nothing.”

And then Bill laughed. He laughed so hard he had to bend over and clutch at his stomach. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe, gasping for air. His cackling ruined the peaceful night ambiance. He couldn’t hear the crickets chirp anymore.

He couldn’t stop if he wanted to. Like a wind-up toy, once the inner gears were tightly turned, he had to go about these movements to completion. It was inevitable.

“What a joke!” Bill managed to rasp out at the end of his fit. “But that’s what life is! A big!” He kicked the nearest trash can, “Fucking!” Down went a tower of deflated tires. “JOKE!” McGucket flinched away as a broken bottle shattered above him, raining down a bunch of little glass shards onto his hat.

“If you -,” The unhinged blonde snarled, cornering in the southern inventor into the pile of rubble he claimed as his home, “- hadn’t taken the coward’s way out, and inspired all the other cowards in town, I wouldn’t have gone on a wild goose-chase for nearly my whole life! You’re to blame for everything! And yet you’ve always acted like I was the nuisance!” He stopped a few feet away. “Calling me a beast, barking at me like a rabid animal!”

Fiddleford nervously hamboned his thighs, unsure of what to do. “W-what are ya gonna be doin’ ta me?”

“Me? Do to you?” Bill gazed upon the pitiful man. A small, snivelling person whose mind barely existed in their reality. What could even be done to someone like him?

“ …Nothing.” He took a step back. Tightening the restraints on himself. He had already let himself care too much about how this ended. He had to distance himself.

“I mean, just LOOK at you! You’re already living the worst life imaginable for what you did. A victim by your own hand. Now THAT took a special level of fucking up! I’d give you an award if I could, but here’s a round of applause just for you!” Bill clapped obnoxiously, the sharp sound bouncing off of everything. The trash. Garbage. Junk. McGucket fit right in with it all.

“Now you have no friends, no family, no legacy, and no meaning. There’s no worse pain that I could inflict upon you that you aren’t already suffering. And you deserve it. You reaped what you sowed, Mr. Assistant.” He dropped his hands and looked Fiddleford in the eye. “I know it haunts you.”

Then Bill turned around and stumbled away, a sudden bout of vertigo making his surroundings spin around him. “Oh, and keep your raggedy overalls and unclipped toenails away from my family. Dipper and Mabel may think you’re all the best of pals now, but you’re no good for them. You’re not even worth even a smidge of their time and effort. So stay in your lane if your brain knows what’s good for you. I’ll put a bullet through it before you have a chance to remember anything if you don’t.”

He went over to and started up his moped, just about to drive away, when he heard a strained voice crack. “Ah’m sorry…”

As if that could fix anything. The old mechanic didn’t have the tools to repair what was broken inside Bill.

Bill gripped the handle bars tightly and left, speeding off into the night. The wind dried his eye of anything that threatened to spill from it.

Where to go from here? Where did one run away to when they didn’t know what they were running from?

Bill ran away from a lot of things. He was pretty good at it, too, provided he got a head start. Whether it was from the law, his dreams, anything that bothered him that he didn’t know how to deal with, he just turned away from it all.

Jury duty? Suddenly you’re on sabbatical! The town police department has footage of you attempting to cut the brakes on Bud Gleeful’s truck? You’re not at home! Take a long hike and go camping in the forest for the weekend! Come to the shocking revelation that you’re in love with the one person who truly knows you and whom you can’t live life without? Fling that thought like a frisbee into the recesses of your consciousness and get the hell outta dodge! Make a break for it! It can’t find you!!!

Unless that frisbee turned out to be a boomerang in disguise and just came back to hit you on the head a thousand more times like a goddamn bit from a 1930s cartoon that had a penchant for slapstick humor.

Believe it or not, he didn’t care, but Bill had tried to run away from Stanley Pines on many occasions.

A vast majority of these attempts had been in the early years, especially the first couple of months Bill had spent in Gravity Falls. He had become an amazing escape artist, slipping out of the smallest of cracks in open windows, picking the numerous locks Stan kept adding to the where he kept the car keys, using the eye bats he captured like a bobsled team to ride off into the woods…he had gotten very creative. That, in turn, forced Stan to think even more outside the box to keep him inside the house so he wouldn’t go die who-knows-where at the hands of who-knows-what or dehydration.

It wasn’t as if Stanley treated him horribly. And it wasn’t as if Bill actually wanted to leave the town. But there was always a voiceless scream that rang in his head that he didn’t know how to ignore at first. Whenever he was faced with a challenge he couldn’t best, it told him to get away and hide and close your eye.

Don’t let the monster find you.

Smile for the camera and leave while the audience is still blinded by the flash.

Once he got more adjusted over the years, he found the second-nature easier to bear, though there were always developments that nearly made him slip up. When he realized his feelings for Stanley? You could bet that he began to take “nature walks” easily double the length they usually were instead of sprinting to the mountains. But he wouldn’t flee Gravity Falls. That wasn’t ever an option for him. Even during their vacations, after a while, Bill could feel a near-physical tug, a strong urge to go home. Guess the town had grown on him more than he thought.

But it was scarily vulnerable to be so attached. His squishy gut kept telling him to cut the threads before they had him tied up.

It was instinct. You can’t control your instincts.

But you can create new ones.

Now, he was following his new instinct. Now, instead of running away from his terrors, he ran towards his refuge. The Shack. To Stanley.

Bill found him right where he nearly always was at this time at night: the basement. Now that the portal instructions were complete, there was little in the way of activating the portal and finding Ford. They just had to get the correct coordinates calibrated, so it was now a waiting game as they stole more hazardous waste from the government waste facility to keep it powered.

The aged man was hunched over at the control panel as the three books were arranged in the correct order to his right, muttering to himself as he followed Ford’s instructions. The sound of Bill’s dress shoes squeaking against the floor must have caught his attention because he called out, “So? How were the kids? We don’t gotta break them out of the town jail do we?”

“They just disbanded the Society of the Blind Eye.” A peal of manic laughter caught even himself off-guard. It kept happening to him a lot tonight, it seemed. “It’s all over.”

Stan visibly did a double-take and turned to face Bill, eyes widening as he took in his clearly unstable conspirator. “Seriously? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Bill confirmed. “We shoulda had these kids come out years ago. They would have solved all our problems for us in about 20 episodes.” And seeing how all these events were playing out this summer, that was actually a possibility.

Stan got up from his seat and slowly crept over to Bill, who had yet to move from where he first came to stand in the room. “I wouldn’t put it past them. You, uh, good with all this?”

Good? Was Bill good? That sounded like an oxymoron.

“I need you to do something.” Already he could feel the static start to run through his veins, fuzzy and itchy and wouldn’t it feel good if it finally came out of him? It needed to come out. He had to claw himself open and bleed. Let the emptiness drain out. Didn’t he want to see what was inside?

“Yeah, babe? Whatcha need?”

“Take me, Stanley,” Bill whispered, the plea forced out before his mouth closed up. “I need you. Now.” There was a hollow space inside that only the other man could fill.

“Bill-”

“Please.”

Bill didn’t often add “please”.

“...right here work for ya?”

He nodded.

So Stanley cleared off the journals and any other personal items from the desk, stacking them on the floor, and lifted Bill by the waist up onto it. He spread his legs so that his partner could stand in front of him.

Dark eyes looked deep into even darker eyes. “Just let me know when, yeah?”

Bill’s lips could barely move anymore. “Yeah.”

What followed wasn’t worship. Not that Bill could recall ever being worshipped before. Praised? Yeah, duh. Beloved? Absolutely; just look at how much of a hit his act was! But worship? It didn’t run that deep. Yet he knew that he knew how it felt.

To be revered as an untouchable being.

Perfection embodied with every distinct line that shaped his form.

Hands reaching up high towards him, but never closing that distance. Never touching, even when he shook them. It would be easier to hold the stars, to cup the scorching plasma in the palm of your hands and watch it curl in upon itself as it blazed.

Untouchable beings cannot touch, either. They forgot how, if they ever knew. If they ever could.

But somehow, despite feeling like there was a boundary of infinity separating him from all that existed, mortal hands found him and wrapped around his neck. Flesh and bone clenching and the metal that decorated it pressing into his thin, exposed skin felt like an experience even above being worshipped. Those eyes that stared down at him shone with something far more intimate than reverence.

And he could touch back like this. Could hold on tight and clutch all that was his and would always be his with a body that was always dying, always hurtling towards its end. Ready to make impact and explode apart at the finale.

With Stanley came a gravitational force that was always pulling him in. Crash landing was unavoidable.

He wouldn’t mind meeting the end with Stanley.

And as he tilted his head back and let his dazed eye fall upon the upside-down machine that made this all possible, that three-sided gateway that allowed him the chance to have this life, it was as if the universe briefly opened up to him and only him. He could imagine the cosmos already. That unified whole just laid on the other side of the portal.

He couldn’t wait until it opened.

Then those hands gripped him even tighter and the air became harder to breathe in. He let himself become detached from it all, floating in the space of bursting pain and evanescent pleasure.

This wasn’t him running away. This was a reprieve. Stanley would bring him to the ground in the end.

And when Bill did finally come back to himself, finally full and no longer itchy and rooted back in reality, he let his thoughts sort themselves out as he zipped up his pants and fixed his rumpled shirt. Stan collapsed into his chair and took a breather.

Fine. That was it. The Society of The Blind Eye was no longer. Its founder was not a threat. Bill had been afraid of this outcome. But a part of him had already accepted this possibility years ago. That he’d only ever be William Birch. And he was…okay with that.

Maybe Ford had answers. Maybe he didn't. The last preserved shard of hope rested with that man, but if it shattered, he wouldn’t be too broken up about it. At the end of the day, Bill would still have everything else. He’d still have Dipper, Mabel, Soos, Shermie, and Stanley. His family. He couldn’t lose them.

He got up and went over to his Starlight, leaning down to press an appreciative kiss on the man’s nose, who smiled up at him tiredly.

Not again

Chapter Text

The fire was burning.

The fire in his parlor was always burning. Depending on the logs he had pre-soaked in chemicals, they’d display an array of colors. Never blue.

It didn’t take much for the embers to kindle and stay lit. One bunch could last for hours. Perhaps the wood had special properties. Bill wouldn’t be surprised if it did just like a lot of the other freaky flora in this town. Here he was now, staring at the magenta coloration that sat at the center of the hearth as it flickered back and forth, a tail rapidly wagging. Like it was alive and keeping him company. If only he actually felt the warmth it emitted.

As of now, the parlor was the only room in the Shack that he felt secure in. It was always his safe space, even more than the bedroom. It was quiet here. Here, his head was quiet. Perhaps that was both a blessing and a curse. There were no distractions. No hiding from reality. That’s why he came here to mull over his next steps.

He had spent the night after returning from the road trip with the Ramirezes just as he said he would. The movie was as action-packed and plot-heavy as always, though these spinoffs practically never were considered canon to the show’s timeline. Bill had let the saturated, higher-budget animation seep into the back of his eye as he absentmindedly slurped his overpriced, melted slushie. Certainly not thinking about the people he had escaped taken a respite from for the evening. Soos kept up a continuous commentary, noting the cool new power ups and wondering wouldn’t it be awesome if they made a gun-sword together, Mr. Birch?!

Bill just nodded along. He’d like a gun-sword. He’d like to use a gun-sword on somebody. Except the plasma beam would instantly cauterize the wound, and he wouldn’t be able to delight in watching their blood glug out of the lifeless body like viscous syrup from a tree as he stepped on and smeared his foot on each of those six fi-

He was getting sidetracked.

His handyman ended up crashing out after a sugar high from all of the dinosaur cookies he had consumed, slumping onto Bill’s shoulder with his mouth agape as he snored and whistled. The drool that dripped onto and soaked the fabric of his poncho was ignored. But once his arm fell asleep, all pins and needles going up and down the limb, Bill carefully extracted himself and let Soos continue his slumber. And if he wiped the cookie crumbs off of the employee uniform and covered the bigger man with a blanket, well, who else was there to witness it?

“You’re very sweet to him, Billy.”

…except for her.

“You are a very nosy old lady,” he accused, smoothing the soft fibers underneath that round chin before stepping away and heading into the kitchen. The elderly woman who had just spoken was putting away the clean dishes from the dishwasher into the cabinets. He came to stand beside her and joined in on the menial task, separating the cutlery into the designated drawers. Just something for him to do, is all. “Always snooping on your grandson. You should pick up a few hobbies. Get out of the house a bit. They always say you should exercise in your golden years.”

“Ah, I’ve done my time with all that,” she waved off his teasing comments, stepping a bit on her tip-toes to push a bowl onto a higher shelf. “Soos and his life are much more interesting.”

Then her gaze swept over to him, and he felt the force of it crash around him. “Including yours.”

Bill hmm-ed at that, picking up a chef’s knife and pressing its keen tip into the pad of his pointer finger. “Glad to know that I can always serve as an amusing spectacle to you, Mrs. Ramirez.” A small rose bud bloomed on his skin.

The knife was suddenly plucked from his grasp. “But I do not enjoy watching you sit in your sorrow and hurt yourself. Mi hijo has been telling me about your illness this past week, and even now you do not look…well.”

“Gee, that’s always great to hear,” he snarked, shoddily trying to cover his embarrassment. “Want to set up a doctor’s appointment for me or a shrink? They’ll tell you all the same thing: I’m not sick. Nothing’s wrong with me. In fact, I’m the picture of health!”

His weak deflections did not deter her. In fact, they probably just compounded upon his so-called perceivable “issues”. Once she was convinced someone needed her assistance, Mrs. Ramirez never backed down from the challenge.

“Nothing about you is wrong, Billy. But things are not okay, no?” She telegraphed her movements as she went to clutch his injured finger. He did not pull away from her gentle touch.

“Who’s to say?” Bill answered cryptically, letting her run his hand under the faucet’s ice-cold stream. “I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment, but doesn’t everyone? I’ll clear it soon enough.”

Mrs. Ramirex pursed her lips, the surrounding wrinkles tightening as she dried the cut with a paper towel. “William Birch.” Uh-oh. The full fake government name. Not a good sign. Should he high-tail out of there? But she already had him cornered. “For as long as we’ve known each other, your advice has helped me go through life, for better or worse. But I’m not talking to Mr. Mystique now, who hides behind his scarves, fake eye, and dark curtains. I’m talking to you, Bill.” He couldn’t escape her spearing, knowing eyes if he tried. “How can I help?”

Bill swallowed, a dryness coating his throat and a wetness enveloping his eyeball. “First, a bandage. After that? Even I don’t know,” he finished with a faltering titter that puttered out halfway. So pathetic.

“That’s how it is sometimes.”

Once the bandaid had been wrapped around his finger, and his arms once he sheepishly showed the old worried coot how badly his skin had deteriorated, the two sat at the dining room table. Soos’s snores served as a non-intrusive white noise as he remained curled up on the couch.

Bill shook the small, white bottle that was handed to him, making the pills inside dance around like a rattle. “Motrin? Really? What am I on my cycle or something?”

“It’s ibuprofen.”

“I’m just sayin’ that there’s something seriously wrong with giving a grown man this knock-off Advil.”

“It's a brand name! Just take it, Billy; it’ll make your arms feel better after you scratched them raw.”

The container was flung across the room onto her pink recliner and landed with a soft thud. “Nope! Gotta keep my pain tolerance up! And there’s nothing like checking on your skin receptors once and a while to make sure those babies are still functional!”

Mrs. Ramirez frowned disapprovingly at him but decided to drop it since there was something much bigger to address. “So? What’s going on?”

The question drained any humor he had just tried to scrounge up right down the sink alongside his spilled blood. Party pooper.

Thin fingers started twisting the tassels of the macrame table runner anxiously, and he struggled to begin. But everything was just an endless stream of horribleness. How did one even begin to row their boat against the undertow?

Just let it gently take you and be merry. Life is but a dream.

“Something is…going on, back at home,” he drew out the words haltingly. “And I know it’s all Stanford Pines’s fault, but got nothing to show for it. Everyone else thinks he’s the second coming of the Messiah, himself included, but he’s plotting something. I don’t need to be an augur to predict that he’s gonna strike against me again. I can already see him bringing them into his fold.”

Swift flashes of Ford bonding with Bill’s family were sent across and dispersed throughout his mind. The memory of Stan pulling his twin close as they all laughed together the last time he saw them looped over again, the clip cannibalizing itself. The threads began to fray as he thoughtlessly loosened them. He tried to roll them back together, but they had already come apart. Sometimes it felt like all his hands could do was bring about ruin. His conversation partner didn’t acknowledge the destruction.

A growl, or something much weaker but still guttural, entered his voice. “He’s the reason I had…fallen ill.”

The elder at least took the accusation seriously as her aura visibly darkened. She didn’t ask Bill if he was sure that’s what happened or try to reassure him that it might have been a misunderstanding. That was a first, and Bill was grateful.

“Because he believes you to be a demon,” Mrs. Ramirez contemplated aloud, watching Bill shift restlessly in his seat. She detected how his arms twitched in no distinct pattern, the spasms catching him off-guard. Couldn’t help but observe how hunched his spine was, his body’s feeble attempt to hold itself together by keeping everything close and tight. Acutely noticed the arrhythmic breathing, on the precipice of going haywire. Bill knew what she saw. It was a mark of how consumed he was by his apprehensions that he couldn’t bring himself to care about his image now.

A half-hearted exhale through his nose would have to be enough to convey his exasperation. “And how do you know that little tidbit? A loud little birdy with six toes? Has he brought his smear campaign to the town while I was gone? Should I expect a crowd with torches and pitchforks to come marching up the road calling for my head? Or will they try to throw a bucket of water on me since I’m so wicked?”

The Hispanic lady’s eyes flickered quickly over to the couch and back to him.

“Oh.” Yeah, that made more sense. Granny always knew what was up in the life of her precious grandbaby. And Soos was someone who never left out details about their day. Bill couldn’t count how many times he’d ask Soos if he had unclogged one of the toilets at the Shack only for the gopher-looking boy to blab on with the most winding recollection of his day.

“Well, yeah, he does,” Bill confirmed. “But not just any demon. Apparently I’m a trillion-old dream demon seeking world domination who tricked him years ago, and now he’s out for blood because I remind him of some triangle named ‘Bill Cipher’.”

He promptly wished he didn’t let the name be uttered aloud. Names have power. They brought attention to the speaker. And as much Bill could easily blow off such hogwash and balderdash on a typical Tuesday, he was feeling abnormally superstitious. He must have become more spiritual over the years. How feeble and frail his mind and spirit had become to buy into that baloney.

But once those two words were spoken, it was akin to someone suddenly looking over at you from the corner of their eye. Now inspecting you. He always thought he had scopaesthesia.

To shake off the weight of such a sensation, Bill took out the little black box that had uncomfortably been digging into his thigh this entire time. “Remember this old beauty? Looks like it has more to do with that three-sided trickster than we knew. You once told me that it reminded you of me.” He tried to slide it over to her, but the table runner obstructed its path. “Maybe it could give me a clue as to what Ford is doing.” Mrs. Ramirez reached over and opened it so that they both could view the jewelry inside it.

The triangular golden locket. The script that kept haunting his dreams, vocalized by ghastly visions of specters.

I grow maddened

Bill swore he could hear it. A scratchy noise catching onto his attention, irritating his consciousness. He wanted it gone. Gone forever so it could never find him again.

“I did. And it does,” she agreed.

“But why?” he needled, much more desperate for answers than he was over two decades ago. “You found it at that old rotting church, but you can’t remember much else? Why is that?”

She tutted at him as his volume raised, shushing him so that he wouldn’t wake Soos. As if he could. The man could sleep through a tornado made out of marine creatures. “My memory isn’t what it once was, Bill. If I didn’t remember then, how could I now?”

Remember, huh?

It was looking like Bill would have to revisit a certain location very soon. Follow every lead he could, right?

“...right. Your old wench brain is stuffed full with recipes for baked goods and sewing techniques.” He forcibly settled himself. “Which is all you really need nowadays.”

“But what I don’t understand is how he is doing this to you?”

Ain’t that the grand-prize question. If only Bill had the winning answer. “We’re talking about a man who traversed who-knows-how-many realities over thirty years with a penchant for creating dangerous inventions and uncovering powerful spells. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

Stars, there was so much to do.

“And your husband has no clue? You didn’t tell him?”

“Of course I did!” The reminder of his failure twisted the knife in deeper, a stab of betrayal into the left side of his chest. “But that blind, ignorant bastard didn’t believe me!”

How could he?

“And sure, I don't really have any cold hard evidence to defend my case, but I shouldn’t need to! I’m his partner! He should be taking my side like he always does!”

A single eyebrow was raised. “Is that what it means to be a partner?”

“Oh, I know this isn’t coming from the same lady who’s late husband ‘accidentally’ choked on his heart medication.”

“They were very big tablets, and he was never good at taking them. Too much of a gag reflex,” she rebuffed as usual, giving out the same statement she had fed to the police all those years ago. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like.”

Bill kept his eye on his hands, hanging his head low. “But I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve gone along with everything Stan’s decided to do since his sorry excuse of a brother came back, and look where it’s gotten me! Really, he should be the one chasing after me and fixing everything.”

“But he’s not.”

“Way to rub it in.”

Mrs. Ramirez finally dug to the root of it, yanking it messily out of the dirt Bill had deeply buried it in. “Do you love him?”

What an odd question. Did Bill love Stanley?

He didn’t want to answer. And yet an admission broke free anyway.

“I can’t lose him,” managed to tumble out of his gravelly throat, a single stone dislodging from the rest from the top of the mountain. The more honest message was hidden within. Let the rock crack open on the way down and break apart to reveal what it held at its core.

A steely glint entered her eyes as she prodded him. “Then what do you need to do?”

The carbon inside him turned to diamond. Pressure could do that. “What I need to.”

Two could play this convoluted game of interdimensional chess, Stanford Pines. And Bill was gonna pull out all the tricks he could. He would outshine Ford’s torch with an inferno.

A biting, devious grin crossed Mrs. Ramirez’s face, and Bill couldn't help but return it ten-fold. “Then go get your family back.”

A couple of hours later after a cathartic session of throwing out suggestions to make Ford suffer and a little nibble of breakfast, Bill had taken off to town central on foot. Before he left the house, he poked Soos awake to pass on a message to the Pines.

“You’re doing a bunch of house visits for your regulars and you may not be home for a bit?” Soos repeated, not sounding fully convinced by the excuse, which meant no one else would buy it either. Ah, well. He didn’t have time to build a more air-tight cover story.

“Perfect recall, Soosie-goosie! 10/10!”

“How long is ‘a bit’, though?”

“A bit is a bit! A completely distinct length of time!”

His handy man fixed his cap in the mirror, his reflection frowning worriedly at Bill. “Do you want me to drive you to your appointments, Mr. Birch? I’m sure Mr. Pines wouldn’t mind me not coming in for the day.”

“I’ll be fine, Soos,” Bill dismissed, adjusting his shoe laces until they were triple-knotted. He couldn’t have them tripping him up now. “I don’t need you babysitting me.”

Talk about a twist of events! It was only ten years ago that he was the one making sure Soos didn’t accidentally read aloud spells from a cursed grimoire or get abducted by Steve. And now the grown up kid felt the urge to mind Bill? It was sweet but unnatural.

“Okay, sir…” Soos trailed off before giving Bill his patented happy-go-lucky buck-toothed beam. “And hey, whatever's going on with you and Stan, I’m sure that it’ll all work out. Even if it takes constructing the Shack into a robotic fighting machine!”

Bill tapped the center of Soos’s forehead. “I’ll hold ya to that prediction, Repair Boy, but let’s hope it doesn’t get to that point.”

After a brief walk and deliberately not paying for his ticket, Bill strolled past the exhibits unhurriedly. Calm, collected, and cool Bill here! Nothing bothering him whatsoever! But everytime he returned a greeting with a smile to one of his regulars, he was met with startled expressions. Oopsie. Did he have something caught in his teeth?

The History Museum still managed to make the always-present ball of frustration clog his throat, begging to be spat out. The humiliation of his long-standing mistaken theories still remained, especially in light of the Bill Cipher mess. But now that he had a new point of view, perhaps he could find something helpful in what he had previously written off.

Into the secret passageway he went after ensuring that the coast was clear, heading straight for the society’s abandoned headquarters. He took the time to carefully catalogue his surroundings now that he wasn’t in a harried frenzy to uncover his memories.

Truly, the Society of the Blind Eye was a success. Their impact on the town was undeniable, and their influence would remain for years on end as the townspeople learned to eventually deal with the knowledge of their more odd neighbors in the woods. He didn’t want to admit this, but McGucket really could have been a mainstream cult leader in another life if he wasn’t so much of a follower. Bill was almost jealous.

Then he finally reached the jackpot: the room of memories. All those containers were still littering the floor, Bill certainly hadn’t arranged them neatly all those weeks ago, but thankfully he knew where he wanted to start. After perusing for a bit, he successfully extracted the containers with Mrs. Ramirez’s name labeled on them. The sight of them instinctively made his anger flare up on her behalf, but carefully carried them to the monitor. Sorry for the invasiveness, Abuelita, but this was for a good, worthy cause! One that she whole-heartedly supported, in fact!

The first few clips were the average “I saw a bull-man” or “My daughter won’t stop dating this loser, and I want to forget about their relationship as long as I can before I’m reminded of it again” that Bill was able to fast-forward through. But it was the last one that made it all the while.

The screen took a while to load before Mrs. Ramirez appeared. She looked younger than Bill had ever remembered her being, hair still dark and just less “abuelita” looking, so this must have been before he arrived in town. Checking the logged date at the top confirmed it: this was 1982. When the old hick still had most of his marbles and commanded the cult’s activities. That meant she had come to them willingly.

Just what could have driven this typically unfazed, resilient woman to such desperation? Bill leaned closer to display, curiosity peaking.

She was clearly hyperventilating, as spooked as could be, with wide eyes darting back and forth, tracking something that only haunted her. A pang of worry shot through him just watching it despite knowing that such horrors no longer bothered her.

A calm, mild voice with a southern twang to it gently started the interrogation, if it could even be called that. It was more analogous to a therapy session as another robed member passed her a cup of water to drink. It shook in her hand, the liquid nearly spilling over the rim.

“Why don’tcha tell us what brought ya in today, ma'am?”

Fucking country bumpkin.

The frightened woman nodded jerkily, and with a trembling voice began her tale.

“I-I was driving back from work when a woman flagged me down from the side of the road. She looked lost, and told me that she had come a long way to find somebody. Somebody important to her. So I offered to drop her off wherever she needed to go.” The act of recounting the story managed to calm the words, but the eyes glazed over during the recollection.

“Who was this woman?”

A helpless shrug. “I had never seen her before. She had dark curly hair and a wild energy about her. She told me to call her Maddy.”

A thoughtful noise was heard from behind the camera. “Where did ya take her?”

“She kept asking for me to take her to the church. At first, I thought she meant the one in the town square, but she was insistent that it was the wrong one. Then I realized that she was referring to the old Ciphertology building.”

There it was.

Farm Boy’s voice instantly hardened, any mellowness he had put on for his act missing. “‘Ciphertology’? You mean the abandoned church in the woods? Ah didn’t even know it had a name.”

Hah; of course the maniac mechanic still had a chip on his shoulder about all that. Imagine being cockblocked by an other-worldly triangle after practically rearranging your entire life for your old college “buddy”. It didn’t get more pathetic than that!

He instantly subsided when she sent him her patented warning mom stare. After a moment to make sure she wouldn’t be interrupted again, she resumed.

“Yes. It’s been like that since I was a young girl. Tales of it being haunted by a laughing demon made it a popular place for people to test their courage before it started to rot. Nothing ever came of it.”

A hushed “demon” was repeated by the cult's head fretfully, as if mentioning the devil by name. Bill could picture him performing the signs of the cross to ward it off.

Mrs. Ramirez’s voice began to lose the steadiness she had built up as she got to the crux of the issue. “But I took her. Oh Dios, ¿por qué la llevé allí?…” she broke off in a hysterical mumble.

At least the engineer still had enough screws tight enough to let her take a few minutes to gather herself.

She sniffled and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief she had drawn from her pocket. “Well, I drove up to the place, and the next thing I know she’s out the car, shouting about finding someone called Silas and running inside before I could warn her.”

“…warn her? Of what?”

“The floors.” She didn’t elaborate.

The frame cut off the top half of the man, but Bill watched as the thin body came over to her and placed a comforting hand on her arm. She gratefully reached for and squeezed it, accepting the solace.

“I called the police and told them what happened, but I can’t rid myself of the sight. If only I hadn’t -“

“Now none of that.” Her self blame was firmly cut off. “When it comes to that church and the beast that it worships, we ain’t no match fer the influence it has on its devotees. They willingly follow its sweet whispers to their ruin.” The amount of bitterness that Fiddleford spoke with was enough for Bill to feel its burden many decades later. Even Atlas wouldn’t wanna shoulder all that.

The following silence was broken by the shuffling of one of the other members who came up to them and handed the Tennessesse-born-and-raised man the memory gun.

“All of that pain can be taken away, if ya want.” The machine was offered freely, and Mrs. Ramirez stared down at it in Fiddleford’s open palm. “It does us no good ta keep remembering it.”

Bill watched her take it, line it up, and pull the trigger, the bright neon blue light sparking up the screen. When it cleared, a dazed but serene expression mask slowly covered her face and melted into her. Becoming her. She easily left the room, citing that she had to quickly get home to her daughter, but the recording kept playing. McGucket picked up the gun and began fiddling with the knob, the clicks catching on every input.

“...sir?”

“Oh, don’t mind me. Just remembered somethin’ unpleasant.”

The clip stopped there.

Guess he knew his next destination, though it solidified his choice more than anything.

After dodging the ticket boy who yelled after him to pay the entrance fee, as if Bill would do that when he was leaving, he made his way back into the town again. It was late afternoon by now; he must have spent more time there than he had thought.

Time.

Time was moving through the hourglass so unpredictably nowadays. The more he paid attention to it, counting every grain that spilled from the top chamber, the longer it took to pass. But if he glanced away for even the briefest moment, suddenly the bottom was full. All run out.

Always wanting more and never having enough. Wishing it would hurry but it never would arrive.

All time was all time. It did not change, yet it did not stay the same.

Bill briefly considered stopping by Greasy’s, maybe he could nab some pancakes on the house by chatting up Susan, but quickly pivoted in place when he caught a glimpse of that blaringly-red El Diablo sitting innocuously in the parking lot. Taunting him. Beckoning him.

Nope!

Suddenly American diner food was the last thing on his mind, and his stomach gurgled threateningly at the mere thought of stepping inside. And so, after swiping a lukewarm burrito from an outdoor party in front of Hermanos Brothers, he began his journey into the woods.

By the time he finished the trek, having heavily relied on his old recollection of the single instance he had come here, the half-moon had risen in the sky, and all the warm shades of day had been chased away by the chilling darkness.

Into the church he went. Bill still needed to rely on his flashlight despite the openings in the ceiling allowing the weak streams of celestial brightness to sneak in, carefully watching his footing. The wooden boards had become even creakier over time as nature reclaimed them with her winding vines. Softened by the elements, rotted in patches that made it oh-so easy to suddenly give way to lay underneath.

He wondered what Maddy was running towards so desperately in her final moments. What had entranced her so completely that she never looked down. He glanced up at the fractured circular glass mosaic over the hole and the triangular wooden frames holding up what remained of the roof. What sights did she see? There wasn’t much up here.

He slowly made his way over to the break in the flooring and shined the artificial beam into the steaming, seemingly-endless pit. Even from here, Bill could catch a whiff of the heady humidity and earthy dust that kept getting puffed up. It was a long way to the bottom. If you had nothing down there to cushion your fall, well, you were bound to become a bloody human pancake! Or if you survived that ordeal, get chomped on by the prowling, ravenous dinosaurs who were hungering for a tasty snack, provided you didn’t starve to death or get poisoned by the toxic mushrooms first.

Well, either way, sorry Maddy, whoever you were! We hardly knew ya, but you made a pretty little decorative skeleton in a pinch! Silas would be proud, whoever he was.

But Bill wasn’t aiming for rock bottom tonight. More like halfway, if anything. Should he be attempting this alone? Eh, life was full of risks! 99% of gamblers quit before they hit the jackpot and made it big! And Bill was in that top 1%!

And so the blonde daredevil was as good as blind as his teeth precariously aimed his flashlight along the stone walls, the hard plastic just barely held by the crowns of his molars and the sharp groove of his canine. His trembling fingers were very much occupied with the arduous task of steadily lowering his body weight with the worn, rough rope that was his only connection to above.

It was an old relic in these modern times, having been utilized for a variety of petty burglaries and other breaking-and-enterings the Pines and Birch duo had committed over the years, but still reliable. It would hold true.

He managed to pull off the tricky swinging maneuver once the semicircular opening was in range, nearly letting go prematurely with only the tips of his shoes scraping against the edge of the platform. If he took a moment to forcibly steady his pounding heart from the exertion, only the shining rocks lining the otherwise dull cavern bore witness to it.

Well, aerial acrobatics and other trapeze tricks never came naturally to him, anyways. He was much more suited to the dirty work that came with planning heists. Following leads that had him winding around in labyrinths, bumping into dead ends until the center of the maze was located. This was just another exhausting challenge to overcome.

On with the show!

Bill made his way along the winding tunnel, legs rigidly following the path like a rusted tin soldier. He did not want to be here. Rather, his body did not want to be here. It was as if a sleeping instinct had woken up and was ringing the emergency alarms to go hide hide hide away from HIM. Just like all those years ago. But he did not heed this probing sixth sense that kept digging into his temple like a pickaxe. Instead, he continued onward. He could almost make out the imprint of two ghosts walking in step with one another in front of him, nearly a lifetime ago discovering this ancient enclosement. Guiding him on his lonely, suffocating undertaking.

He knew that the underpass finally opened up into the large cavity with the main attraction when the echoing of his footsteps began to lessen, no longer bouncing off of the tight walls. The world brightened, and Bill found himself transported to the center of the galaxy.

The near-infinite hues of pink gems coalesced into the colossal creation that was contained in this cavern. The heavenly entity that was protected and preserved after a millennia, whom few mortal eyes ever bore witness to. But Bill was here now. Watching.

It was watching him, too. Bill couldn’t tear his eye away if he tried. Like holding its gaze was the only force keeping him upright and whole despite how unstable and pieced-together he suddenly remembered he was. Like a shattered glass cup glued whole again, yet still leaking at the cracks when you tried to fill it.

It was familiar. He had always been like this, hadn’t he? The reanimation of a dead man. Same name, different identity. He had come back wrong because he certainly hadn’t been revived right.

And so, when his lips finally broke apart and began to flutter with movement, the only word they could pose to the all-knowing, all-seeing, and all-existing divinity was, “Why?”

Why? The single word was thrown back to him.

“If I’m truly here for a reason,” Bill breathed, the faint sound burgeoning into a boom as if he were a performer in an amphitheater soliloquizing his tragic comedy of a life for the audience, “Then why did you make me like this?”

There was barely anything for him to gesture to. How nice it was to know that he barely took up any space in this great, wide, nebulous world.

No reply followed as a faint wind somehow swirled around him and skimmed across the tip of his nose, not even a caress. Maybe even the heavens who knew his fate couldn’t answer him. Their silent condemnation was also familiar.

Bill didn’t quite shout, but it was a near thing as his pleading eye blinked once and shut any vulnerability away behind impenetrable shield. “Fine, then. Be like that! You’ve never made things easy for me, have you? Everything has to be a fucking trial.” He didn’t know why that word was spat out with such venom, as if it were corroding his tongue just by being formed. He didn’t know why he had strung those string of words together at all, actually. They made no sense to him.

He fled the subterranean, extraterrestrial temple not long after, escaping yet still trapped. There wasn’t anything else to be gleaned from that forgotten hole in the ground. Nothing that he cared to research about the decomposing church that sat above it.

It was likely just some religious group formed by Cipher however many years ago that ended in failure, whoop-dee-doo. Maddy whatever-her-last-name-was had probably just been another attempt by the triangle to get into Gravity Falls once Ford had got sucked into the portal. Her locket held no meaning, only jumbling his dreams into even more nonsensical montages of useless visions. Bill was letting all that cloud his head and fog up his judgement.

Or maybe you’re finally losing it! Finders keepers!

Oh, Bill had lost it years ago, if he ever had it in the first place. But now it was distracting him from what he needed to do. The past could wait. That was all it could do.

Just as he left the confines, though, he immediately slammed into someone.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, man!” Ugh, he’d know that annoying whine anywhere.

“Well, I only have one eye, but you have two, so what’s your excuse, Robbie?” Bill instinctively sassed back, peeling himself away to get away from the teen. But it wasn’t just him. The whole gaggle had gathered together tonight, including-

“Bill?”

Wendy. Oh boy.

The red-head stepped out from the rest of the group and approached him, even her chill demeanor slightly defrosting as she took in Bill’s wilder-than-usual appearance. “What are you doing here?”

“Wendy-bird!” he chirped, throwing up a peace sign as a greeting. “I see you teens are living it up tonight! I was just leaving after a very successful seance.”

The other young hooligans looked equal parts disturbed yet intrigued by his act, but his cashier was not as enticed by his deflection. “Oh really?”

“Really really.” He began to slowly creep around the group, but the Corduroy girl kept facing him. Manly Dan trained her well.

“I didn’t realize one of your regulars was a ghost. You’ve been holding out on me, man.”

Soos was too much of a blabbermouth for his own good sometimes.

“Hey, a soothsayer can’t spill all of his clients secrets, y’know? Privacy is part of my specialty!”

By then, he had circled around to the other side and had a clear path into the forest.

“Well, I gotta bounce, but look before you leap in there, kids! I have it on good authority from Ms. Dixon that one misstep will leave you with more than just a broken ankle.”

Wendy tried to reach for him but he scuttled out of range, right to where the line of trees started. “Mr. Birch, can you wait a minut-”

“Nope!” Bill cut her off before he even was aware that he did. He quickly did damage control. “Sorry, Freckles; as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I got a lot on my to-do list. So little summer is left, so we gotta make it all count, amiright or amiright?”

“Ugh, just let your creepier boss go, Wendy,” Tambry advised, not once looking up from her phone’s screen. “I promised my followers that I would live-stream this.”

With no backup from her friends, Wendy appeared torn between going on an awesome, spooky adventure or holding an intervention for her employer. Bill made the decision for her as he parted the prickly needles of the Pine trees and waved goodbye. “Catch ya later, Wendy!” And then he was gone, one with the forest. Focused on his mission.

The future was just ahead, prime for the taking. He just had to grab it first.

And so, here he was that following morning. Behind enemy lines. Stewing in the acidic belly juices of the beast. Back home. He had never thought he’d ever feel so unwelcome within the walls he had considered his own for so long, and yet, here he was.

Bill hadn’t slept since the start of roadtrip. A couple days without dozing wasn’t too uncommon for him, but even then he would take time to rest, to rejuvenate himself even if he couldn’t give his body what it desired. But Bill was too restless to rest, skin crawling as if a colony of ants were burrowing into his flesh through his veins. The sedative sensation Ford sicced on him was still as potent as ever in the other areas of the house, so Bill had been quick to seclude himself in the parlor before anyone had noticed his early arrival.

There were two main goals he had narrowed down his focus to: unveil Ford’s plan and get his family back on his side. Stanford or Bill, all or nothing. Simple, but challenging in execution.

He at least knew where he stood with Dipper and Mabel.

Dipper had been tricked into following Ford’s campaign and no longer trusted Bill as evidenced by the way he had been eying Bill warily around the RV, constantly bristling with offense like an agitated kitten. As if Bill was his enemy. But it hadn't progressed beyond that one harsh exchange. As if he was holding back from ripping Bill a new one. What was he waiting for? The perfect moment, perhaps? Or for someone, say Ford, to make his move?

Either way, at the moment, Dipper was a lost cause and a waste of energy. Bill could not coax the untrusting boy back to his side without clear, irrefutable evidence of his innocence. Not that he should even need to, especially with how much he had done for the kid this summer, but Dipper was not one to believe with his heart.

Mabel had still treated him as per usual: roping him into her daily quirky fun and rambling gossip sessions. She had been concerned for him during the roadtrip, and appeared rather upset when he didn’t stay with them after they had returned to the Shack. Ford either hadn’t yet poisoned her or was unable to. Unless that was all a front as well, utilizing her sweet demeanor to get past his defenses...but even then, Bill could not rationalize such a devious scheme being carried out by her. Not when she so steadfastly believed in Stan’s innocence even with the portal activated right in front of her. Yes: she had been the one to create those tin foil hats, but Bill doubted she knew their true purpose. So, for now, he could still depend on her.

It was Stanley who would be the main target. The most unpredictable hinge upon which this plan relied on.

In his heart of hearts, if it came down to one or the other, Bill was unshaken in his stance that Stanley wouldn’t choose Ford over him. After everything they’ve been through, he’d have to be crazy to side with a brother who abandoned him, contacted him out of desperation, blamed him for everything after being saved, then ripped away the life he had built for 30 years. Even if they did manage to bury the hatchet somehow. Bill wondered what Ford had said to ease Stanley’s feelings on the matter because they sure were chummy now.

Then again, Bill also knew how much Stan still cared for his brother. How he still coveted Ford’s approval, recognition, acceptance, and love, even if he rarely verbalized it.

Just thinking about it inflamed his temper and brought his rage up from a quiet simmer to a raging boil. The nostalgic feelings of attachment that derived from their old codependency had no business messing up the present.

Suffice it to say, Bill could very well believe that Ford had used these feelings against Stan to make him blind to Ford’s undertakings. He refused to entertain the possibility of Stan voluntarily betraying him. It would never happen. Never.

Then what was he hiding during the road trip?

Unbidden, his feet took him over to his desk and his hands reached out for a photo frame that was just barely visible behind all the other items he had let clutter the surface over the years. A wet burn reamed within his lacrimal glands, but he did not let them empty as he wiped away the faint specks of dust that had accumulated in the corners of the rectangle. Happier times were held within this encasement of wood and glass. They would always exist there.

His raw thumb, irritated from the impromptu rope rappelling, slid over his partner’s face in the photo. Stan’s entire being was shifted to face Bill as he held Mabel, eyes locked onto the sight of his husband cradling Dipper, completely and utterly entranced. There was a reason Bill had this specific photo displayed, after all. It proved beyond a shadow of a doubt the truth.

The Pines family was his. Stanley Pines was his. Had been for a long time and always would be.

If he didn’t have Stanley, then what did he have?

The rest of his junk was pushed back so that the picture was front and center.

Clearly, Bill had been following the rules of this game a bit too well, which was unlike him. He didn’t care about subjective standards such as laws or order or fairness. He played to win because this greedy, all-consuming world didn’t operate on morals or justice or whatever kept people from taking what was rightfully theirs at the expense of others. You either got it all or none at all.

Bill was not walking away empty handed. He would take everything, especially if he had to rip it from Stanford Pines’ six-fingered grasp. He just had to be smart about it.

The finish line was the end of the summer. Then, it would just be William Birch and Stanley Pines living on the road. Away from Ford. Them two, against the world! Like it was for so many lovely years. The sense of loss at the thought of leaving behind the Shack had transformed into relief. It had somehow been turned against him by its “rightful” owner. This was for the best.

And so, time to start his investigation. Build up his army and prepare for war.

Hm…if he were Stanford Pines, where would he keep a secret weapon, magical artifact, or whatever it was to defeat his opponent?

Bill’s eye glanced down at the floor.

Too easy.

~

The vending machine door unlocked as it always did when Bill inputted the passkey. It was the second authentication code that denied him entry. Very predictable, Mr. Cracked Lenses. And definitely not challenging enough for an expert code-cracker like him, who solved problems like this for breakfast, especially after decrypting all of those ciphers over the years.

He was riding the elevator a few minutes later, straight down to the portal room, though he knew that whatever Ford would want to protect would be sheltered in his private study. However, there was something in particular that Bill wanted to grab from one of the lockers he had installed (read: made Stanley install) in order to store his tools and other miscellaneous belongings.

Bill was on a time crunch. He had managed to sneak down here unnoticed once he heard Ford proclaim that he and the kids were going to find some magical berries for the breakfast Stan cakes to add some nutrition to their diets. The man was going to learn a hard lesson about how picky kids could be with their food.

With them out of the way, and with Stan having no reason to come down here now that the portal had served its purpose, Bill had free range to poke and prod as he deemed fit. For as long he was able to, that was. The draining, woozy sensation was as soul-sucking as ever, but his determination kept him fueled so he could keep moving forward.

Once the elevator opened at the bottom level, the biggest changes were glaringly apparent: the interdimensional portal was completely disassembled. The large hunks of heavy metal that had formed the three, equilateral sides were taken apart into smaller pieces and stacked against the wall as if they were merely unwanted scraps. The delicate wiring that Bill had fused together with the soldering iron were ripped apart and exposed, the copper fibers twisted and rendered useless. All four disks had been pulled off of the ceiling and flooring and reduced to broken rings.

Seeing the culmination of all his labor, the untold hours attempting to reverse engineer creations that originated outside of this world, attending grueling classes and conducting research, trekking through the forest in every possible direction searching for the other journals until he got blisters…Ford might as well have gouged out Bill’s other eye with a dessert spoon and shoved it down his throat, feeding him back to himself with whipped cream and a maraschino cherry on top.

Bill sidestepped most of the electronic components and tools that had been used to crack open the triangular machine and went over to the far wall where the shielded lockers were kept. They had been dug into the Earth such that they didn’t take up any floor space, which also meant that they really didn’t catch your eye unless you were looking for them.

Out from his pocket slipped a small key that, after he jiggled it into the lock, clicked open the locker. Inside held what Bill now knew were McGucket’s equipment that he had claimed ownership of once they had been ditched. But buried deep in the back behind his textbooks, in a concealed compartment that only Bill could access once he allowed his palm to be scanned, was his secret weapon. One that he had never thought he’d need to use until now.

His memory gun.

He carefully pried it loose from its container and held it up. It resembled a real hand gun, so it was much more compact and easier to conceal. But no less potent. He had tested it on Toby Determined once and called it a success when the man had forgotten that Bill had pickpocketed him. He had to be careful with it. It was one of the two left in existence along with the gun Dipper had nabbed from the Society. Bill had initially been worried that the boy had somehow found this one back during the whole federal government mind wipe fiasco, but his fears were unfounded. No one knew of this.

Then he heard the tell-tale sound of whirring gears as the elevator was recalled to a higher floor.

Until possibly now.

He had to be strategic about how he went about this confrontation. The Lord of the Basement was fast approaching, and he would not react favorably to Bill snooping around here alone. At least he hadn’t caught Bill in his private study. THAT would have been a death sentence, though now it made breaking in exponentially more difficult since Ford would be on guard now. Just what he needed.

Bill shoved the memory gun into his back pocket, shifting his poncho around such that the longer corners draped over it naturally. Then, he quickly stuffed a bunch of his older textbooks and tools into a duffel bag in a manner that implied thoughtful selection rather than him just cramming what he could inside.

Just in time too. The elevator’s fluorescent light, or whatever futuristic bulb Ford pulled out of his ass, casted the scientist’s looming shadow onto the wall across from Bill, who was still hidden near the corner where the lockers were.

He involuntarily shivered, his body preparing him for the inescapable clash with his natural foe. Cornered. Cornered like a rabbit who tunneled into the fox’s burrow. But Bill would not let himself be prey. He stealthily closed and locked the door and got a few feet away before he was noticed.

“Who’s down here?! Show yourself!” The deep voice blared about the hypogeal facility, acoustics amplified by the high ceilings.

“Oh, yeah, that’s EXACTLY what you should demand when you think there’s an intruder,” Bill couldn’t help but quip, the acerbic undertone to his words already biting. “Do you really think asking them to show themselves will make them give up?” He stepped out into the open, casual as could be as if he belonged there.

And there was good ol’ Dr. Paranoid Pines, wearing that frayed trench coat that now had what appeared to be either berry juices splattered across the lapels or splotches of diluted blood. Both were equally likely.

The corners of the man’s frown somehow dragged down even more as Bill cautiously drew near, two invisible anchors suddenly attaching and sinking the edges. “Bill.”

“Ford.”

The two men regarded each other warily, neither getting too close but not letting the other get too far. A showdown in a cold war.

In the privacy of his mind, Bill couldn’t help but brood, I should have killed him when I had the chance.

It was a terrible thought befitting a terrible person. And Ford made Bill want to be terrible. Become the abominable monster the man already presumed him to be.

It would have made Bill’s circumstances more complicated quicker, but when Ford tried to shoot him during their first meeting, could Stan have really blamed him if he had returned fire and fatally wounded the trigger-happy gunslinger in self defense? It was an accident, Stanley, really! He was fighting for his life! He’d never murder Ford intentionally!

Bullets lodged in the squishy brain like pearls housed in the mouth of an oyster. An honest, natural mistake.

Stanley would be devastated, of course he would be, but wouldn’t he be more devastated if he lost Bill?

And Bill at least wouldn’t be stuck in this drawn-out battle of wiles. Anticipating what the next moves he’d have to counter would be. Pieces being taken from him as the board was emptied of pawns and all other useful characters. As long as his king wasn’t taken, he still had a chance.

But now a new strategy had just opened up to him.

Imagine if the old geek suddenly forgot about his suspicions about Bill and Cipher? No longer remembered why he hated Bill so much and let bygones be bygones? Then all Bill would have to do is destroy the source of his lethargy and all would be right in the world!

Yes, that would be a great plan, but he’d have to be very prudent and wait for the perfect moment. Ford would never willingly show Bill his back and present him with an opening to catch him off guard.

The polydactyl broke the silence once more. “Just what do you think you’re doing down here?”

From that tone, though, it wasn’t so much a question as it was an accusation. The man had already deliberated with himself about what he thought Bill was doing. As to what that was, Bill wanted to find out. Ford seriously wasn’t presuming that Bill could restart the portal, was he? It was all a hunk of junk now! There had to be something else. As ridiculous as this man was, he still relied on logic, or at least his version of logic. That meant he deduced that there was an avenue that Bill Cipher could take to invade their world, and that Bill Birch was in cahoots.

“Wow, well THAT wasn’t very friendly,” the other technical co-owner waggled his finger like a disappointed school teacher berating a naughty child. “I’m allowed to go where I want until the end of August, aren’t I? Since when was I banned from down here? You don’t see me interrogating you every time you come upstairs and sneak around people’s private spaces.“ He lifted his eyebrows pointedly, and Ford froze at the implication that Bill knew of his ventures into the parlor. “Besides, I actually got business down here.”

The aged nerd scoffed, never untensing. “Oh, you do? What could you possibly need from down here?”

Bill held up his duffel bag, swinging it around obnoxiously by the straps despite how heavy his arms felt, drained as they were. “Just some of my personal belongings. Don’t worry, IQ; I didn’t go snooping around in your private drawers or anything. Are you gonna do a surprise seize-and-search? You won’t find much. I’m nothing if not a law abiding citizen!”

Ford did not appear amused nor convinced by such a flagrantly false statement. He simply held out his hand, the demand implicit.

The blonde barked out a laugh, hyena-like in its bubbly shriek. “Hah, that was a joke! But seriously, you won’t find anything worthwhile in here, but knock yourself out!”

He suddenly flung the bag at Stan’s shitty copy, but the catapulted baggage was smoothly caught. It was summarily unzipped as Ford began rifling through all-possible compartments, though every few seconds he would glance up. Bill watched on, anticipation growing as he held himself slack and open. Take the bait, you thick-headed, prideful moron.

When all he could find was just books and common-place tools, Ford finally finished his search, not bothering to re-zip anything as he shoved it back into Bill’s arms. “What do you need this for?”

“Hey, life on the road means being prepared for your engine bursting, getting a flat tire, or wanting to occupy your mind with some light reading. I’m just being prepared,” Bill easily dismissed.

“Well, if that’s all you’re here for, get out.” An index finger directed Bill straight to the elevator. The former soothsayer scoffed, a show of offense, but did not protest as he made his way out. But he couldn’t help but bite back as he got onto the platform. “Geez, Sixer, with how hostile you’re being, one would think that you’re afraid of something.”

He didn’t need to see the man behind him to know he had somehow stiffened even more. “You’re mistaken. I’m not scared of you.”

Bill spun around and let a wide crescent of teeth shine at the other man. “You need to lie better than that if you want to have a shot at convincing me you’re not. You ain’t slick, kid!”

With those parting words, the two doors closed and took Bill up and away. He slumped against the wall in relief, letting the gun press against his backside as a reminder that he survived. As he made his way out and into the gift shop, though, he nearly got plowed over by a small cannonball of a body.

“Great-uncle Ford, the Stancakes are do-” the cheerful call was cut off as quick as it started as Dipper stared wide-eyed up at Bill, fear flashing across his eyes like a strike of lightning before they solidified into a stony resolve. Bill’s intestines twisted amongst themselves and knotted at the sight, the trapped bile gyrating around his guts.

“Bill? What were YOU doing down there?” the boy backed away suspiciously, as if Bill was about to grab him and throw him into the Bottomless Pit. Bill had done that once, okay?! Stan had done worse, and you didn’t see the kid act like this with him! Really, Bill thought that Dipper was smarter than to let the unsubstantiated conspiracies Ford spewed soak into his forebrain, but apparently he was wrong.

Since there wasn’t much he could do to assuage the boy’s wariness of him at the moment, Bill simply went back to his parlor. “For me to know and you to wonder,” he called out over his shoulder, purposefully dismissive. If the boy was upset by such an explanation, Bill didn’t see it.

Now, to have Stancakes or to not have Stancakes? He had to show his face at some point to reinforce his place in this family, so it was time to get his head in the game. Ready or not, Pines, but Bill was coming up to the plate to play hard ball!

~

To say that Mabel was thrilled would be an understatement of thrilled she actually was.

The past few days had been such a bummer in the Mystery Shack, a gloomy cloud hovering over everyone’s head that they couldn’t blow away. Formed in the absence of one of their grunkles. Mabel still couldn’t pinpoint when everything fell apart, and why it happened so quickly. How could one little road trip ruin everything?! Or was there more she wasn’t picking up on?

Any and all attempts to brighten the atmosphere only made it dimly glow, most of which were suggested, surprisingly, by Ford. Playing board games, storytimes about his adventures, going out to the diner, picking supernatural berries in the woods…he had never been more fun to be around, though at random he would rush down to the basement to “check up on an experiment”. Experiments were weird, apparently, with their timing. But his efforts were not enough to achieve his main goal: cheering up Stan.

Since Grunkle Bill had gone off with Soos and never came home the next morning, even with the handy man’s assurance that the other man was fine and just running some errands, Grunkle Stan was as glum as could be, sadder than a dried-out toad missing its muddy swamp. Mabel knew that he was trying to not let it show in front of them as he went along with Ford’s activities, but his corny jokes fell even flatter than usual and his smile was always lopsided, sliding down his face.

The love-obsessed girl’s heart broke for his broken heart, but this was, weirdly enough, a good sign! It meant they still cared for one another! You wouldn’t be this miserable over someone you didn’t miss, right? They just needed the opportunity to talk things out and fix everything. Then the best-summer-ever train would be back on track just in time for her and Dipper’s 13th birthday! Mabel already had quite a few ideas to get the ball rolling. Just don’t tell Grunkle Stan where his credit card had been the last thirty minutes.

Speaking of Dipper, though, she had a sneaking suspicion that her twin knew more about the weirdness surrounding Bill, Stan, and Ford than he was letting on. But her brother had been very tight-lipped, even before the road trip, about anything relating to their great uncles, and no amount of needling and prodding she attempted with her teddy bear interrogations yielded anything worthwhile. When had Dipper become so closed off to her? When did this wall between them get erected? She could barely see him on the other side of it.

Well, they didn’t call her “Wrecking Ball Mabel” for nothing! She had earned THAT title in fifth grade when she single-handedly destroyed her year’s sand castle structure for the school spirit competition with her somersault routine. She didn’t feel too guilty about it since the teacher in charge of the project never called Dipper by the right name.

As she was doodling out her feelings in her sketch pad, with Grunkle Stan finishing up the Stancakes while Dipper went to grab Grunkle Ford from the basement, in came the one person she had been missing.

“Ah, there’s nothing like the smell of homemade breakfast and burning hair to start off the day!” Grunkle Bill swept into the kitchen like a sudden gust of wind disturbing the leaves on the ground, making everything rotate around him. He made a beeline for the stove, coming up behind the chef and planting a loud MWAH along the strong, square jawline. “How’s the cookin’ going, good lookin’?”

Her startled grunkle slightly flinched away from the unanticipated touch, but then his body instinctively melted into his husband’s embrace as the slighter man’s arms wrapped around his middle and kneaded his stomach like dough. “Bill?! Did you just get back?” He set down the spatula on the counter and shifted slightly in the hold to have more face-to-face contact.

Mabel had to bite down on her tongue to stop shouting out a greeting, wanting to give her favorite ship the moment they absolutely needed, especially since Bill was the one reaching out first! This was amazing! She knew making a wish on every star last night would be worth it!

Slightly-deflated and less-defined-than-usual blonde curls moved with the nod. “Sure did! Boy, I sure was steaming after everything, but after some time to cool off, I’m as chill as a cucumber.”

Stan frowned thoughtfully, eyes jumping around Bill’s face. Mabel puzzled over what he was searching for. “You are? Cause I'd get it if-”

“ABSOLUTELY!” The pitch ramped up significantly, seemingly without Bill’s input, because he quickly followed up at a more minute volume. “It’s all water under the bridge, Stanley, really. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. We’re fine, right?”

The last question lingered as Bill peered up at Stan, piercing. Like lining up the barrel to make aim and take the shot. The target nodded and pushed back the curtain of bangs, lifting them off of the marksman’s forehead and out of his eye to press his lips on the top of the skull. Bullseye. “Right as rain, babe. Good to have ya back.”

The helpless romantic couldn’t hold back a squeal at the sweet display, jumping up so fast that her chair hit the floor with a loud clatter, drawing all the attention in the room onto herself.

“Grunkle Bill, Grunkle Stan, clear out any evening plans you may have!” she declared. “Because you two have a hot date tonight with destiny! And each other!”

The duo sent her matching confused looks.

The young matchmaker puffed out her chest and held up the poster she had been working on for this exact moment: a bunch of cartoon scribbles of the couple sitting on a beautified version of the Stan O’ War. “You two are going to picnic under the stars tonight! Location: the lake. Food: catered. Activities: enjoying each other! All you two have to do is doll yourselves up and show up!” The perfect date would be the perfect end to their imperfect marital issues!

Her frumpier uncle squinted at the neon-marked drawing as he readjusted his glasses. “I dunno, pumpkin. We - wait a minute; what do you mean ‘catered’? How did you pay for that?”

“That is a fantastic idea, Mabel-leaf!” Any protests were swiftly shot down as Bill swooped over and booped the tip of her nose, drawing out a delighted giggle. “A date night is just what we need. Right, Stan-ley~?”

“Absolutely, sweetheart.”

Mabel grinned, her metal jail on her teeth glinting. Whipped.

It was at that moment that Dipper finally came back to the table, eyebrows furrowed in what Mabel could pick out to be a mixture of worry, annoyance, and disappointment. She figured out why not much after. He had come back alone.

“Fordsy not joining us?” she questioned as the cap-wearing boy slid into his designated seat next to her. “I thought he said that he was only going down there for a second?”

Dipper’s hands clenched around his utensils as Stan and Bill worked in tandem to plate the food. “Something came up.” His eyes didn’t even look over at her, instead tracking the bowl in Bill’s hands.

Their uncle smiled. Always showing off too much of his mouth. If one looked at it long enough, you could easily count every single piece of off-white enamel housed inside. The first time she had seen it, Mabel had thought he was wearing a plastic covering on the bottom half of his face, like a party trick. She had found it funny. Dipper hadn’t. He never liked those smiling costume masks that completely obscured the person behind it. He found them too unsettling. Not human, but trying so hard to resemble one that it just came off as a mockery.

“Berries, anyone?”

Dipper had been excited to try them as they picked them off of the curly thin, yet resilient vines to the tune of Grunkle Ford’s lectures about the advantages the Gravity Falls’ variant had over their garden-variety counterparts. He just shook his head, turning away from the offering. Bill simply turned to her.

Mabel let him spoon the cut fruit onto the top of her Stancakes. They had sat too long in the bowl after their flesh had been butchered, the juices bleeding out of the exposed meat to create a soupy liquid of natural sugars that saturated her breakfast. It was probably for the best that Dipper didn’t add them to his stack. He wasn’t the biggest fan of soggy textures.

She cleared her plate except for a few smears of red left behind, small fingers having dragged through the small puddles to gather the excess and shove it into her mouth greedily. Bill put it in the sink for her.

~

Stan had never given more of a shit about what he was wearing on a date in his life.

Now don’t get him wrong: he looked great in everything that he wore. He knew exactly what shirts suited the occasion, how they matched with a specific pair of pants, and if he needed to wear his girdle or not. Being able to dress yourself to the T was an intrinsic part of being a successful businessman. Looking the part was half of the battle.

And this was probably gonna be the most important battle of his life.

The kids probably hadn’t picked up on it, but Stan had. Bill had thrown down the gauntlet. His partner was NEVER one to take the high road, especially when he was in the right. Unless there was something else at play, that is. “Water under the bridge”? HAH! Bill had the memory of a vindictive elephant: he never let a slight go. His grudges were legendary: he could scheme and plot in the dark for months if necessary to return retribution. And what Stan had done at Mystery Mountain was definitely more than a slight. God, if only he had something like a hand-held time machine so he could go back and punch himself right in the nose.

That meant Stan had to make sure that this was the perfect date. Mabel had really done him a solid by setting up most of the particulars. Now it was up to him to take care of the rest.

Now, onto the life-or-death question: should he wear the blue-and-white floral-themed shirt he had worn on Cash Wheel or the dark maroon button up he had on during his mayoral campaign pre-victory strolls? Hmmm, Bill had always liked warmer hues on him, so probably the second choi-

Knock knock knock

Stan could instantly tell who was outside his bedroom door by the way the fist thudded against the wooden grain. “It’s open, Ford,” he called out, still checking out his reflection as he held his pick against his torso. Easier said than done when his torso was all hills and valleys of rolls. He’d probably need to go the next size up in girdles…

His brother wasted no time as he stormed into the room, more agitated than Stan had seen him in days. Uh-oh. Guess that “project” he had been working on had gotten messed up or something. No wonder he didn’t come up for breakfast, though that might have been a blessing in disguise since Stan doubted he could have handled both Ford and Bill aggravating each other in that little kitchen.

Before Stan could even open his mouth, Ford was already speaking over him. “I caught Bill in the basement.”

“What?!” The shirt slid off of the clothing hanger as Stan whirled away from the mirror. Ford quickly caught it before it could hit the ground and handed it back.

“Sorry, sorry; that was an inaccurate statement. I don’t know why it came out like that.”

His brainiac brother cleared his throat and spoke with a calmer cadence. “This morning, when I descended to the lower levels of the basement to check on some of the remnants of the portal, I had discovered Bill there. Lurking there. Suspiciously.”

The fez-wearing grifter snorted at the accusation as he rehung the shirt. “Bill could breathe funny, and you’d call it ‘suspicious’. What was he doing?” He then paused as the rest of the sentence sunk in. “You didn’t do anything to him, did you?”

“I did nothing!” was shot back defensively. “He went and had breakfast with all of you afterwards, didn’t he? And I missed out on the berries. Well, according to him, he was collecting some personal items for you two.” Grey eyebrows as thick as his own were raised at him. “He’s still under the assumption that you are both leaving Gravity Falls at the end of the summer, correct? You didn’t tell him about the boat?”

Another zing of guilt found its mark on Stan’s heart. “I mean, I was waiting to get everything in order to give him a nice sales pitch, y’know? He ain’t gonna like it at first, so I hoped to get all the details sorted out before I told him. Plus-” he narrowed his eyes accusingly at his brother, “-he still doesn’t like you, and you’ve given him no reasons to. Especially since he thinks you’re out to get him.”

Their spat in the RV and the way Bill leered at Ford as he drove away with Soos reminded Stan of a cornered animal, wary and bristling in the presence of a hungry predator that could easily snap it up in its drooling jaws. He had likely put two and two together that something was up with the house and that Ford was behind it.

Which, yeah, he was, but not for any bad reason! If only Ford had let Stan tell Bill in the first place, this whole mess could have been dodged. But, of course, Cipher still loomed in the background…

Stan was starting to wonder if all of this was worth it, though. Besides Ford’s dream, there hadn’t been a trace of the pointy asshole. Maybe he finally gave up and decided to invade another dimension. That would be fine by Stan, but Ford wasn’t convinced. And so, the same song and dance continued to play out.

So why would Bill willingly return to the Shack despite it still draining him? Stan had caught the man yawning more and more towards the end of breakfast before he went back to the parlor to “freshen up”. Clearly, Ford had quite a few ideas as to why.

The six-fingered scientist took off his glasses to rub at his eyes and sighed, a sound that Stan was becoming rapidly reacquainted with. “Stanley, with Bill having been outside the Shack’s protections for nearly 36 hours, Cipher had a wide-open window of opportunity to contact him! I am right to be wary of him, and you should be too! Bill could be more than Bill right now, potentially Bill-squared! Who knows what he was getting up to in the basement without any supervision!” He waved around his frames for emphasis.

Just to be annoying, Stan snatched the glasses from Ford and replaced his pair with them. Good God, he felt like a geek just wearing them. His brother clicked his tongue at the sight, but Stan knew he was at least a bit amused as he reached out and took Stan’s glasses in return, placing them on his face in retaliation. It appeared they still had the same prescription after all this time.

“I checked him out for any signs of voodoo jaundice, and his eye was as normal as ever. No possession,” Stan dismissed, though judging by how many blood vessels were visible in the whites of his eye, Bill had not gotten a wink of shut-eye for days. His insomnia was in full throttle. It was only a matter of time before shit hit the fan, but hopefully Stan could ease whatever tensions were messing things up between them before that happened.

“Besides, you have cameras in the basement, right Sixer? What did he do that’s got you so riled up?” He began laying out his outfit on his bed, nodding with approval at the get up. He was gonna be one wild stallion tonight, so hopefully Bill would wanna take a ride.

The older twin folded his arms behind his back, lines on his forehead sinking in even deeper, dark as if drawn by charcoal. “He was retrieving books and tools from a locker that I wasn’t aware existed in the corner of the room, so the cameras weren’t calibrated at the best angle to capture that area. I’m assuming you two installed that?”

“Oh, yeah, that. It’s filled mostly with Bill’s shit we used to work on the portal, so that makes sense. Nothing special.”

“Well, most of the tools were Fiddleford’s originally, but yes, nothing special,” Ford agreed. “I checked over them myself.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

A cough was hidden in the collar of his turtleneck. “I might have asked him to let me check his bag when I came across him.”

“What are you, a TSA agent?” Stan snorted, amused by the scene described to him. “Bet he wasn’t too happy about that.”

“On the contrary, he was rather compliant…I wonder why.”

Stan suddenly had enough of this talk by now, especially since Ford was heading into dangerous territory that slandered Bill. “Because he had nothing to hide! Bill is just caught up in this kooky mess! I know things haven’t gone well these past two days with him out of the house, but he came back! And I’m ain’t gonna let you ruin this for me!”

Ford seemed to finally notice the collection of clothing neatly ironed on Stan’s comforter. “What?! You’re going out on a date with him?! Now?!”

“Look Poindexter, if you got any issues with it, take it up with Mabel! She’s the mastermind behind it.”

A guy who was always more attracted to mysteries and scientific postulates probably wouldn’t get it. Stan didn’t expect him to. But this was his Big Bang Theory or Law of Weirdness Magnetism or whatever it was that made the universe make sense to him.

Ford eyed the outfit with revulsion and sat down at the foot of Stan’s bed in exasperation, nearly knocking over a pile of magazines Stan had been sorting through earlier as he cleared out the space underneath his and Bill’s bed. He was startled a bit, having not noticed them before, but bent down and lifted the top one up to get a better view of the cover. The younger twin just watched out of the corner of his eye as he compared belts, attention divided.

“Lil’ Stan…” a fascinated hum lightened the mood of the room as the sound of thick papers being flipped began to fill it. “You always loved comics, but I never thought you’d pursue this dream.”

Neither did Stan. For so long, it had been buried in the coarse, blistering grains of Glass Shard Beach, hoping to be forgotten under the tiny grits of rock and crashing waves. But someone forced Stan to dig it back up, with a shovel or by hand if he had to, and for that, he was forever grateful.

“Bill got me to go for it. Published it in the paper for me,” he replied, reflecting back on one of the best birthdays he ever had. “I would have never been able to build up the courage to try my hand at drawing for real again if it weren’t for him.”

He turned to face Ford, letting the long leather in both hands drag on the floor as he came to stand over his brother. The sitting man’s twelve fingers were now clenching his brother’s work, all sandpaper-like and cracked from weathering long years that worked them down to the bone.

“What he’s done for me, what he’s brought into my life, what he’s allowed me to believe in…If only you could see him the way I do.”

Ford took off Stan’s lenses and held them back to his twin who swapped it for Ford’s original pair.

“I know, Stan,” he whispered back. “I see it all.” The comic was returned back to where it belonged. “More than anyone else, I see what you mean.”

Ford then stood up, the tan coat easily flapping around him as if it had a mind of its own. “That’s why I need you to be careful. If you had any intention of telling Bill the truth tonight, don’t. We’re so close to the end. We can’t afford any slip-ups that would allow Cipher the chance to finally slink into our world.”

Stan instinctively looked away, never one to lie to his brother directly to his face. “Not even a little-”

“No.”

“But, Stanford, if he asks me about what’s going on, what do I say?”

His other half looked at him with a face aged beyond his years. He looked like dad. Unyielding in the face of everything Stan wanted. “What you need to.”

His large gut felt shrunken and twisted, like it had been shoved in a too-small vessel. “I-”

“Stanley.” Whatever firmness had strengthened his brother’s voice was suddenly absent as Ford came over to him and clasped his shoulders. “I have dedicated nearly half of my life to finally ridding the universe of Bill Cipher. Thirty years of letting Lady Luck decide which dimensions I landed in, of constantly searching for hints of that monster’s weaknesses, of constructing a weapon to strike down a god. Everything that I have ever done has led me to this moment.“

Twelve blunt fingers dug into Stan’s skin, a few of which poked at his brand, as Ford’s head bowed. “I missed my first chance to finally be free of him. Don’t make me miss another.”

The plea ended with a single, “Please.”

What could Stan say? “No”? He couldn’t. He couldn’t dare. So he just nodded. It felt like breaking a promise. A betrayal.

Somehow Ford could perceive the soundless agreement since relief appeared to wash over him as he raised his head. “Good. And I promise, Stan, that while Bill may be upset, all will work out in the end.”

“Yeah? You really mean it?”

A hand matching Stan’s own, though with one extra finger and definitely smaller than his. “High six?”

The old gesture sealed the deal. “High six.” And suddenly, they were two young bright-eyed boys again ready to take on the world with the same dream. Stanley Pines smiled, guilt assuaged and feeling better already. It seemed like the universe had dealt him a lucky hand tonight, and he was ready to go all in.

~

The car ride to the dock was as pleasant as ever, starting off just like all their past dates had. Stan took every fun short cut he knew: cruising along dirt roads that didn’t exist through the low-hanging branches that just barely scratched the roof of the car and over the hidden stones whose peaks breached the soil to create uneven bumps that tilted the body of the vehicle to-and-fro. Bill just smiled throughout it all, rereading the script he had written for this act as the interior was filled with classic 80s hits Stan had put on to “set the mood”.

This was his chance to hook Stanley and reel him in, even if he wasn’t the best fisherman. He had the perfect bait for the task.

It was actually quite simple in theory: humans were addicted to feeling good. They chomped down salt and sugar whenever possible to fill their bodies with immediate, short-term pleasure. They coveted societal acceptance as they went about their lives following stifling arbitrary laws and expectations to obtain approval. They craved affection and other sickly sweet emotions from people they desired.

And Stanley still desired Bill. Of that, he was at least certain judging by his roaming gaze going up and down the length of Bill’s slender body.

So Bill was going to be that bait. Perfectly doting, fawning, and pleasant, ready to stroke every inch of his husband’s ego. And something else if Stanley gave him what he wanted: his complete and utter loyalty. To choose him over everything and everyone else. If not, well - HA, what was he even saying? Of course Stanley would choose him! Especially when Bill was going to be the most saccharine, most forgiving version of himself.

You? Sweet and forgiving? I’d ask if you’re joking, but even you wouldn’t stoop so low, right?

Unfortunately, no. Bill was not joking. True: such a version of himself did not exist. Never existed. But he would make it a reality in order to prevail and triumph over Stanford Pines’ machinations.

Seems like a lot of wasted energy.

Not to Bill it wasn’t.

The clusters of trees opened up to the parking lot of the lake, exposing them to the stars’ hot red fires and the inky blue covering of night. Stanley parked the El Diablo as close to the dock as possible and hurried out and around the front to open the door for Bill, adorning the persona of a perfect gentleman as he held out a hand. Bill grasped the heated and slightly slick palm and allowed himself to be pulled up, drinking in the sight in front of him.

That red dress shirt with the first few buttons undone to show off a large chain and the beginnings of silvery chest hair. A fitted black jacket that complimented his broad shoulders and upper arm muscles. Dark pants that were held up by a blinging gold belt buckle. Gleaming rings upon rings stacked on top of each other along his wide fingers. Perfectly ruffled gray hair that formed a light halo in the darkness. Those glowing warm eyes, the perfect degree of richness.

Hubbah hubbah! Now THAT was a full course meal! Oh, Bill had wanted to consume every single part of him back at the house, lock him away in their room to skip to the fun part. Gulp down his wine so that it flowed through Bill’s circulatory system to keep him moving. Guzzle his bread so that it sat in Bill’s digestive tract and got absorbed into the nearby tissues to keep him sustained. Maybe Bill would even throw on those fishnet tights that made his legs so desirable to his spouse.

Tone down the worship, buck-o. He hasn’t saved you yet.

Right, right. Bill was getting too tempted too early. He was supposed to be the temptress here. Whose wiles and attraction made him impossible to resist.

Bill was dressed to the nines as well! He had taken over the bathroom for a good couple of hours to cover up any signs of fatigue that kept popping up and made sure to adorn his most flattering articles of clothing. A sheer, billowing top the exact shade of his iris that allowed for the most tantalizing of peaks at his torso, tight bottoms that hugged his legs perfectly, and all the jewelry Stan had procured for him over the years lined his body. Nothing went better with gold than gold. That’s why he and Stanley fit so well together.

Hand in hand, they crossed the dock to where the Stan O’ War sat waiting for them, barely bobbing on the small waves of the lake. A serene, soundless night, even if Bill’s head was disturbed and buzzing.

Stan let out a snort crossed between amusement and annoyance, unsure which to be, as he took in the decorations Mabel had used to accessorize the vessel for the special occasion. A trim of ribbons were wrapped around and around the wooden frame like a stream of rainbows. Paper hearts of all different shapes and sizes were hot glue gunned to the narrow strips. It was incredibly cheesy, and would have fit right in at the carnival’s “Tunnel of Love and Corndogs” boat ride more than anything.

Inside the boat was a neatly packed picnic basket with a paper card signed by Mabel that listed out the menu. Apparently, it was catered from the aquatic-themed restaurant. That must have cost a pretty-penny if any money was shucked out to pay for it.

The clearness of the lake, devoid of any cloud coverage or other obstructive phenomena allowed them to easily make their way to the middle of the giant dark pool. Stan steered them along as Bill draped his upper half over the edge and let his spindly fingers disturb the reflected images sent down from up above. They quickly were restored not even a few seconds later, as if Bill had never touched them at all.

They settled under the lunar luminations, the scenery as secluded as could be as the sky seemed to hang lower than usual, nature listening in and observing them. No privacy.

Bill sat himself as close to Stan as possible, their legs sharing the same space as their knees knocked together. Across from one another, there was no escaping the other. Thankfully most of the food was meant to be eaten with their hands, so it was easy enough to dine and chat without interruption.

Let’s see if this plan of yours actually works. He at least looks like he wants a taste of you. Gonna give him a little nibble or throw him a bone?

You don’t give out treats that aren’t earned. Only good, well-behaved men got rewarded.

Hah, true enough! You don’t wanna spoil your pet.

Stanley wasn’t his pet! He was Bill’s partner, though in recent weeks he hadn’t been fulfilling his duties. Bill had to show him what he was missing and make him beg for it.

He plucked a french fry out from one of the packages in the basket. “Want one, baby?”

Even in the dimness, those large ears turned a bright shade of red akin to a traffic light. Stanley never could handle the more gentle nicknames Bill would bestow upon him. He curbed the urge to smile deviously at the sight, just subduing it to a teasing smirk.

“Sure, toots.”

Instead of handing it over or plating some on the plastic dish like a normal person, Bill fed the single piece of potato he was holding into the older man’s mouth. The deed caught Stan off-guard, dumbly staring as he let the food pass between his lips and automatically chewed. Bill’s thumb brushed any dots of salt that had fallen from the fry during the journey off of Stan’s bottom lip and swiped the pad of the finger across his tongue. Slowly and deliberately, maintaining eye-contact as he exaggeratedly swirled it around his finger so Stan could imagine what else it could do.

Ugh.

Yeah, ugh was right. This cloying act was repulsive even to Bill, especially since it was so undeserved, but Stan always did have a sweet tooth. And Bill was gonna be as sticky as his favorite snack tonight: clinging to the grooves of his teeth and coating his gums until all he could taste was Bill. And judging by how that adam’s apple moved up and down the thick throat dotted with shaved stubble, it was working.

“Messy,” Bill tried to giggle like a trill, already turning away and reaching for another fry. A sudden tightness on his wrist halted the motion. He tilted his head to look questioningly at his companion.

Stanley graced him with an uneasy grin. “Thanks, babe, but you don’t gotta feed me. It’ll take all night to eat at this rate.”

Ooo, rejected! You came off too strong and spooked the old boy. He knows when you’re performing for an audience.

Shit, he probably did. Bill was too eager with his canvas and laid it on thick when he should have been building layers. This had to be his masterpiece. It couldn’t be rushed despite the passage of time rushing them along.

“Right,” Bill returned the facial movement half-as-badly, already dripping off of his face like a waxy candle, all melted and deformed. “Don’t want our grub to get cold.”

They mostly ate in silence after that besides a few comments about each other’s day, and the lack of progress was not doing wonders for Bill’s composure. What the hell was wrong with Stan?! He should be lapping up anything that Bill oh-so-generously was handing out, and he spurned him instead?! Difficult, dumb, dick-head.

Guess you aren’t as appealing nowadays. You’ve lost your touch.

Bill had not lost ANYTHING, so the peanut gallery better stay shut or else he was cracking open their waffle-like shells and blending them into butter for his toast!

Yeesh, tough crowd.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a heavy sigh. Stanley put down his half-eaten sandwich, his had crusts while Bill’s was obviously crustless, and shifted closer to the other boat occupant.

“Bill.”

“Stan.”

Bill’s knees were suddenly covered by Stan’s palms, their warmth causing the chill that had begun to set in from the dropping temperatures to recede. He leaned into the touch, always chasing after it, as he put away his own meal to focus on his husband.

“I know things haven’t been great these past few days,” Stan started off. “Not for you, and not for me. I hate it when we aren’t together.”

“I hate it, too,” Bill agreed, placing his hands over Stanley’s and rubbing over the rings, satisfaction welling up in response. Take that, intrusive thoughts! This was the result of all of his efforts!

His knobbly knees were squeezed a bit tighter. “You wanna make it work, and I wanna make it work, right?”

“Why wouldn’t we wanna make it work?”

“Exactly. So, what I’m getting at is…” Stan trailed off for a bit but kept the ball rolling, “...you don’t gotta pretend.”

Bill froze, any heat that he had felt coursing through him now cut off. “Huh? Pretend? I’m not pretending anything!”

Very slick.

Shut the fuck up.

Testy, testy.

His partner only looked at him with a patient, but disappointed expression. Bill wanted to fillet it off of his face and leave behind only the exposed sublayers of skin. “You want me to spell it out for ya? Cause I will.”

“I don’t need anything spelt out for me! I won my elementary school’s Spelling Bee five times consecutively because none of those dim-witted, visually-impaired dunderheads knew how to spell out ‘trigonometry’!”

“You’re acting like you’re okay when you’re not,” he continued, not reacting to Bill’s comeback. “And that’s not okay.”

Stars, Bill was so tired of that word.

Yeah, Stan; Bill was definitely NOT okay. But if he aired out all of his grievances now, it would just drive the other man away and closer to Ford for support and guidance. Letting the other twin boss him around so he didn’t have to make the hard decisions. So he could be free of any responsibility.

“I told you before, Starlight,” he gritted out behind a manufactured display of teeth. “That I’m over it. Let it go so we can enjoy our date.”

An accusatory finger pointed straight at Bill’s mouth. “There! Right there! You look like a phony with that! Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I know you. You can’t hide away from me, Bill. There’s nowhere I can’t follow.”

Bill’s lips dropped over his pearly whites, closing the stage behind the curtains. The performance was being cut short, but he still had another act to follow.

The crowd’s booing. Do you really wanna go out and give them an encore they don’t want?

“I’m not upset,” he shot back, denial still steering the course. “But I do wanna know what’s going on, Lee.” Here they go again. Different day, same fight.

Stan knew it too. “You mean with Ford.”

“Ford and everything else!” Woah, that was too much, Bill. Calm. Calm, as if this barely bothered you. Calm, like if this fell apart, crashing and burning away into nothingness, you could just brush it off and start anew. No weakness. Not even in front of him.

He tried again. “Lemme lay it out for you, big guy. Things just aren’t making sense. They haven’t for a while. And that’s fine! I love nonsense! But if you have any idea whatsoever as to what’s going on, I’m all ears and other auditory organs!”

It was up to Stanley to make this right. To do right by Bill. Keep defending his worthless brother, or start protecting his invaluable partner?

I wouldn’t bet on it, chump.

And unfortunately for Bill, his subconscious called it.

“Ford is not out to get you,” Stan spoke deliberately, as if reciting lines fed to him through an earpiece, but still with conviction. “No one is out to get you or hurt you. I’d never let that happen. I’m always on your side.” What was spoken was the truth, but it sounded like a lie.

There you had it: Stanley Pines was truly blind. Stanford Pines had covered his usually acute senses to recognize cons with a blind fold or blurred his already shitty vision with spiked juice. Why was it always up to Bill to be the one who could see clearly?

Oh, woe-is-you! Pack up this pity party already! It’s the lamest kind of celebration you could throw!

He couldn’t freak out now, even though every atom and their bonds, ionic, covalent, and metallic, were signaling inside him to show Stan the ugliness he was bottling up for his sake. But not now.

He turned to face the water, stygian and eternal as outer space. Maybe if he dove in, he’d end up swimming amongst the stars. Escape this oppressive life that was crushing him under its weight.

“Oh no. Suddenly I’m violently sea sick from the rough riptide and windy conditions. I need to get off this boat.”

“William, come o-”

“Now, Stanley.”

Neither said anything after that, and the instant the bow of the boat bumped against the wooden pillars of the dock, Bill hoisted himself up and waited for Stan to follow. A breeze had started to pick up, blowing his bangs around and around, knotting the strands together. Messy. This was all so messy. Bill liked causing messes, but he rarely liked getting caught in them.

What else did he have up his sleeve? Well, if talking was a bust, he’d go back to ol’ reliable. Back to how they started their intimate relationship.

Oh, don’t tell me.

As they reached the Stan mobile once again, Bill hurried a bit to reach the car first, carefully lifting himself up and onto the hood so that he didn’t leave a dent in the beloved exterior. “Woah, I’m not nauseous anymore! And I’d say that the night’s still young, right? How about we recreate some old memories?” He hooked his index fingers into the belt loops on the front of Stan’s pants and tugged the man closer so that he stood in between Bill’s spread out legs.

Okay, now THIS is just degrading to watch. Is this how far we’ve fallen? Someone spritz my eye with spray paint so I don’t have to witness this desperate train wreck.

“Sweetheart, what are ya plannin’?”

“I know how much you enjoyed it.”

He ran his pointed nails up from Stan’s pelvis and along his stomach, all the way to the collar of his shirt, and started to tease at the next button in line. He peered up at his partner through his long lashes, using the perspective to his advantage. “Trapping me against the car as you pounded into me so fast I thought you couldn’t be fully human. Then you flipped me over and plowed me from behind so hard I was convinced I’d never be able to walk again, even with a cane. Or was that one of the many other times we’d sneak here at midnight and go wild?”

His crude, provocative words drew forth labored breathing. Or maybe it was because he was now mouthing at the skin that was the middle ground between chest and stomach, the center of the torso. Before he could reach back down and cup the growing hardness he felt poking below Stan’s belt, the man in front of him stepped away, breaking off any contact between them.

“No, Bill,” the flustered voice spoke gently but firmly. It still felt akin to being snipped in the back, no warning. “Not until we get to the bottom of all of this.”

OUCH, Now THAT’S gotta leave a mark on your ego! You can’t even seduce the addict anymore!

Stanley wanted HIM to talk? At the cost of not getting ANYTHING in return? Just half-assed promises and no clear sense of which side his loyalty fell on?! That wasn’t how life worked, Pines! You couldn’t keep towing the line! If he wasn’t with Bill, then he was against him! That should have been a no brainer, but the man wasn’t committing.

“Fine, then. Deal with your boner by yourself,” Bill shrugged, as if it weren’t his problem anymore. As if the magma wasn’t rising and bubbling in the caverns, one natural event away from ascending up and out of the ground in an explosive blast.

Bill then hopped off the car, fixed his outfit, and quietly headed towards the woods. Childish and petty? Yes, but at least it wasn’t a major blowout.

Don’t do anything that could tip the scales in Ford’s favor. Figure out a new angle.

“Bill, get back here!” Stan demanded, agitated by Bill’s flighty behavior as he stomped after him. “Don’t run away from me! I know you’re pissed off, but we need to talk!”

“There’s nothing else we can say to each other now,” Bill called back, already picking up the pace and heading into the dense undergrowth. “I’m gonna take a nice stroll. Don’t wanna waste a pretty night. I’ll meet you back at the Shack.”

“BILL-”

“And I’m NOT PISSED OFF. I’ll be back later, dear!” And with that parting, he hid away in the vegetation, knowing that Stan wouldn’t be able to follow.

Well, I think that went well!

Bill just dazedly watched the moon through the intersecting branches and layered leaves as he stumbled about unthinkingly and wondered how a cow could jump over it. His shadows followed after him.

Don’t sweat the small stuff so much, pal! The future’s coming, and I have a feeling you’re in for a treat!

~

Stan knew it was a new personal low for him to even be considering this magazine advertisement for a senior citizen’s ponytail kit, but he still showed it off to the kids and Soos as they discussed their futures. “I’m hoping Bill likes it. He always said he missed my mullet days, so he’d be into this, right?” It was the desperation talking, okay?

Dipper sent him his patented judging expression while Mabel waved her hand in a “so-so” fashion, neither well-versed with dealing with midlife crises.

Stan sighed, on the verge of defeat. “I'm...I'm kinda going through some things.” Soos patted his shoulder consolingly.

Understatement of the goddamn century. Stanley Pines was not doing too hot in the relationship department, and he wanted to fix things now.

He nearly tore Stanford a new one last night when he came down to the private study huffing and puffing and about to freak out, but thankfully his brother had good news. Apparently, Ford had finally cooked up a concoction that would block Cipher’s movements even if a rift did appear as early as today! But he emphasized that until he gave the go-ahead, Stan could not breathe a word of it to Bill. Stan, once again, agreed to his brother’s conditions. One more day. He could handle one more day. Even if Bill had holed himself up in his parlor again and put up a “KEEP OUT” sign.

By tonight, he would explain to Bill all about the unicorn magic, beg for forgiveness, and then they’d all prepare to sail away on the Stan O’ War once that geometry demon’s evil plans were blown to smithereens! He was sure that together, Cipher didn’t stand a chance against the Pines Family.

“Do you want me to try planning another date night, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel offered, trying to cheer up her gloomy grunkle #1. Stan had been pretty tight lipped about how last night fell apart but anyone with eyes and ears could tell it ended in failure. “Maybe he’d like to go shoplifting at the mall! Get himself a new suit?”

Stan could at least appreciate her trying. “Thanks, sweetie, but maybe hold off on that for a bit, okay? He’s not in the mood for that kind of stuff. You just focus on planning your birthday party with Dipper. The future!”

“The future!” Dipper echoed.

Mabel grinned with all the excitement a pre-teen girl could have about planning such an important milestone. “The future!”

~

Bill was dissociating in front of the fireplace after a long night of wakeful wandering, laying on his cushion as he absent mindedly traced out the route Stan had drawn weeks ago on the map of the West Coast. Plans. They have plans still in place. This was proof of it. He couldn’t afford to erupt now no matter how dire the circumstances. But the plates were shifting. Tectonic movements in Bill’s life were making boundaries diverge and converge all at once, and he had no clue if he was standing on solid crust or on the edge of it all as his world destabilized underneath him.

Then, a very intricate knock sounded on the wall right outside the room, due to the lack of a door, to the beat of a Several Timez song.

“Grunkle Bill~” Mabel sang, a bit out of tune according to Bill’s musical ear. “Can I come in?” Normally, the girl had no problem just throwing herself inside, but seemed to respect Bill’s need for a warning.

“Sure, honey,” he replied, glancing up from the paper as she pushed aside the curtains, with them nearly swallowing her whole as they draped against her body. “Something you need?”

“Yes, actually. You!” She pranced over to his desk and grabbed the small calendar that sat there, before hurrying over and shoving it right in Bill’s face. “Me and Dipper’s 13th birthday is coming up fast. You know what that means, right?”

Bill squinted at the dates, trying to make his vision focus. Of course. In his obsession with August ending, he had nearly forgotten the most important event of the month. Good thing he already had their presents prepared.

“So it is,” he pondered, playing along with her. “What does that mean?”

“Party time!” She cheered, dropping herself next to him on the cushion and bouncing a bit on the deflated stuffing. “So we gotta start planning now. All hands on deck, including yours! Come on: we’re having a planning session right now.” She tugged lightly at the t-shirt he had shrugged on at random from his dirty laundry pile since he hadn’t washed his clothes in a while. Give him a break; he’s been busy!

Bill grimaced at the invitation. Leave the parlor? Sit through a long and detailed conversation debating what color streamers to use and what flavor each cake layer should be while being mentally, physically, and psychologically tortured? Don’t get him wrong; he was touched that his opinions were so esteemed by his niece! But…

His hesitancy did not go unnoticed. “Please, Grunkle Bill? The soon-to-be-thirteen-year-old pleaded, puppy-dog eyes turned on to the max level, just as potent as her twin’s. “We need your expertise as the most regarded party planner in Gravity Falls! Who else knows how to prepare the best decorations and plan the coolest party tricks?”

Ugh, when she put it that way, and so obviously wanted him to be involved, how could Bill say no? He couldn’t spurn the last Pines who still valued him. Besides, he doubted that even Ford would use the kids’ birthday party as an opportunity to strike against him. Hopefully. It would be safe to help out a teensy bit, right?

“...okay,” Bill agreed. “For you, my little fireball.”

It was worth it to see the cheer on her face as she pulled him into a tight hug, excitedly chattering that this would be the best birthday ever. This could be good for him. Who didn’t like throwing an epic celebration that toed the lines of legality at the end of summer?!

~

Mabel Pines was ready to run the party planning session like the navy, but fun and enjoyable to all, so kinda not like the navy! She had set up a diorama of the Mystery Shack, put on her party sombrero, shades, and sweater, and began to hash out her ideas to the other members of the celebration committee.

Dipper was primed and ready with a notepad and “Stan-cil”, which was just a pencil with Grunkle Stan’s head as the eraser, Soos was grabbing the large piñata, and Grunkle Bill had settled on the couch, already looking more pale than he had a couple of minutes ago, the light patches of skin resembling asymmetrical cracks crossing his face over his nose nearly blending into the rest of his face. She made sure to keep a sparky smile on her face as she started to consult Dipper on the attendee list.

Keep smiling, Mabel. You had to smile for all of them.

“Not so fast, goofus and girl-goofus.” Stan walked into the room with a baseball bat in hand, interrupting before they could proceed much further. “After that zombie incident, no one's throwing another party at my house. I keep finding little bits, ‘cuse me babe, of the undead in the couch cushions.” He demonstrated his point by using the bat to lift up the recliner’s seat cushion after Bill had shifted over a bit to reveal a zombie hand.

Once he proved his point, he tossed the wooden stick to Dipper and moved to lean against the seat, hovering over Bill slightly. He tried to send the reclining man a suave smile, but Bill ignored him and plucked the rotting appendage from underneath him, inspecting it with a bit of interest before tucking it away. Mabel inwardly deflated like a rubber balloon. Ugh, if only she had been there to coordinate last night’s date! But both of her grunkles had been insistent that they needed “alone time”, which was just adult speak for kissing nasty style, so she had trusted them to sort it out by themselves. Last time she ever believed THAT excuse.

“But Grunkle Stan,” Mabel whined. “We need some roof to raise,” she emphasized with her fun arm movements.

Soos tucked the large piñata with the smaller piñatas inside underneath his arm. “Dude, you could rent out the Gravity Falls High School gym, and have your party there,” he suggested. “That place is empty all summer long.”

Mabel took to the idea immediately. A party? In the gymnasium? Just like all of the middle school dances she had attended and adored! Though hopefully with less B.O. this time. Maybe she’d give Dipper his deodorant early. “The gym's a great idea, Soos. To the high school!”

Right after she finished her proclamation, the entire house suddenly shook with a big boom, as if something combusted not too far from them. It could only be due to one person.

As if on cue, from down the hall, Ford suddenly yelled out, “Dipper, my face is on fire!”

“Good,” Mabel heard Bill mutter his breath spitefully. Stan shook his head in exasperation. Ford seemed to have a tendency towards explosions, with the house shaking every other day.

Dipper dropped everything immediately, as usual, for his venerated great-uncle. “I'll just be a sec.” He darted out the living room and down the hall in a blink of an eye.

Bill rolled his own eye at the sight. “Who wants to bet ten bucks that it was just a scheme to talk to Dipper privately?”

“Huh?” Stan questioned, suddenly looking slightly more uneasy. “Why do you say that?”

“If he was really on fire, why specifically ask for Dipper? Duh.” Bill attempted to get up, shaking from the knees down, with Stan immediately going to brace him, but Bill held up a hand to halt him. “He’s planning something,” Bill emphasized, eye narrowing with suspicion and his entire body tensed. After all this time her blonde grunkle still hadn’t warmed up to his husband’s twin. Stan looked down at the carpet in thought, clearly mulling over something.

Mabel chewed her bottom lip, pressing the brackets against the pink skin. Yeah, that sounded like Ford. Despite his latest efforts to spend more time with her and Stan, he always seemed to default to Dipper when it came to something he deemed important. She quickly grabbed two packs with walkie-talkies she had prepared earlier and followed the route Dipper took.

She arrived just in time to see Ford locking something in a protective case. “We patch the rift. I'll explain on the way.”

Darn it! Dipper was gonna leave her to plan this all on her own? Somehow, she wasn’t too surprised.

Even though she wanted Dipper to be just as involved as she was, Mabel knew how much it meant to Dipper to be able to go on these adventures with Grunkle Ford, especially with their time in Gravity Falls winding down. So, she gave him the go-ahead, which he seemed to appreciate. But Ford was getting antsy and hurried out of the room, prompting Dipper to run and trip after him to keep up, following in his footsteps to the best of his ability. She smiled fondly after her brother, worry niggling right under her sweater’s birthday cake patch, but also trusting that everything would work out.

Mabel returned to the living room after the send-off. Bill was watching the front door through which Ford and Dipper left, wary expression turning contemplative. Stan looked resigned, as if he had been expecting this, while Soos looked awkward, not liking that his two beloved bosses weren’t the lovey dovey couple he had known for ten years.

“Well, Ford and Dipper are going to be busy for the rest of the day,” she spoke up, grabbing everyone’s attention, “So let’s start booking the venue!”

Bill butt in quickly before she could continue. “Did Sixer mention why he needed Dipper to run errands with him?”

Mabel shrugged since she hadn’t really caught that part of their conversation and was clueless herself. Just another secret those two nerds were keeping from everyone else, it seemed. “Something about saving the world? I’m not sure but it sounded super important.” Bill somehow frowned even deeper at that. It didn’t suit him. Bill was usually so smiley, even when he wasn’t in a smiley mood!

Stan shifted from foot to foot, antsy as an ant. “My brother thinks every task is important, so I wouldn’t put too much stock into it. You go get your party set up, pumpkin.”

Mabel brightened at the reminder. Right, she had her own important mission to undertake. “Alright everyone: to the high school!”

“Oh, uh, you three go on without me. I got some paperwork I need to get done,” her fez-wearing grunkle excused himself, making his way up to his office. Bill watched him go with no protest.

“Okay, that’s fine! A trio works out great, too,” Mabel tried to encourage her other companions. Soos joined in, but the blonde stayed silent for a second, then abruptly blurted out, “One second, Mabel-leaf. I’m gonna go grab my bag.”

He made his way down the hallway, steps uneven, as if he could barely balance himself as he wobbled unsteadily. She and Soos exchanged worried glances. Grunkle Bill was really not doing well for some reason, constantly drained and sleeping in the parlor despite his more recent bursts of energy, and his relationship issues with both Stan and Dipper definitely were dimming his sparkle. Hopefully party planning around town would distract him from all that.

She peeked her head around the corner of the hall after him. Bill had retrieved his man-purse, but he seemed to have frozen outside of the room Ford had previously been occupying, studying something inside. She came up beside him and followed his gaze to where it was locked onto the chalkboard. Most of the writing had been erased, but the indistinct, left-behind streaks Grunkle Ford had drawn out showed a bunch of figures, quotations, and schematics that went right over Mabel’s head. The only thing that she could kinda make sense of was the word on the top of the board in red chalk.

“Weird-ma-ggedon?” Mabel read aloud, the word falling awkwardly off of the tongue. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bill was motionless, as if he was never capable of moving in the first place. Entranced by the words that barely had any meaning to her, but apparently it did to him? Well, he and Ford were both smarty-pants! It made sense that they’d know the same stuff!

Mabel poked him lightly in his stomach. There was barely anything to squish in the region, the organ empty. “Grunkle Bill? Are you okay? Is it something really bad?”

“...no,” Bill whispered, just loud enough to be heard. “Let’s…let’s get out of here. Lots to do. Busy day!” He smiled down at her, too stretched out to be genuine, laying a twitchy hand on her shoulder. “You and your party are MUCH more important than whatever made-up conspiracies that screwball is chasing after with Dipper.”

The young girl hesitantly nodded. It was clear her uncle wanted to focus on something else as a distraction as well. So, she decided to push every other bother away for now. It would always come back later.

~

Bill was slowly but surely growing maddened.

He tried, truly he tried, to stay in the moment and aid Mabel as each of her party plans ended in ruin, but he couldn’t concentrate.

A rift. There was a rift in the house, and he had been none the wiser. Bill had known that there was a possibility a rift could form from the portal’s formation and its ripping between worlds, but didn’t investigate the basement after the shitshow that was Ford’s return until recently. No wonder the six-fingered narcissist was running around like a lunatic: he was probably working under the impression that Bill, the sinister succubus that he must be, was going to use it to destroy the planet. To bring about the end of the world. Weirdmaggedon.

How exciting! And it had a great ring to it! Or would “Oddpocalyspe” have worked better? I didn’t really workshop it as much as I should have.

Wh-No! Not exciting! He lived here! Why would he want to destroy his home?!

You just need to expand your horizons! It was always meant to happen.

Bill reached into his pants’ pocket and fiddled with the locket, looking out the window of Soos’s pickup truck without seeing. A prophesied event by Bill Cipher? Did that mean that his dreams were premonitions? Warnings from the great beyond? If so, what could even be done? What did they want Bill to do?

Hah, there’s no stopping it, chump.

If Bill had to guess, the old scientist had probably dragged Dipper with him to Crash Site Omega: the only place in Gravity Falls that would possibly contain the vital advantage they could use to keep the rift safe. There were technologies and substances hidden amongst the wreckage that even Bill hadn’t discovered yet. Definitely not safe for a twelve-year old boy, but Ford seemed to delight in getting Dipper to do his bidding without any protest.

Was that how Ford was messing with Bill? Using ancient alien tech to fuck with him? How long had he been planning this?

…did Stan know? Did Stan buy into Ford’s wild theories? Would Stan willingly let this happen to Bill? Is that why his partner had been acting so flighty?

And yet Stan didn’t treat him with hatred or fear or wariness. His touches, as few as they had become, were as rough and affectionate as ever. If he believed Bill to be Cipher, he wouldn’t act like he still cared for Bill, would he?

Or was that the con? The trick to keep Bill’s guard lowered around the one person he trusted most of all? So he would be vulnerable to Ford’s attacks? No, he wouldn’t. Stan wouldn’t.

Are you sureeee about that?

Yes! Yes, he was!

Might wanna rethink that.

No. If he didn’t have Stanley by his side, then he’d truly be alone.

Oh, yeah? Check around the house.

He did that already!

The outside of the house.

…The outside, huh? He hadn’t investigated there for anything yet…he would once they got back.

Smart choice. Now you’re using that big, juicy brain of yours!

Wow; his inside voice had been pretty vocal recently. And oddly insistent. But Bill would rely on it. He wouldn’t lead himself astray, right?

Always here for ya, buddy!

Bill was broken out of his thoughts by a loud, depressed moan from Mabel. Right. Her and Dipper’s party was not panning out the way she had hoped. Wendy’s warnings about high school, which occurred while Bill had been accosted by the frenzied principal desperately looking for new hirees, and the lack of attending friends totally sucked the joy out of her. Plus, surprise surprise, Dipper had not been responding to any of her walky-walky chats.

“Aw, cheer up dawg!” Soos tried to uplift her spirits. “Maybe you can’t have the exact party you planned, but it’ll still be fun! Plus, you can use your amazing birthday-tastic plans for next year! You’ll be back next summer, right?”

Mabel perked up slightly, roused from her misery. “That’s true,” she considered as Soos pulled into the parking lot of the Mystery Shack. “Since I’m sure Grunkle Stan and Bill will have us next year because they love us so much. Riiiight?” She teased her uncle as the two of them hopped out of the truck.

Bill slammed the side door closed, caught off-guard. Did Mabel not know? Then again, neither him nor Stan and definitely not Ford had sat the kids down and explained what was happening at the end of the summer. That meant Bill had to be the harbinger of bad news.

“Honey,” he started off, trying to be as gentle as possible. Soos, who was blatantly eavesdropping, was also not gonna react well to this. “Stan and I are not gonna be here next summer.”

Mabel paused, before forcibly laughing as she grabbed her knapsack from her seat. “Haha, good one, Bill! Not funny, but good! Where else would you two be?”

“There’s no fun punchline to this kid because it ain’t a joke,” he rebutted, just talking about it further souring his mood. “Ol’ Fordsy’s giving us the boot at the end of the month, then Stan and I are hitting the road for good.”

Soos gasped in utter horror and Mabel whirled around to face Bill, long hair whipping her in the face at the abrupt movement.

“No!” she bursted out, immediately entering the first stage of grief. “He can’t!”

Bill scoffed because he very much could. “Sorry kiddo, but Stan agreed with him. Sixer’s gonna stay here and finish up his research, and we’re probably gonna go across the country. See the sights, explore the world…” He trailed off before throwing out some lame appeasements. “We’ll visit you and your brother in California,” he tried to cheer her up, patting her head with a heavy hand. “And send everyone a bunch of postcards.”

“But what about the Mystery Shack?!” Soos shouted, thoroughly distraught and already on the brink of crying as his nose started to clog and eyes moistened. “The wonder! The enchantment! What will happen to it without Mr. Mystery and Mr. Mystique?!”

The man behind Mr. Mystique groaned tiredly. Oh, Soos. This was equivalent to destroying a castle of dreams for him. “Well, since I highly doubt Ford will want to continue the business, the Mystery Shack will have to close up shop.” You would have thought that Soos got shot in the heart with how hard he flinched back in his seat and clutched the area. Mabel pulled away from Bill’s hand, staring up with tears threatening to escape at the corners of her eyes.

“No more Mystery Shack?” she questioned brokenly. “But…but…you can’t give up! Just, I don’t know, build a new Mystery Shack! A grand reopening! You two could do it!”

“Exactly!” Soos jumped onto the idea. “I will build a cabin that no one could ever tear down! For free! With my bare hands if I have to!”

Bill rubbed his temples, a hammer striking the head of the nail to send a spike through his temples, impaling him. “Don’t you two get it?! It’s over! The Mystery Shack was just a sleazy tourist trap to keep the house! Stanley doesn’t need it anymore! I don’t need it anymore! It’s useless to even try to remake that crappy hut filled with cheap animal parts and expired glue! It’s gone!”

His shrill voice echoed about the open space. No one moved.

Fuck.

Soos croaked out a sob, a horribly mournful sound that pained Bill even more than his head, and shifted the car into reverse, jolting back sharply before pulling out of the lot and zooming away down Gopher Lane. Bill watched him go with increasing shame as Mabel rushed into the Shack, going to have her own breakdown in the privacy of her room. They both ran away from him.

Oh, please! You said it yourself! You’re finally free from your cheap circus act! You were meant for bigger and better things!

Hey, he liked his gig! Bill was one of the most respected con artists in town!

Like that matters. Your performance days are over. Now, you ready for the big reveal?

Right. Bill had to check if Ford had altered anything on the outside of the house. He walked slowly around the perimeter, searching for what could be out of place on the roof or along the walls. Nothing yet.

Check the foundation.

Bill squatted down and got closer. A very thin strip of rainbow lined the lower wooden panels of the Shack. He trailed a finger along it, wincing a bit as the fiber zapped him. It felt electric, a humming forcefield ready to react.

Unicorn hair.

Of course! A magical item specifically used against those with nefarious intentions. And with it totally encircling the building, this protection circle had to be the source of the feeling of approaching death each time he stepped into the wooden hut.

But why would it hurt him? Yes, Bill wasn’t without his own sins, but they were all done with good intentions! Scamming tourists? He didn’t force them to buy their merchandise or use their services! Shoplifting? He was just protesting the free market economic model that profited the wealthy! And who gave a shit if he psychologically tortured people to the point that they mutilated themselves and had to be entered into psych wards? Rico had it coming!

Besides, Stan, too, had performed some unsavory crimes in the past to survive; why was he spared? Maybe Ford with his too-big brain found a way to target specific people with the unicorn’s magic. Bill could easily buy that. It didn’t really explain why his parlor wasn’t corrupted against him, though.

Did…did Stanley know about this? Honestly, this protection circle was easy enough to overlook, and Stan didn’t have the best vision even with his glasses due to the cataracts. Ford could have easily set it up with Stan none the wiser.

There’s no difference between hope and delusion in your case, pal. I’m tellin’ you: open your EYE.

His eye was wide open, thank you very much! He knew this looked bad. But that didn’t mean it was bad! He’d just have to finally bite the bullet and confront Stan with all of the evidence he had found, no matter how ugly it would get. Exposing Ford’s schemes would finally get through to Stanley that his brother was the culprit behind Bill’s suffering.

Restless and unwilling to go inside now, he allowed himself to dissociate as he rearranged his plans to accommodate this damning confirmation. As he aimlessly ambled about, his brain screamed at him the cardinal rule he had broken over and over again:

TRUST NO ONE

~

“...What would you say to staying in Gravity Falls after the summer ends and becoming my apprentice?” Ford gasped Dipper’s shoulders encouragingly as he kneeled down in front of the wide-eyed boy.

Dipper, completely shocked, uttered the first question that came to mind. ”W-what about school?”

Ford snorted in amusement. What a silly question. “Dipper, I have 12 PhDs. Your parents would be thrilled I could give you such an advanced education.”

“But I thought you said that you and Stan would go sail off on a boat after the summer ended,” Dipper pointed out the contradiction in the plans his uncle had presented to him. “Once you get rid of Bill. You still haven’t told me how you’re gonna do that…”

It was only fair if Dipper knew the next phase of the plan. “I have fixed Project Mentem. Once we seal the rift, there’s no need to tiptoe around Birch in fear of Cipher anymore. We’ll hook him up to the machine and interrogate him in front of everyone! His true colors, or in this case thoughts, will come to light. Stan and Mabel will have to accept the truth: William Birch isn’t real. After that…well…I have several methods I could use to… dispose of him.” He didn’t elaborate. Even that was a line he wouldn’t cross with his nephew. Only he would undertake the dirty deed that would wash his hands clean of his sins against the universe.

Dipper winced, only being able to imagine what would occur in the fallout. “Oh wow…that’s not gonna be pretty.”

“No, it will not,” Ford agreed, not looking forward to the anguish that was undoubtedly awaiting Stan in the near future. Alas, this was the only way. If he could spare his twin the agony, he would. Perhaps he could rewire Project Mentem to achieve such a feat after all was said and done.

“At first, I thought Stan needed something to keep him afloat in a sea of misery. The Stan O’ War was a child’s dream Stanley always kept close to his heart, so that’s why I proposed that. But now I know what Stan truly desires: family.“ He smiled down at Dipper. “Me. You, Mabel, and Shermie! He’ll be okay, even once Birch is gone. Whether or not we sail away now or later is irrelevant, but either way, you’ll be sticking by my side.”

His nephew seemed to accept that, but something else clearly seemed to be troubling him. “There's also Mabel. She'd be all alone in California. Could she…maybe join us?”

Ford winced at the reminder of his grand-niece. He had a hunch Dipper would ask about her. “I understand your worries, but I do not think I’ll be able to provide for Mabel’s needs alongside finishing my research, caring for Stanley and his emotional fallout, and your curriculums.” Even with his extra fingers, Ford would have too much on his hands. “Mabel will be fine on her own. She has a magnetic personality! I watched her become pen pals with the pizza delivery man in the 60 seconds he was at the door. Plus, she will always be welcome to visit while we’re still headquartered in Gravity Falls.”

Dipper walked away, pondering as he took that in. “Gosh, we've never really been apart before.”

“And isn't it suffocating?” Ford questioned, memories of his childhood flashing before his eyes. Always Stanley and Stanford, Stan and Ford. Two Stans. Always a pair. Never apart.

“Dipper, can you honestly tell me you never felt like you were meant for something more? Instead of being stuck together all of the time? That’s how me and Stan were up until the end of high school, and maybe if we had some space before then, we would have turned out better than we did. This could be good for both of you!” They came to stand in front of their reflections, with Ford puffing out his chest as Dipper took in his own mirrored body, so small compared to his grand uncle.

The younger Pines looked away from the shiny surface, unsure as he ruminated on his insecurities. “I-I dunno. Sounds like a dream come true, but I'm…not sure I have what it takes. I was tricked by Bill, both of them, I was wrong about Stan's portal,” he turned to face his great-uncle. “Heck, I can't even operate this magnet gun right.” Just as he said that, the device turned on and sucked up a metal hexagonal panel. That just so happened to have exactly what they were looking congealed on the other side!

Ford grinned. Success! He knew that Dipper had a lot of potential! Look at him, finding the adhesive they needed without even trying! This was going to all work out.

~

Mabel laid on the circular rug at the center of the attic floor with Waddles, sadly reminiscing over the scrapbook she had made for all of the summer memories they had made so far. That they would never be recreating. This was it: the future. The end.

She let out a dreary sigh, resting her face on the section dedicated to their first family fishing trip. The photo displayed Stan holding her up as she cut the net of another boat, while Bill and Dipper messed with the fishing lines. That had been a great ending to a great day.

As if summoned by her distress, Grunkle Stan opened the door.

“Hey, everything all right, pumpkin?” He asked, walking over to his niece and sitting down next to her, a concerned frown crossing his face.

Mabel sniffled up what remained of her impromptu crying session. “Just can't believe the summer's almost over.” She began to flip through more memories, forever immortalized on the bright, sticker-spotted pages. “And now that I know how awful high school's going to be, I'm in no hurry to start that train wreck.”

Stan wrapped a big arm around the small girl, attempting to provide some comfort as she faced what everyone faced as they became thirteen. “Ah, nobody likes gettin' older. But just because you're growing doesn't mean you have to grow up, you know? I mean, look at me and Bill! We’re past middle age and still eat ice cream for dinner!”

She leaned into his side. “But I don't wanna say goodbye to Gravity Falls. And once the summer ends, everything’s gonna change!” She started to get worked up again as she looked up at her great uncle with irritated sclera. “You’re not gonna be here anymore! And the Mystery Shack’s closing for good! Summer will never be the same again! Bill just told me.”

The old grifter winced at the unspoken accusation but turned her so he could face her straight on with a reassuring grin. “I know it’s hard, sweetie. Things change, even when we don’t expect or want them to. But hey, at least whatever happens after this summer, you'll still have your brother along with you through thick and thin. That’s one good thing about bein’ a twin.” He gave her a soft noogie before leaving the room, flashing a peace sign with the Pitt Cola can in hand.

A bit energized by the reminder of her brother, Mabel began to rally herself. “Yeah, at least when I go home, I’ll always have Dipper.” She held up a picture of the two of them fishing. “Good ol', reliable ol'-”

Suddenly, her walkie talkie crackled to life, voices from the other side faint, but she still listened in. What followed was mind-breaking, especially after the strain she had been holding strong under for the entire day. Stunned by the betrayal, she curled up on top of her bed, unmoving until the attic’s other occupant bursted in excitedly as the sun began to dip. The end of an era seemed to burn away outside the window.

“Mabel! I just had the best day of my life!” Dipper declared, yanking off and throwing his knapsack against his sister’s as he lost himself rambling about today’s events. “UFOs are real and there's one under the town and I saved Great-uncle Ford's life and- and…” He approached his sister’s bed, noticing the utter lack of movement from its occupant. “Hey, are you okay?”

Mabel still faced the wall. “Tell me it's not true, Dipper.” She got up and turned to him with the walkie-talkie in hand. “Tell me you were joking.” Static rang out from its speakers, signaling to Dipper that it had been active the entire time. He gasped, turning to face his own powered-on walkie talkie from the bag. Oops.

“Ford's apprentice? Seriously?”

Dipper spoke carefully as he looked back towards his upset twin. “Look, I was thinking and... this is a huge opportunity for me.”

Mabel blocked her ears, unwilling and unable to listen to his explanation. “Well it's a horrible opportunity for me!” She cried, tears springing out and down her lash line, much to his horror.

The usually lively girl slid off the bed, walking away from her brother who was still gaping. “I had the worst day of my life! When we turn thirteen, the summer ends, and I have to leave everything behind.” She whirled back around, her distress ramping up in erratic intervals. “And we’ll never get it back because Ford’s kicking out Stan and Bill, and the Mystery Shack will never re-open! Everyone’s going to be gone!” A pointer finger was pointed accusingly at him. “You're the only person I can count on and now you're leaving me too!?”

Back over to her summer scrapbook she went as compromises started to be thrown out .

“Look, I've been thinking about it. I won't be gone forever, okay? I'll still visit you at home, you can visit me for a bit, and we'll chat online. Plus, Ford’s gonna let Stan stay with him for a bit so they won’t both be gone!”

That reassurance didn’t have the desired effect. “And what about Grunkle Bill?! Ford’s been treating him horribly this entire time, and now he’s kicking him out too?! Alone?! Stan will hate that!”

Dipper huffed at the reminder of their third uncle, really not wanting to address that mess at the moment. “Don’t worry about Bill, Mabel,” he tried to dismiss. “It’ll all work out!”

“I don't want it to work,” she shot back, opening up the scrapbook. “I just wish summer could last forever.”

The boy came up behind her and knelt down, placing a hand on her shoulder, struggling to be soft with his delivery as he spoke the hard truth. “But it can't, Mabel. Look, things aren't gonna stay frozen this way. It's part of growing up. Things change. Summer ends.”

Mabel turned and gave Dipper a wide-eyed, betrayed look, as if she had never seen him before or even knew who he was. And at that moment, Dipper didn’t know himself either.

His inattention cost him. Mabel managed to yank herself out of his hold and sprinted out of the room, grabbing the closest knapsack on her way. Dipper, who initially fell without his twin to support him, got up and yelled into the hallway, “Mabel, wait! I didn't mean it like that! Mabel, come back!”

~

At the same time, another set of the Pines twins were having their own discussion about the future as they sat on the porch’s couch. Bill had still been roaming around the Shack’s wilderness, going nowhere in particular as he came up with a new approach, when he spied their legs out of the corner of his eye. Silently, remaining out of sight yet within earshot, he crept closer.

OH, I LOVE EAVESDROPPING. I WONDER WHAT KIND OF SECRETS THEY TALK ABOUT? I BET YOU’RE THEIR FAVORITE SUBJECT.

“-you really put a lot of research into this,” Ford was acknowledging, waving around what sounded like a bunch of paper as they flapped around against each other. “If only our history teacher from junior high could see you now!”

Stan snorted. “Gimmee something I actually like to read about and it’s easy! A ten-page essay about the rise and fall of some empire? Bleh! Checking out new hot fishing vessels on the market? Right up my alley! There’s this great website called ‘eBay’ where people list used boats all the time for cheap, and I know how to get ‘em even cheaper!” The two older men laughed together, Stan in amusement and Ford with fondness.

Bill’s stomach dropped like a sock into the Bottomless Pit. A boat? He inched closer just enough around the corner so he could now see their faces.

“It may take a while until everything’s sorted out, so don’t rush to find one,” Ford assured his brother. “And feel free to look for a more spacious one. People do get claustrophobic in tight spaces after a while.”

“Nah, two bedrooms is fine,” Stan dismissed, not even thinking about it. “What do we need more room on the Stan O’ War II for?”

OH, WHAT’S THIS? HE’S LEAVING YOU TO GO OFF SAILING WITH HIS TWIN. WASN’T THAT ALWAYS HIS DREAM?

Yes. Yes it was.

“Plus, speakin’ of things being sorted out,” Stan changed the subject, “Did you and Dipper get what you needed? To finally stop Cipher? It wasn’t dangerous, was it?”

Ford nodded proudly, as if Dipper was an extension of himself. “Yes, we were successful. Dipper was perfectly fine and was such a huge help! I am proud to say that we no longer have to worry about any rifts letting in Bill. All we have to do is a bit of cleanup, and then we’re home free!”

A gravely sigh of relief was let out. “Sweet Moses, finally! Does that mean no more unicorn voodoo?”

Stan…Stanley knew about the unicorn hair.

DID YOU REALLY NOT SEE THIS PLOT TWIST COMING?

“Yes, yes,” Ford waved it off. “It’ll no longer be necessary, I suppose. Any connection between Cipher and Bill will not lead to anything anymore. We’re in the clear. Though we may have to purge any remnants, just to be safe. Plus, it’s therapeutic.”

“Perfect,” Stan grunted out, slurping another noisy gulp from his can. “That one-eyed bastard has messed with this family long enough. I’ll be glad to get rid of him forever. Good thing you were able to deal with it.”

DO YOU HEAR THAT? HE’S ON STANFORD’S SIDE. HE HATES YOU.

…

…

…

Woah, you still there?

…yes.

What are you gonna do now?

Just watch me.

HAHAHA, THAT’S ALL I CAN DO. GIMMEE A GOOD SHOW, ME!

Bill watched Ford make his excuses and head inside, leaving Stan to lounge back on the coach and sing happily to himself. He could practically hear the final, executing snip of the scissor, cutting the thread from the remaining sieve. His tapestry was complete.

Bill had lost. Stanford had completely outmaneuvered him. Had him at checkmate before Bill even was aware that they were playing.

Dipper feared him. Wanted him gone.

Soos and Mabel were hurt by his harsh words and fled. Abuelita wouldn’t stand for anyone hurting her grandson once she heard the news.

Maybe even Shermie had gotten wind of everything if he had been contacted. He’d side with his real brother any day over a brother-in-law.

And Stanley…

…Stanley

Stanley

Stanley

Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley

Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley Stanley

StanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleyStanleySTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEYSTANLEY-

OKAY, THAT’S ENOUGH STANLEYS TO LAST ME FOR MY ENTIRE LIFETIME 666 TIMES OVER. GO GIVE ‘EM HELL, TIGER. NO ONE MAKES A FOOL OUTTA BILL!

~

“Do-do-dee-doo, getting a boat. La-la-dee-daa gonna go sailing-” Stan cut himself off from taking a sip of Pitt Cola when he noticed Bill at the bottom of the stairs. He must have come back from one of his romps around the woods. His boots were covered in a fresh layer of dirt, a leaf or two had nestled into his hair, and his man-purse was slung across his torso. Stan could have sworn he had gone with Soos and Mabel to help party plan. Did they get back early?

“Hey, there’s my gorgeous guy! Come sit with me, babe!” He patted the now open seat next to him. “Ford warmed it for ya! Well, not for you specifically, but you still reap the benefits.”

His weary-looking partner didn’t move. He just looked up at Stanley. The older con man’s smile started to fade as he took in the blank grin before he forced it to stay on. Sham matching sham.

“Okay, so listen! I got some great news, and you’re gonna learn to lik-”

“Lemme stop you there, Slick,” Bill cut him off, coming off completely at ease despite that hollow look in his eye, like a black hole sucking all surrounding matter into it. “You don’t have to play that part anymore.”

“Huh?” Stan, taken aback, sent him a questioning eyebrow raise. “Whaddya mean ‘part’?”

“The part of a devoted and caring partner, of course!” Bill elaborated. “Really, you should at least get nominated for an Academy Award with a performance like that.”

The town’s mystic continued on, assuming a role and delivering a monologue of his own, spreading out his arms as if gesturing to a stage. “You’ve taken on the role of a double-agent or something, right? Keeping your poor eyesight locked on me and reporting back to the other side.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Bill laughed, no humor to be found in its ear-piercing ring. “Aw, come on now, Fez. Don’t play coy now. The jig is up! For the first time in a long time, I’m seeing reality clearly now. So tell me, when did you choose Ford over me?” The spiel finally ended with a harsh snarl, high and pitchy as ever, but filled with all the hurt that a person could possibly feel.

Stan paused at the accusation, then immediately got up and made his way down the steps to his husband. But if he took two steps forward, Bill would match it by taking two steps back, never letting him close the distance between them as the one-eyed man kept pulling that painful-looking smile from cheek to cheek. They neared the edge of the clearing, birch branches hanging over them in the blood-soaked sky. A heart was bleeding from above.

“You can’t hide it from me anymore! I heard it all! What did he say to convince you that I’m a monster?”

“Bill, that’s not how it is!” Stan implored, throwing out words as fast as he could to clear this misunderstanding, barely getting them in. “Neither of us think you’re evil! Ford’s just trying to stop Cipher!”

“Ohoho, now THAT’S a line I’ve heard before. ‘Ford’s changed his ways’! ‘He’s not out to get you’!” The mocking rang true. He said it all before, and now look where it got them.

“Really, you need to come up with a new excuse, but even if you did, I wouldn’t buy it. You let him set up that magic circle!” Bill accused. “That kept draining my very soul and keeping me sick like a fucking dog and you just sat there?! Kept me in bed and told me I’d be alright?! I thought I was going out of my mind while you let him hurt me. You let him hurt me!” His breath caught on the last sentence, like he could barely take in enough air to fuel his rant.

The fez nearly fell off Stan’s head with how forcefully he shook it in denial. “No, that’s not true! I wouldn’t let him hurt you!”

“Oh but you did!” Bill scoffed, shaking his own head wildly, golden locks nearly getting twisted in the lower-hanging twigs of the branches that covered them as they continued deeper into the forest. “Hah, last time I fall for THAT. Clearly, you let him twist your mind against me! You let your weak, pathetic, clingy feelings take over and reject me of all people!”

“Hey, that’s not what happened!” Stan rebutted. “He confided in me! He trusts me! And after all this, we’re gonna go sai-”

“Oh, is that what he promised you?” Was punctuated with a sneer, that nasty, deranged mockery of a grin twisting even further on Bill’s face. “Get smart already, Dumbo! He just threw you a bone in the form of nostalgia! You think he actually wants to go sailing? Give me a break!”

The allegation just made the former drifter even more upset. “You’re wrong,” he shouted desperately, though the trust in his brother unconsciously wavered. “He wouldn’t do that!”

“OPEN YOUR EYES, STANLEY,” Bill finally yelled and threw out his arms wildly, almost whacking his knuckles against a tree. “HE JUST SAID THAT TO TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME!” He coughed from the sudden strain but continued on, unable to be stopped. “You’re just another mess for him to clean up after!”

Stan bunched his hands into fists. What were they shaking from: anger, fear, or worry? He didn’t know. They were all happening at once. “Stop it.”

“He’s hurt you again and again and again, and you let him,” the outpouring couldn’t be diverted or held back, streaming out of that vicious, slightly panting mouth. “While I’ve always been here for you and never let you down. You’re throwing it all away for a man who can’t even say thank you! Or did you at least get a ‘thank you’, Lee, after everything? Did he say it?”

Silence. It was enough of an answer.

Bill giggled like a demented, loony clown. He had the mouth to match it. “Thought so! He hasn’t changed one bit. So unconditional is your love for him, isn’t it? I, on the other hand, had to earn your affections, right? Slave away in the basement for hours upon hours, make a fool out of myself to strangers in a little dark room, build up your non-existent self-worth to even have something to work with…I was so good. I made your life better. Wasn’t it enough? Wasn’t I enough?”

The probing interrogation became interspersed with more and more hysterical chuckles, with Stan unable to speak, struck dumb. Utterly useless as his husband lost himself in his ramblings. A mad man.

“Did it make you feel good, big guy?” Bill clenched his chest with one hand while the other clawed his nails along the length of his face, starting from the eye bags that rested underneath his eye-less lid and goring himself. The crimson flowed like watercolors, filling in the empty spaces of his visage like a messy coloring book.

“Haha-that I was nothing when you found me? That you were able to make yourself the center of my galaxy? The one in which everything-hehehe-revolved around? Everything I did, I did for you. Every achievement I gained, every crime I committed, every-pfft-decision I made, it all benefited you!” The blonde bursted into full-blown laughter now, completely unrestrained. “Hell, you even named me! You’re the one who made William Birch!” He never sounded louder with his one-man cacophonous chorus.

“And you needed it! You needed me!” Bill cackled. “Face it, Starlight. Without me, you were just another lousy scam artist no one could stand! Without me, you were a fumbling idiot con man who’d still be stuck on high school trigonometry! Without me, you were nothing!”

Another round howling echoed and bounced off of the trunks that surrounded them. “Guess that’s what made us a perfect pair, huh?! A couple of losers who had no place in the world.” His shoulders shook as he leaned against a nearby trunk to steady himself. As if it could. He was too far gone.

“But I guess I was the one who was the fool in the end, right? Completely hoodwinked. You had a winning hand the entire time and never let me have a glimpse at it,” Bill gasped, huffing and puffing as if he could barely draw breath. “I shoulda seen it coming from a mile away, even with my fucked up depth perception. Once you completed your mission and got back your other half, you didn’t need me anymore. Didn’t need my knowledge or my skills or my act or my devotion. Didn’t need a distraction to fuck around with and provide you with entertainment. Was I at least entertaining, baby?”

Stanley’s jaw finally seemed to snap into place, allowing for movement so he could rebut, “William, you know-” But he didn’t get far enough as Bill ruthlessly squashed his effort.

“And now you’re going to let good ‘ol Sixer, the hero Stanford Pines, murder me and claim he defeated the big bad Bill Cipher with a little help from his twin sidekick! Just like in one of your little comics!” The oily fawning spilled between them, slicking everything with a dark, slippery coating. “You’ll be the pride of the town, won’t you?! The kids will certainly love you! Will your big, mean daddy finally say that he’s impressed with you from beyond the grave? If you don’t earn a trillion dollars from it, I don’t think so!”

A heavy fist punched the rough bark of the tree next to him as the personal provocations finally ignited Stan’s explosive temper. “You keep your fuckin’ mouth shut about that!”

Bill flinched back at the display, but his countenance appeared victorious. Vindicated. “There it is! I was wondering when you were gonna drop the façade, Mr. Showman. You’ve always been good at hiding the ugliness inside you, but it’s always there, isn’t it?”

Stained fingers reached into his bag. “Lucky for you, I don’t care about your ugliness. As long as you're mine, I’ll accept all of you.”

A small, dark metallic gun was pulled out. It resembled one of the many handguns Stan had let Bill claim co-ownership of over the years, but was markedly different with a small lightbulb pointing at him instead of the barrel. The realization clicked as Bill twisted a knob on the opposite side of the weapon.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Stan froze in anticipation. Flight or flight, what would happen next?

“I’ll admit, this wasn’t what I had planned when I snatched this baby up, but it’ll do,” Bill muttered to himself as the gun sparked. “It would have been more ideal for Ford to forget all of his grudges against me, but he’s poisoned you. That won’t do at all. He has to go.”

The gun was cocked and aimed true, but the hands were trembling. “Your mind is twisted. It has to be fixed. I’ll correct the course. I’ll try to restore the most important parts of you, but never forget this, Stanley Pines: you are mine. Mine and mine alone.”

In that moment, Bill could have easily pulled the trigger there and blasted him. It would have been too fast for Stan to react. But he was too slow. Held back by something as he stared across the clearing at Stan. And so Stan was able to clear the distance between them in record time and went to punch the fingers that held the gun. Before he could strike, though, Bill dropped the contraption in pure panic, turning away from the fist and wrapping his arms around himself, downright spooked as the grin he had been adorning the entire confrontation finally fell apart.

The weapon was kicked hard over twisted roots and into the untamed wilderness, away and out of sight.

“You punched me,” Bill mouthed with dirtied lips, dazed as if experiencing a hallucination. His silent words weren’t heard by anyone.

“You’re INSANE,” Stan roared, emotions at a fever pitch. “You were gonna make me forget?! So you could keep me like I’m just a thing?! Ford was right! It’s your mind that’s been twisted!” He backed Bill against a tree as he prowled closer, hunching over the smaller body. “Or have you always been like this?! Turning against people when they don’t do exactly what you want them to! Always blaming others but never yourself! You could never be wrong, because if you are, then it means you fucked up! Just like now! You fucked up!”

“EVERYTHING WAS ALREADY FUCKED UP,” Bill screamed back, the self-inflicted injures pouring out more and more until a red half-moon covered his blind side. “I WAS TRYING TO FIX WHAT YOU BROKE! AND YOU SCREWED UP AGAIN!”

“THEN LEAVE IT! LET IT STAY BROKEN. I DON’T WANT IT ANYMORE. I DON’T WANT YOU ANYMORE, YOU FUCKING MONSTER.”

A slap rang out, and a small cut formed across his cheekbone. It took all his rage away in an instant.

What did he just do?

“I hate you,” Bill breathed, hand still raised from the backhand. “I’ve always hated you. I will always hate you. That’s a promise.“

These weren’t lies. They came from the heart, or somewhere infinitely deeper.

Stricken as he was by the pledge, Stan’s hand still instinctively reached out and dragged along Bill’s cheek, right under his eye. It came back wet, the clear droplets he collected shining as scarlet as blood in rays of the sunset.

And then Bill was gone, slipping away and disappearing into the woods. Stanley couldn’t have watched him go if he tried. It was as if William Birch was a ghost, fading from sight and all existence. If he ever really existed in the first place. All Stan had as proof that the encounter even happened was the prickling sensation that spread across his cheek and the liquid on his fingers.

And regret. Aching, agonizing regret that replaced any other emotion he could have felt.

“Wait,” Stan mumbled lowly before forcing himself to project louder. “Wait, Bill! I’m sorry! Come back!” He quickly made his way deeper into the brush and bramble, branches and other bushes tearing at his suit, but it didn’t register. “WILLIAM, PLEASE, I DIDN’T MEAN IT!”

His calls rang on deaf ears, far from him.

~

Bill ran faster than he ever had before, uncaring of where he stepped.

He had finally erupted, letting the molten, hateful lava shoot out and cover everything, consuming all of nature. Destroying everything beautiful.

When you already lost everything, there wasn’t anything more you could lose. His words couldn’t have ruined anything more than they already had been ruined.

He choked on air, but it was a sobbing shudder. His lungs were failing him. His brain was mush. He had no clue what was pushing him forward anymore. It was all pointless.

And then he tumbled down the hill, a misstep. He let it happen, body limp as his face scraped across the Earth and his limbs flew around wildly. It was the most alive his body felt in weeks. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d hit his head and that’d be the end of it. But alas, he slowly rolled to a halt and ended up on his back, looking straight up at the blurred sanguine sky. Alive, somehow. What a pity.

AW, DID YOU BREAK YOUR CROWN, JACK? GOT NO JILL TO RUN AFTER YOU?

You already know the answer to that.

THAT I DO. I GOT THE ANSWER TO EVERY LITTLE QUESTION YOUR GOOPEY MALFORMED BRAIN COULD EVER CONJURE UP. THE SOLUTIONS TO ALL OF YOUR PROBLEMS.

All of them?

SURE DO!

Bill finally, painstakingly, pushed himself onto his knees and looked around. He wasn’t in the forest anymore. He was somewhere else completely. The in-between space. The clear water he was surrounded by did not soak into his pants as he focused on the sight in the distance.

The fire was burning.

The Mystery Shack was completely engulfed in cyan flames. The roof had already caved in and crashed onto the ground level, completely obliterating the structure. The scintillating embers continued to eat away at the wooden walls that had fallen apart, smashed beyond repair as they were left laying the floor. Bill could barely make out the possessions within the rubble. Dipper’s hat. Mabel’s sweater. Stan’s fez. The Mystery Shack’s employee t-shirt. A melted bag of what used to be ice. The journals. All disappeared into the blazing inferno. There was nothing to save.

THAT’S RIGHT! IT’S ALL GONE! THERE’S NOTHING LIKE A LITTLE FIRE TO GET THE BALL ROLLING, AMIRIGHT? TOO BAD WE COULDN’T ROAST SOME SMORES.

I…I can’t do this. I can’t…

YOU DON’T HAVE TO! I’LL DO IT FOR YOU! IN RETURN, I’LL HELP YOU FIND A NEW PURPOSE. WHADDYA SAY?

Bill looked down at his reflection. The source of this loudness.

Something was…off. It was as if his face was trying so hard to look three-dimensional, with its bumps and curves and shaded lighting, but the lines were straighter than they should be. His flesh looked paper thin with no blood vessels peaking out. Nothing was running within him. No complexity that was intrinsic to life. He just looked…flat.

Bill Cipher.

Hah. That wasn’t funny at all. What a horrible punchline to this joke that was Bill’s life.

The other had a smile that was wider than Bill’s ever could be, eye unblinking as the black dot that served as his pupil and iris stared up at him. A distorted caricature of himself. The hand that was held out cupped the same blue glow that was destroying Bill’s home. His life. He glanced down at his own palm and found he possessed its twin flame. The arson was his own creation.

…do whatever you want.

He reached across the barrier and shook the offering. It felt like breaking a promise. A betrayal. The end of everything.

IT’S A DEAL! NOW, JUST. LET. GO.

William Birch let go.

His already-loose grip on reality was easily torn from his weakened fingertips, and he left the world condemning it, plunging head first into the watery, rippling cosmos as he and his 2D-counterpart traded spots. One going up and one going down. Was he the one ascending or descending?

Well, the stars were made for falling. And Bill was already hurtling towards his demise.

The last thing he just barely felt was the loss of the promise of eternity, or what should have been thirty, maybe forty years, on his ring finger.

AND YOU DON’T NEED THIS BRAND ON YOUR DIGIT ANY MORE! AT LEAST IT WAS QUALITY GOLD.

All was a void. A pit of nothingness that was empty empty empty and could never be filled no matter how much you poured into it. He became a mere speck within it.

Everything became everything.

Sensations upon sensations smashed into him like a being pummelled by an endless meteor shower.

His body was torn at, and he let himself be opened from the inside to reveal the ugliness that was stored deep in his winding, slimy entrails and backend, charred, ashen heart.

Static filled his ears, and for once he welcomed it. The absolute and definitive loss he had suffered had stolen his ability to feel ever again. He could never be put back together.

Bill let himself become lost amongst the stars. Cold and empty and burning and overflowing.

Alone. As always.

~

Mabel Pines ended up in a random area of Gravity Falls’ wilderness, not too far from the house. She had dug through the backpack to cheer herself up with party chocolate, only to realize that she had grabbed Dipper’s accidentally. With her mood dropping to its absolute lowest, she took a one-way trip to Sweatertown. “It's not fair. I just wish summer could last forever,” she softly mumbled herself, curled up under celebratory design.

“That may be more possible than you think.”

“Sweatertown is not accepting incoming calls right now.”

“Sho-Mabel-leaf, it's me.”

Mabel pulled down her collar. She’d know that very unique nickname anywhere. “Grunkle Bill?”

Sure enough, her younger, blonder uncle came out from the darkness of the forest. He somehow appeared even worse than before. His clothes had weird rips in them, his knees were dotted with gravel, and a red smear painted the cheek underneath his bad eye. His eyepatch was missing and his bangs were out of control, covering his seeing eye from her. She gasped at the sight and quickly made her way over to him, inspecting his wounds.

“Bill, what happened?!” She cried, her previous troubles forgotten in the face of his. “Did you fall down a mountain or something?!”

“I’d say so, since a hill is just like a dwarf mountain, yeah?” Her uncle replied calmly, seemingly uncaring of his injuries. “These are baby wounds, kiddo, don’t sweat it!” He patted her head a bit too hard, but Mabel didn’t mind. “I couldn’t help but hear what you just said, though. About not wanting summer to end?”

Mabel tucked herself gently against the older man, hiding her tears in his tarnished shirt. She breathed in his faded but familiar cologne, but with a tinge of iron. “Yeah…”

“Look…honey. I hated to see how upset you were earlier, so I’ve been thinking: I know a lot about magic and science and all kinds of wacky mechanical stuff. There may be a way that I could make it so that you have more time. That we all have more time. The Time Police would never admit to its existence, since it's against the rules, but I love breaking the rules! It’s called a time bubble, and it prevents time from going forward. Summer in Gravity Falls can last as long as you want it to!” He rubbed her back soothingly. “Stanley and I could stay in the Mystery Shack while you and Pine Tree could still be kids.”

The girl’s hope was renewed by such an attractive suggestion. ”R-Really? But how does it work?”

“I think Sixer may have just the little gizmo I need to make it happen.” Bill grabbed a nearby stick and shakily drew with it, creating a little dome attached to a rectangular platform in the dirt. “It's something small. He won't even know it's missing.”

A lightbulb went off. “Huh. Maybe Dipper has something like that in his nerd-bag.” She began to rifle through the rest of her brother’s belongings. After a minute, she pulled out the glowing orb and happily presented it to Bill. “This it?”

“Absolutely!” Bill cheered. “Ready for a little more summer, my little chaos agent?”

“Just a little more summer,” she repeated as the strange object was taken from her. The wind began to pick up, its low howling growing in octave.

“Oops.” Bill smiled cheekily as he dropped it, further stomping on the glass and decimating the container.

Mabel gaped at the destruction of what was supposed to be the key to saving her hopes and dreams. “What?! Bill, why did you do that?!”

The man only crowed maniacally, sounding just like a murder. “Sorry, Shooting Star, but William Birch isn’t in right now. You can leave a message for him, though.” He pushed back the curly bangs to reveal a glowing yellow eye with a black slit.

“Oh no!” the girl exclaimed, backing away fearfully as the truth was revealed to her, the consequences of her actions slamming into her. “Wait, wait, wait!’

The demon in human flesh simply snapped his fingers, and Mabel instantly fell unconscious, plummeting to the ground. Cipher continued to laugh as the possessed body began to hover in mid-air and he sprung out, revealing his true pointed form. He took care to keep Birch's body suspended above the Earth. You had to keep your puppets in good condition, after all! He learned that the hard way.

“At last! At long, long last! The gateway between worlds has opened! The event one billion years prophesied has come to pass!” He began to rise above the peaks of the towering forest. “The day has come! The world is finally mine!” His proclamation blared out, and his cackling went on and on as the rift began to rip an opening into the Nightmare Realm, an ugly X-shaped scar deforming the sky above Gravity Falls as it began to infect their universe.

The hurricane-level gusts formed from the intrusion bent the trees as Dipper and Ford ran out of the Mystery Shack, having realized their folly too little too late.

“What's going on?!” Dipper shouted to be heard, pointing at the tear. “What is that?!”

“We're too late! It's the end of the world,” Ford finished solemnly. Dipper could only watch on in disbelief and terror. After everything they did, they failed.

“Bill.”

Chapter Text

Well, here he is! I tried to mimic the show's style for the colored drawings, and you can see I did a few "realistic" sketches as well. And there's a few triangle Bills there, too, just for fun lol.

Since Bill's supposed to be completely human, he doesn't really have any supernatural features. But I still wanted him to come off as unsettling and undeniably "Bill", so he gets to keep his eye shape and has a sharp-looking smile.

I also like to imagine his hair texture being animated like the patterns in the show “Chowder”. To be visually interesting.

Here are the closeups of the colored images. Also sorry for how Stan looks. I tried to follow his appearance from "A Tale of Two Stans", but he still came out wonky. Oops.

Chapter Text

Bill squinted at the shiny, new, and 100% not legal, state ID card Stan had just presented him with. He held the small rectangle as close to his eyeball as possible, as if reducing the distance would make the letters printed on it change. “William Birch?” He flung the hard plastic onto the table, voice rising in pitch as he pitched a fit. “Why do I also have to have a tree name?! I don’t wanna match with you Pines!”

Said evergreen man didn’t rise to the temper tantrum, having been subjected to much more irritating meltdowns at the hands of his new roommate. Besides, he knew that he was very talented when it came to creating new identities for aliases. He had gone through, like, over a dozen of them over the course of his adult life!

“Well, you better get used to it ‘cause you’re not getting a different one.” Stan shut down any more complaints before Bill could continue to whine and bitch as he waved the manilla folder with one William Birch’s birth certificate, social security card, and other documents proving his existence. “This is who you are now until you remember.” Plus it cost too much to go through that particular connection again.

The newly christened man’s lips curled in disgust as he tugged at the hem of his oversized t-shirt, stretching the loose fabric in his bony, destructive fingers. Most of his current wardrobe consisted of old tops and bottoms Stan no longer fit into, couldn’t give less of a shit about, or had nabbed from the second-hand store. Bill wasn’t impressed by the selection when it was first presented to him, cycling through the few articles he tolerated best throughout the week. The de facto homeowner wasn’t about to shell out more than he needed to when there were so many other expenses to juggle now, like extra groceries, higher water bill, and other miscellaneous costs he tried to wiggle out of whenever he could.

“Gee, how generous of you, Dumbo! What else are you gonna dictate about my life? You already picked out all the clothes I wear, what food is in the house, and where I can and can’t go, so what’s next on the list? When I shit and piss? How many times a minute I’m allowed to breathe? It’s like I’m living under an authoritarian dictatorship where my will is constantly being flattened underneath yours!”

“Oh, go tell it on a mountain.” The ever-growing pile of criticisms was dismissed with an exasperated eye roll as Stan headed into his office to secure the files in a safe so they couldn’t be lit on fire or thrown in the blender in revenge, though a twinge of guilt flickered through him despite his apathetic words. The nagging complaints were well-founded. He had been doing a lot of strong-arming, even if it was in the best interests of both of them.

Bill wasn’t normal, which was lowballing just how not normal he actually was. Even after traveling to three different countries and meeting freaky menageries of drifters, Stan would still have to put his newest acquaintance in a category of his own. He either had no sense of social norms or just didn’t give a damn, though more likely it was a mixture of the two. That meant Stan was constantly weirded out by him one way or another.

Their living arrangement was improving, if slightly. Bill finally stopped trying to steal his car keys to go on unsupervised joyrides having realized it was a lost cause. The automobile’s careful owner had resorted to sleeping with them slung around his neck and was lightning fast even when unconscious to ward off any attempts to filch them.

Bill’s appetite was also doing better as he expanded his culinary palette to include more interesting dishes, like spaghetti. Apparently the shape and color of the long noodles splattered with marinara sauce let him imagine that he was slurping down someone's bloody innards. The New Jersey native did the same when he was younger, so that probably wasn’t an indication that his housemate was a cannibal, even if the guy liked to eat his own scabs. The skeleton was finally adding some meat to his frail bones.

The cracked-face man’s motor control was steadily growing in finesse, but was still incredibly careless with his safety. The klutz had to be watched so he didn’t accidentally tumble down the stairs and crack open his noggin even with his new cane, so Stan had to keep the gangly man in the periphery of his eyesight whenever he moved between floors. He rarely learned from his fumbles and falls that left his knees skinned bloody and elbows bruised black-and-blue. Actually, most times the fucking nutjob looked like he enjoyed his self-inflicted injuries, always prodding and opening up his scabs, irritating the minor wounds so that they healed at a snail’s pace, ensuring they’d become patterns of scars criss-crossing all over him. Tiny constellations of dots and lines all across the fresh flesh.

That meant Stan on babysitting duty 24/7, even after he told himself that he wouldn’t be bothered if Bill mutilated himself. It was his own body he was slowly abusing, after all. As long as his brain could compute all the shit Stan needed it to do, they were golden. Yet Stan still found himself emptying the kitchen of all the forks and knives, replaced with spoons in the cutlery drawer, after the masochist played the “how deep can I stab this utensil into my arm before we can’t dig it out?” game one too many times. The poor brunette just wanted to stop checking the prongs of his fork for dried blood he had missed before eating.

Nor could he leave the phone plugged in unattended, fearing that Bill would start randomly prank calling the numbers logged in Stanford’s phonebook. He nearly had a conniption when Shermie of all people was phoned at 3 AM, though thankfully his older brother hadn’t answered.

All of these stressful situations typically imploded in a screaming match when the hot-blooded swindler met his limit, the engine that fueled his rage collapsing in on itself. Looking back, it was just Stan hollering his head off until he was red in the face while Bill huddled against the wall like a frightened child. As if he were afraid of Stanley and his capacity for violence despite never having been struck by the bigger man.

The quick-talker could handle himself with confidence in their verbal spats easily with his degrading insults and vicious one-liners, but went silent whenever Stan got physically upset. One of the sure-fire ways to get Bill in line was to unleash that snarling ugliness inside of him. But it was like slapping an already-dry adhesive over a gaping gunshot wound. It could barely cover the hole and let it heal. It just made Stan feel even worse about everything. He didn’t want to be like this, constantly cycling through bouts of rampage and weariness, but the John Doe he had dragged in possessed an unique ability to draw forth everything Stan wanted to hide about himself from the world.

All Stanley could truly rely on Bill to do was work on the portal with him. It was one of the only times the typically scatter-brained man would actually focus and apply himself seriously, the equations and codes occupying his mind completely. Brilliant in intellect but useless in every other way… though there was that one time when Bill helped him break into the police department. The guy thrived on anarchy and could have made a semi-decent heist buddy in another life.

Stan heaved a heavy sigh once he tucked the papers away, the air in his lungs weighing him down, aware that they would be safe only for as long as it would take for Bill to pick the lock. He tugged open the desk drawer farthest from him, the wood catching on the rough grain, and dug out a fat cigar from the near-empty humidor. He had been smoking through these babies faster than he had wanted to nowadays, but he still lit one up and took a long draw to ease his nerves.

It would all work out, somehow. It had to. It’s just that everything would all be so much, or at least a pinch, easier if he could just trust Bill to not unintentionally off himself or turn Stan in to the cops. All that could be held over Bill’s head, that kept him tight on the leash, were threats and the draw of the portal. The narcissistic asshole was unpredictable at best, and half the time it wasn’t even on purpose. Bill, despite insisting that everything that he did was intentional, was ultimately clueless, and Stan could tell it frustrated him.

A time that stood out to Stan had happened just last night.

The recliner was for his ass and his ass only, so each time Bill would try to claim dominion over it, bristling like a territorial feral tomcat from his perch on the cushion, Stan would simply lift him by the armpits and hoist him up and out of the seat. The action always seemed to catch the beanpole off-guard, and he’d freeze in the air dumbly until he was returned to the ground. Afterwards, he’d huffily either march away to go find another source of entertainment or plop down on the ground as if he was taking a stand and refusing to back down.

The latter had just occurred, with Bill purposefully arranging his limbs in the most unnatural positions to block as much of the screen as possible from Stan’s eyes.

“Keep it up, asshole, and I’m sending you to the freak show. They could use you in one of their acts,” Stan remarked, not as threateningly as he meant it to be since the poses Bill was pulling right now were frankly ridiculous. His entire back was lifted off of the ground such that his legs went over his head to rest on the floor on the other side, and his arms were raised over his head to hold his feet, making a distorted triangle shape with his body.

“I have no clue as to what you’re talking about,” the self-taught gymnast replied easily, if a bit out of breath as he struggled to maintain the contortion. Spite was always a good source of motivation, and Bill was full of it. “Don’t all humans lounge around like this?”

There he went again. “Humans”. As if he belonged to another species. It couldn’t be ruled out.

“Not any humans I’ve ever met.” Stan craned his neck around the maybe-human knot to focus on the show that was airing: Warehouse Battles. “Can’t you do that shit, I dunno, like a foot to the right? This is actually one of the good shows they play on this lame network.”

Bill shifted his own neck to the side to check out what had caught the other’s interest, and for a second Stan was sure that the delicate bones housed within would finally snap under the odd angle. “THIS series? Good? Your standards are subpar as ever, Big Nose.”

“Yeah, because YOU got such amazing taste.”

“Compared to you? Absolutely.”

The pretzel untwisted himself and finally stood up straight, joints cracking with a sharp snap from being released from the strain. “I’ll show ya what QUALITY television looks like.” He made a beckoning gesture with his hand towards the remote that Stan was loosely gripping on the arm rest, who now gripped it tighter.

“What part of I wanna watch my goddamn show isn’t getting through your dumb skull, numskull?”

Bill stared at him. Stan stared right back. A lull in the room. It didn’t last.

The remote was immediately hidden between the cushion and Stan’s body as the blonde lunged forward, the larger man shifting his bulkier body this way and that so that there was little chance of grabbing it.

“Just give it to me!” Bill demanded, pulling at Stan’s thighs as he searched underneath the now-chuckling grifter, who just leaned more of his weight so the fingers got crushed. Tugging and twisting made it no easier to escape the constricting trap. “Why do you always gotta choose what we watch?!”

Stan let out a condescending guffaw as he continued to lord over the loser, lungs shrugging off the load it had before as his chest felt buoyed up by the laughter. “Remember, buck-o: it’s my TV! So what I say goes!”

But Bill did not throw in the towel yet, pushing his arm a little further and snaking forward an inch more so that one of his pointer fingers could rest on one of the buttons of the remote.

“UGH, YOU-”

The combination of Stan’s weight and Bill’s nudge activated the device, and the TV display began to blare out static fuzz, an irritating crackling taking over the noise in the small room. A lost network, or simply one with bad reception. Either way, it no longer existed for their viewing pleasure.

Okay: now this was all cutting into his leisure time a bit too long.

“Ah, look what you did! ” He reached under himself to pull out the remote and flip back to the original channel when he noticed that Bill was no longer wrestling for it anymore. His hand was still lodged under Stan’s thigh, but it was a limp, severed appendage. No connection.

Stan glanced at Bill, about to demand what was up to this time, when he caught the expression that had overtaken the gaunt man’s face.

Terror.

Pure, real terror.

The kind that sunk into your body and made you believe that any time you had felt safe had been a lie. That you would never find peace or feel comfort ever again. That you would always be watching and waiting for the monster to finally find you.

You would have thought the guy just watched his family get murdered right in front of him from the sickly, nauseated twist of his lips as the trembling fingers of his free hand covered his empty socket.

“Hey, Bill-” He didn’t even get to ask his question before Bill yanked his arm free and fled the room into the gift shop, clearly heading to the basement to hunker down and hide from whatever was tormenting him. Stan knew the guy didn’t have peaceful dreams when he did manage to fall asleep, but had never seen this happen before while they were both awake.

Once the sound of the vending machine opening and closing had come and gone, Stan realized his arm was halfway raised, as if about to reach out. He dropped it.

So yeah: Bill, or now William Birch, was a real piece of work. Stan’s piece of work. He brought this upon himself, after all, by making that deal the early, starry morning they had met. It really made Stan wonder what the hell the guy had been through before he lost his memories to end up this messed up. The mind forgot but obviously still remembered. Must have been some life-altering shit. He really hoped Ford hadn’t been caught up in it, though judging by how easily his unhinged twin had whipped out a crossbow on him, it was always a possibility.

After his cigar was reduced to a fat nub, having served its purpose, Stan stood up and cracked his stiff back, adjusting the vertebrae. Break time was over, so now he had to put together a few new attractions for the upcoming summer tourist season: his main source of revenue. He had learned from experience that getting most of this work out of the way in the colder months when business was slower kept the Murder Hut in semi-decent shape.

Off to his “workshop” he went, which for now was just a room with a table, a bunch of “thrifted” taxidermied animal figures he disassembled into smaller parts, and tons of glue, tape, and staples. That was where all of Mr. Mystery’s magic happened.

However, the space wasn’t as unoccupied as he thought. There, with the hot glue gun heated in an “on” position and oozing onto the table, was Bill.

He hadn’t noticed Stan’s entrance yet as he was frantically trying to extract something out of his disheveled, frizzy hair. Stan just about to open his fat mouth to demand what the hell Bill was up to now but stopped himself. With his desperate tugging, low hisses, and rapid fluttering of his eyelid, it was clear that a timer for a meltdown was rapidly counting down, almost at zero.

“Bill,” Stan finally spoke after a minute of watching the fruitless endeavor, bluntly announcing his presence. Bill jolted in the chair and turned to face the door, his face turning an even more unattractive hue of red at being caught in the middle of such a vulnerable state.

“GO AWAY,” he screeched, but it came off more as a pained yelp as he pulled too hard on his sensitive scalp.

“Uh, want any help?”

Sharper-than-average canines were bared and put on full display as if ready to take a bite. “NO, I DON’T. I’M HAVING A GRAND TIME.”

“Do you need help?”

Goldilocks tore out some pieces of his hair, slightly panting as if he were on the brink of hyperventilating. Stan eyed him carefully, but casually walked over as if nothing was amiss.

Bill tensed but didn’t leap away, so he was allowed a closer look at what had gotten tangled in the crazy mop: a little top hat. They were used to decorate the smaller attractions to make them look dapper. Tourists found humanized animal statues “adorable” or something. Now he saw the issue: Bill must have tried to hot glue the mini accessory to his head. That was surprisingly a cutesy idea, even if the execution was horrible.

He snorted in spite of the tension at the sight. As unpredictable as ever. “You’re too big for that.”

“Shut up,” Bill immediately retaliated, hunching in on himself and looking away from Stan, embarrassment practically being emitted as heat as he impossibly flushed even more, a fleshy radiator. “It was working out fine.”

“I’m sure it was.” A thick thumb jabbed towards the door. “Come on, let’s fix it before you ruin the rest of it. That glue shit’s hard to get out.” With those parting words, he left and made his way into the hallway and towards the bathroom. The invitation was clear. Bill could take it or leave it.

For a long moment, Stan was sure that Bill wasn’t going to follow since the guy typically preferred keeping his distance when he felt too exposed. But just as Stan was about to head into the tiled room, he heard light footsteps, bare feet hitting the wooden boards, padding behind him. That was some progress at least.

The faucet was turned on first to run the hot water while he rummaged through the cabinets, grabbing the scissors he kept on the highest shelf, for obvious reasons, and a thin comb. He gestured for Bill to sit on the toilet next to the sink, who slowly lowered himself after closing the lid, posture screaming how unsure he still was despite willingly choosing to come in here. Stan approached with the collected items in hand, attempting to get a better perspective of what he was working with.

“Okay Mr. Fixer-upper: let’s hope the two weeks I worked at a barber shop back in ‘74 stuck with me.”

Bill groaned, a put-upon, oppressed sound as if he were the one shelling out a favor out of the non-existent goodness of his heart. “Great. I got an amateur with scissors near my most vital organ.”

“Ain’t that the heart?”

“Not for me.”

With no other loud protests from his tricky client aside from some half-hearted mutters, Stan got to work: wetting the problem area with some warm water, pulling the struck strands off the hat with the comb, and cutting away what was unsalvageable.

He took his time, not rushing the process despite how jittery Bill was, nervously fidgeting and moving his head as if he couldn’t bear to keep his head in one direction for too long. Stan had to constantly tilt that pointed chin back to correct the positioning, but he understood. He never could stay still when Ma would take him and Ford to the barbers. Nearly got the top of his ear nicked clean off one time, though the younger, dumber version of himself had thought that would be the mark of a rugged man. Maybe then his ears would be the normal size, ha!

“So,” Stan started off conversationally as if they were gossiping at a salon, clipping another stuck collection of locks before adding more water, the hard glue lessening its clingy grip under such attentive ministrations. “Why did you need to glue the hat to your head?”

Bill barked out a haughty, grating chuckle, as if answering such a question was beneath him. “I don’t need to have a reason! I just follow my patented decision-making method: do whatever I want, whenever I want! There’s no rhyme or reason to my madness!”

Then he put on that creepy-ass smile, like jagged porcelain rearranged to create half of a plate, that Stan had told him off for. Especially when Stan had woken up in the recliner to it only a foot away from his face. It was the only time he had ever screamed in fear due to Bill, but now Stan didn’t shudder at the sight anymore, much to the other’s displeasure.

An impersonation of a loud, incorrect buzzer sound from all those generic game shows filled the bathroom. “BZZZT. Wrong answer. Try again.”

Stan continued combing as Bill, who was taken aback at being called out so blatantly, just sat there, catching on a lot more knots than he expected. He frowned thoughtfully as he began to drag his fingers through it to help untangle the tied-up bundles. He didn’t notice the man underneath him shudder at the contact.

“Sweet Moses; it’s a real rat’s nest.” He managed to loosen the hat enough to free it and hand it to Bill before attacking the rest of the bush. “Haven’t you been brushing it?”

“Ugh, I gotta do that too?!” Bill bellyached at the revelation he had another tiresome chore when it came to his body’s well-being, twirling the small hat around his index finger. “Ain’t it enough that I brush my teeth and sit in the tub of water once and a while?!”

Right. Bill probably didn’t know how to take care of his hair at all, especially something finicky like curls.

“Not if you wanna look halfway decent. If you’re sticking with me, you gotta put some effort into your looks because looks sell, capiche?”

The thin appendage stopped moving and the hat rotated around a few more times before the lack of applied force made it go still. “You…want me to help with the Murder Hut?”

“Eh, maybe just making some attractions for me first. I’ll even let you make ‘em scary as long as they don’t horribly scar the kids. Why?”

The other man looked incredulously up at his impromptu barber. “Because you barely let me out of the house? Or let me do anything on my own? I’ve barely even talked to another person since I’ve been here!” He let out a derisive, sharp laugh that sliced into what little survived of Stan’s conscience after all these years. “And now you’re talking as if you’d trust me enough to help out with your precious business? As if!”

A weary sigh escaped, pushed out by a weird sense of responsibility the older, more world-weary man rarely felt for anyone. “Well…yeah. You’re…right.”

That didn’t come out of his stubborn mouth easily, his vocal chords grating against each other to make his words even rougher than usual.

That derailed Bill’s complain-train before he could add more coals to the engine.

“What?”

“You’re right,” Stan repeated, the admission once again forced. “You ain’t the easiest person to deal with, not by a long shot, but I’ve also been a pretty big asshole. I just found you outside with no memories, got you to stay with me, and put you to work on some shit that’s probably outlawed by all the governments in the world. That must be pretty fuckin’ shitty to deal with.”

Wow, saying all of that out loud really made him sound like a huge creep. “If you hate me, I’d understand. I’d hate me too if I were you.”

Bill just continued to stare, gaze wide and dark with that dusky blue eye. As if Bill didn’t recognize Stan, or perhaps was seeing him for the first time ever. All Stan could do was glance away, embarrassed and laid bare. Time to move on from all that.

“Look, we need to be better to each other,” he laid it out, gently brushing out Bill’s freed curls with the wet comb and letting the repetitive motions soothe him as he babbled. “We’re the only people we have in each other’s lives, so we gotta do more than just work together on the portal. We also gotta be able to work together as people.”

“Like partners?” The one-eyed man asked, a strange emphasis on the word. As if it were almost sacred. But Stan knew that he and Bill weren’t ones to worship any beliefs.

Stan nodded, putting down his tools so he could free up his hands. “Yeah, partners. If not each other, then who else?”

“Well…you CAN’T get rid of me because you NEED me, don’t you Stan?” Bill knowingly bit out. “That’s the reason I’m here in the first place.”

“Right again,” the man on a mission agreed without any shame. He had always been honest about that, if nothing else. “I do need you. I mean, I think I’d eventually get it because I’d have to, but with your abilities and skills, I’d be dumb not to get your help and figure it out quicker. But I shoulda gone about it differently.”

That one eye narrowed consideringly, appraising the new offer. “And what would this partnership look like?”

Good question. What did it mean to be someone’s partner?

“Well, it would mean that we cover for each other,” Stan contemplated, trying to make it simple. Because at the end of the day, their arrangement didn’t need to be complicated. It just had to be enough. Stan wouldn’t expect more than that. He couldn’t expect more than that.

“That we got each other’s backs. We’d always be there for each other. I’d still get the final say since this is my place, and we really gotta keep our covers intact, but I’ll listen more to what you want and let you call the shots once and a while. If things get better and work out, I’ll trust you more to do your own thing.”

The prospective partner fussed with a wet curl that hung over his face, falling down the bridge of his nose and sticking there. “Such as…I can go into the woods whenever I want?”

“As long as you don’t get seriously injured and come back at the end of the day, yeah.”

“I can eat whatever I want?”

“Just don’t waste all the groceries or burn the place down.”

“I can drive your car?! Equal pay?!”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, pal.”

A miniscule, but undoubtedly pleased smile barely rearranged Bill’s face into something almost pleasant. It was so normal that Stan almost did a double take in shock. “Well, that sounds like a better deal than the one we have right now.”

“Oh, this isn’t a deal,” Stan clarified, coming to stand in front of Bill before crouching to his level. Equal.

“This is more like a promise, ya know? Deals are fake, like you know the other guy’s got a secret clause or loophole to screw you over. A promise is real. You can trust it.”

“Well, how do you make a promise then?” The amnesiac questioned, honestly unsure of how to go about this. As if he never made a promise before. Perhaps he hadn’t. Bill didn’t come across as the type to keep his promises, so this was also a gamble on Stan's part. But he simply extended his pinky to Bill, who looked puzzled, before the realization set in.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“A pinky promise? Seriously? We’re not kids!”

“Hey, kids got most things in life pat down. They eat ice cream for dinner, roll around in dirt, and make pinky promises. And they’re happy enough with just that. Maybe we could learn a thing or two from them.”

And when kids made promises, they actually believed in them. Dreams were born from promises, and they lived on long after everything else was destroyed. Even the people who made them.

Bill shook his head, almost in disbelief. “You’re ridiculous, Stan Pines.”

But he still reached out and wrapped his pinky around Stan’s. His nails were bitten down to raw nubs and his cuticles were stripped and ripped, leaving behind exposed sores. The skin was nearly translucent, as thin as fine silk where it was wrapped around the knuckles. And while Stan could barely feel any heat from them, they were somehow warm.

They sealed their first promise by pressing their thumbs together, and if Stanley were a spiritual man, he’d reminisce on this moment and say that this fleeting touch was the start of a new beautiful life.

“Stanley.”

“Huh?”

“My name is Stanley Pines,” the fraternal impersonator revealed.

“My brother is Stanford Pines. But I go by Stan since I had to fake my death and assume his identity to keep his house. Now don’t go blabbin’ to anybody, or I’ll tell ‘em you’re crazy,“ he winked teasingly, despite that actually being a semi-serious threat. He wasn’t gonna spill his guts to the guy, but this was one secret he wanted Bill to know. For someone to know him as “Stanley”. To see him as him, even with half the number of eyes a human typically had.

Bill’s eyebrows raised high on his forehead as he took that in. “Really? Now THAT makes all the diplomas I found in that old bedroom make sense. You really went all in for your brother, didn’t you?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” They let go over each other’s fingers, buzzing and energized. “I have to save him.”

“I know.”

Stan finished putting away the scissors and the comb in the mirror’s shelving when the other spoke up again, voice low and hesitant and so unlike Bill.

“It felt right. On my head.” He fidgeted with the small hat again. As if remembering a bittersweet, tormenting memory with a wistful, unseeing gaze. “But it didn’t work out. Just looked stupid.”

“Nah,” Stan closed the cabinet over the sink, the latch click-ing. “You just need one in your size. Maybe we could find one at the mall and finally get you some clothing that doesn’t look like you’re wearing a pillowcase while we’re at it.”

That had the anophthalmic excitedly perk up. “Seriously?”

“If you behave yourself.” Stan waggled a finger teasingly. Bill lurched forward as if to bite it, threateningly snapping his teeth, so it was pulled back just as quickly.

“That’s exactly what you do to NOT go to the mall!”

“Oh, lighten up, Stanley! You’re such a wet blanket!”

“You could give me rabies for all I know!”

But already, Stan felt more at ease, like he had passed the preliminary trial.

William Birch: his partner.

Now, if the guy truly did come to him from a wishing star, Stan woulda wanted someone a little less mentally disturbed, but he had a hopeful feeling that they were gonna learn to work well together. It was only a matter of ti-

BZZZZRT

Chapter Text

“Aaaand just like that, dudes! Can you see it now?”

Soos steps back a bit so that his bosses’ niece and nephew can peer into the eyepiece and take in the magnified celestial bodies.

The twins both go to look and accidentally bump their foreheads against each other, hard.

“OUCH,” they exclaim in unison, drawing back slightly, before they go for it again, attempting to shoulder-check the other out of the way.

“Mabel, stop it!”

“Not until you move your dork-mongusly big head!”

”That’s not even a word!”

Soos simply smiles at their small, benign squabble while Wendy laughs from where she lounges on the cartoonishly-long hood of the Stan mobile.

In the background, Stan and Bill dance to the car radio, cheek to cheek. Heated flesh against chilled flesh, as if connected. Facing the opposite direction, but sharing the same view.

There might be a meteor shower just above them, forever fleeting as it races across the sky and disappears into the unknown.

“This is nice.”

“It’s a nice night.”

“It’s not just the night that’s nice.”

“Care to give me a few examples, or are ya gonna make me guess, babe?”

A teasingly hum, a sweet sound that rarely comes out as pleasant, is drawn out for a couple of seconds. “You give one, and I’ll give one.”

“If that’s how you wanna play.”

“Don’t games make it more fun?”

Stan had let Bill choose the station for tonight. Their music tastes barely overlap, but they’ve come to appreciate the other’s favorites over the years.

The aged stereo warbles out Frank Sinatra’s smooth baritone, timeless as ever. Or maybe it was Henry Mancini’s rendition, or even Andy Williams' vocals. Bill personally prefers Audrey, all breathy and aching. Either way, the same song plays as it always does.

The rest of their group quiets as Mabel lets Dipper go first since he claims that his birthmark gives him first dibs. It was difficult to form a counterargument against that.

The couple sways a bit more, drifting together. Rocking back and forth, holding each other. Back and forth and back and forth.

A swaying and bobbing barge at sea pushed by the waves of time. The dark ocean continues to hang over them, threatening to crash in one crushing flood. Moon beams flow down like a gentle river. All is suspended here.

Bill squeezes tighter around a ghost of a person, a faint imprint of a memory already fading. Leaving him.

“Okay, uh, the kids are actually behaving. For once.” A raspy chuckle pours out freely. It’s joined by its pitchier counterpart. “Maybe we should let ‘em play with your nerdy space toys more often. Keeps them distracted.”

“Hey! My ‘nerdy space toys’ are expensive pieces of equipment that cost thousands of dollars.”

“When has that ever been an issue for us?”

They laugh again, and it’s almost harmonic. A bit off-key.

“But yeah, sure. Soosie is doing pretty good right now, but what they need is a pro to show them the ropes. I’ll get them outta your fez once and a while.”

“Perfect: I can get some peace and quiet for once without those doofuses messing around!”

Both men know he hates peace and quiet.

“And you?”

“Huh?”

“What’s your nice thing?”

Bill presses the meat of his cheek against his partner’s. The short, prickly stubble pokes him, but it’s barely a tickle.

He keeps his eyes forward, straight into the darkness surrounding them that’s broken up by pinpricks of light. Maybe if he stays like this, it will all stay as it’s meant to be.

And yet, something is…off. As if the planet is tilted out of place by the slightest degree. Barely noticeable, but just enough to create a sense of surrealness as it rotates about the wrong axis. His body spins along, vertigo washing over him.

“Bill?”

“...the stars,” he throws out instinctively as he tries to remain steady. A tame, predictable answer, but it befits him. “The stars are nice.”

“Yeah. You’re always staring at the stars, aren’t you? Always wanting more. Never satisfied.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you were never meant for this life, buck-o. You’ve let yourself get pulled in by a dream for too long. It’s time to wake up. Leave all of this behind. Aren’t you ready to level higher?”

Stan twirls Bill out of his arms before yanking him back in a bit too harshly. As if Bill is top with a string he can tug on. Not allowing the other man to make any movements on his own. The world tilts even more, out of balance. Or is it Bill who’s out of whack?

“Why are you hesitating?” Is cooed in a discordant timbre that Bill has never heard before from his spouse. It rings through his ear canal and slams against his ear drum, piercing the sensitive organ.

“What’s there to hold back for? There’s nothing to lose. It’s already gone. That means there’s everything to gain.”

Bill decides to face the off-key music and pulls back a bit to look his dance partner in the eye.

It isn’t Stanley.

His smile is typically never so tight nor pulled so tensely by corners of his mouth, not even as Mr. Mystery.

His face holds no emotion. It’s just an amalgam of skin and cartilage and bone rearranged in the shape of Stanley’s visage. A mask of flesh. A mockery of the human being Bill holds most dear.

And his eyes…they might as well not even be held in their sockets, nearly popping out of the skull as they are. Bill can barely make out the eyelids with how wide and open the stare is, eyeballs intensely peering down at him as though they could make him combust on the spot with their intensity.

The shade of brown of the iris is duller than it ever was. There’s a sickly yellow coloration flickering out from the sclera, like a neon light covered by white film but still too strong to dim or hide it.

“Get out,” he growls, trying to release himself from the suddenly constricting embrace with the strength his rage suddenly instills in him. It’s still not enough. “Get out of his body! You’re not Stanley!”

OH, ARE YOU FINALLY CATCHING ON NOW? YOU’VE BEEN WAY TOO SLOW ON THE UPTAKE, O’ NEWEST PARTNER OF MINE.

The telepathic message presses itself into his cerebrum and echoes about in his own voice, but more acute and strident than he ever imagined it could be. The fake Stanley keeps his yellowing teeth on display for Bill, big arms clutching the struggling man somehow closer to his chest.

WHAT’S THE MATTER? DID YOU WANT ME TO STICK TO THE SCRIPT? I MAY JUST BE AN UNDERSTUDY, BUT I KNOW ALL MY LINES.

The meat puppet trapping him speaks again in Stan’s gruff tone. “Well, the prettiest star I’ve ever seen is right here in front of me.”

Every note is out of tune.

Bill shudders in revulsion as he manages to maneuver one of his hands free, reaching out with sharp claws to scratch the imposter’s face, nails easily sinking in and drawing shaky, cerise lines down the wrinkled cheek. Not a single flinch.

PICKY PICKY. YOU DON’T LIKE MY ARTISTIC RENDITION? CUT ME SOME SLACK HERE! HOW’S A GUY SUPPOSED TO ENTERTAIN HIMSELF SURROUNDED BY ALL THIS DOMESTIC CRAP? YEESH! I READ, LIKE, 23 CHAPTERS! 24 IF YOU COUNT THOSE GARBAGE SCRIBBLES. WE SHOULD BOTH SUE FOR DEFAMATION.

“You-”

LEMME CUT TO THE CHASE. YOU GOT TOO LOST IN YOUR MINDSCAPE WHILE I WAS SETTING UP THE GREATEST PARTY OF ALL EXISTENCE. I HAD TO JUMP ALL OVER THE TIMELINE JUST TO CATCH A GLIMPSE OF YOU BEFORE YOU SLIPPED AWAY SOMEWHERE ELSE. YOU COULDN’T HEAR ME, SO I FIGURED I HAD TO BE SOMETHING YOU COULDN’T RESIST. OR, RATHER, SOMEONE.

Bill snarls at the hidden voice, attempting to mask his confusion, though it is likely a lost cause since the guy is in his thoughts. Who is this being invading his mind? Last he can recall, he-

Oh.

YEAH, OH. AND NOW, YOU’VE BEEN HIDING HERE OF ALL PLACES. PREEEEETTY PATHETIC TO KEEP CRAWLING BACK TO THE MEMORY OF A GUY WHO SOLD YOU OUT AFTER YOU GAVE HIM YOUR ENTIRE LIFE.

“Shut the fuck up,” he tries to threaten, but he’s so weak now that he remembers how he ended up in this predicament. There’s no fight in him. There’s nothing to fight for. Nothing to catch the spark and light up. He had completely surrendered to Cipher’s will when they shook hands.

Those large palms, sturdy and freezing and not Stanley’s, slide down to his hips and squeeze. Bill wants to not react, but he still involuntarily stiffens, body taut.

IF I KEPT PLAYING ALONG WITH THIS MEMORY, YOU WOULDN’T HAVE SUSPECTED A THING, WOULDN’T YOU?

The human counterpart is sharply dipped down, cradled by burly forearms as the stars illuminate the dupe’s gray hair. It would be almost intimate under different circumstances as the piloted toy breathes stale air onto his face. He doesn’t feel it.

WOULD YOU HAVE DRAGGED ME DOWN TO THE BASEMENT AND LET ME PLAY WITH YOU ON THE DESK? I KNOW HOW THIS GOES BECAUSE I’VE SEEN IT BEFORE. FROM BOTH PERSPECTIVES, Y’KNOW? I BET YOU’D NEVER TELL THE DIFFERENCE ONCE I GOT YOU ON YOUR-

“UGH, WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” Bill shouts to cut off the rest of the sentence, face bright and nearly letting off steam into the night’s crisp air from the degrading implications. “I LET YOU DO WHAT YOU WANTED ALREADY, SO WHAT ELSE IS THERE?!”

He is suddenly released and lands on the ground while the automaton rises to its full height. He can’t believe he was so delusional to ever think that it was Stanley at all.

”WHAT ELSE IS THERE?” YOU NEED TO WIDEN YOUR HORIZONS, YOU SAD LEAKING SACK OF FLUIDS. HOW ABOUT YOU STOP DAWDLING SO WE CAN FINALLY BLOW THIS POPSICLE STAND. IT’S OVERPRICED AND DOESN’T SELL THE BRAND I LIKE.

“And go where?”

YOUR NEW REALITY, PAL!

Rigid limbs are awkwardly thrown out to gesture to everything as the setting fades into the background, removing them from the moment. His family’s colors go grayscale as they broadcast into pixels. Never to be seen again.

GET READY BECAUSE THERE’S SUCH A LOT OF WORLD TO SEE. I JUST GOTTA DIG AROUND BACK HERE A BIT, AND IT SHOULD RESTORE EVERYTHING! KEY WORD IS “SHOULD”. LEMME KNOW IF IT WORKS OR NOT LATER. NOW WHERE DID I PUT THOSE PLIERS?

“WAIT-”

SNIP

…

…

…

Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story

of that being skilled in all ways of pretending,

the monster, haunted for years on end,

after he annihilated the reality

of the proud planes of Euclydia.

…

…

…

Bill Cipher is not born Bill Cipher.

His true name can never be reimagined, for the language it was born from is now dead, so in this tale, he will be referred to as “Bill”.

His creation is not predestined by a prophecy, nor heralded by a heavenly messenger, as one would be inclined to believe.

He is not meant to be a savior. Nor a king meant to rule and lead his people into a new era of prosperity.

His mother does not lay him in a manger, surrounded by the livestock housed within, because they can not be accommodated elsewhere. Three Magi do not arrive twelve days later and present this divine child with gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

No. Bill is born as all triangle children in Euclydia were born. The process is predictable. Orderly. Expected. Average.

But not perfect.

The product is unforeseen. Or, more accurately, undesired.

Bill Cipher is born wrong. The deformity grants him an all-seeing ability that is feared rather than revered in the land of the blind. The nurses rapidly whisper to one another as his parents worriedly ask questions.

And yet, when he blinks that serendipitous eye and gazes where no one else can, there is a bright light high above him. A star. Welcoming him and only him as it sparkles pink. Bill reaches up for it.

If this isn’t a sign of future greatness, then what is?

Bill Cipher is not born a monster.

…

…

…

In a world as flat as can be

There was a child that could see

All that which did not exist

Beyond the limits he’d insist

Directions that made no sense

Pretty lights had him entranced

Nothing could persuade him that

What he saw was not a fact

Both his parents worried a lot

Took little Billy to see the doc

And said our son sees things that we

Know for sure cannot be

I know just what these visions are

And let me tell ya, they’re bizarre

Three sips a day of this drinky

And he’ll be fixed in a jiffy

The optometrist’s words were the law

Euclid and Scalene must fix this flaw

So now their one eyed child would find

What it meant to live life blind

…

…

…

Every day, three times a day, Scalene would follow the orders from above concerning her fussy, pouting son. It was akin to dragging him kicking and screaming up a tall, rugged mountain.

Mountains don’t exist in Euclydia.

Baby Billy never finds this thrice daily ritual fun.

He watches, always watching, as she mixes together his “special juice”. “Special” is supposed to mean “good”, but Billy is starting to think there’s more to it.

The red triangle places the cup down and pushes it towards him, and the smaller, yellow triangle pretends to not see it.

“Billy, it’s time for your drink.” She nudges the drink ever closer, right in front of him, yet the cyclops refuses to pick it up.

Scalene is not amused by the display, not anymore, with her vibrant scarlet hue brightening in annoyance before she forcibly settles herself. They have done this too many times. And it’s always up to her. It’s hard not to grow resentful of enduring this responsibility endlessly. Euclid, too soft and too weak, is never up for the task. So she has to be.

When will he finally be fixed?

That’s why she always whips out this special tool. The pièce de résistance, her little boy’s greatest weakness: a silly straw.

It appears a bit odd to her, more squiggly and curved than most other objects in their world, but the one-eyed child can perceive its true form. It enchants him, his pupil widening as he takes it in. So Scalene draws it out like a knife, ready for the slaughter.

“This straw is as silly as you, my little Billy,” she makes sure to coo sweetly, enticingly, as she prepares the altar. Her son takes his little cup with even smaller hands.

“They make everything better. Remember, even when things seem bad, always try to laugh and have fun. Life is easier that way.”

He goes to take a sip as she stands next to him.

No angel from above intercedes on his behalf. No ram is caught in a nearby thicket by its horns so that it, instead, may be offered up as a burnt offering.

No one ever saves him. This is how it goes.

His mom destroys him three times a day, strips away his most core piece of self as easily as paint off of wood. Like it was never part of him in the first place.

How could she? If she loves him, why-

His mother starts to fade from his sight the more he slurps. Becoming something so basic and plain and red that it’s all he can make out. The world disappears around him, leaving him alone.

The ritual is complete.

What she doesn’t know, or, rather, can’t understand is that he still feels up. Can still feel the emptiness sitting on top of his body, even if he is now blind to it. He can never forget that it’s there.

Soon enough, his vision will be returned to him, and the cycle will repeat. This is how it goes. This is all he knows.

A familiar, weary sigh is drawn out as he begins to whine in discomfort, never liking the sensation. “It’s not going to make much sense now, but it’s for your own good, baby. The doctor says you’re sick.”

The doctor says so. So it must be.

Billy knows he shouldn’t, because the doctor is good, helpful, and right, but he hates the doctor. Mom always chooses the doctor’s words over his pleas.

Billy is not sick. He’s fine. Why is he the only one who sees that?

He hates what his “special juice” does to him. What it is doing to him. He just wants his mom, reaching out and trying to cling to her however he can so she doesn’t leave him any more than she already has.

“No!” He wails, tears already dripping out like an overflowing bucket. There’s a deep well inside that he can always draw from. “Don’t…don’t go. Please.”

Her blurred shape moves away a bit, grabbing something. “I’m right here, Billy. I always am. Now here’s your sandwich. No crust, just how you like it!”

The plate joins the now-empty cup on the table. He can tell by the sound of it clanking on the hard surface.

There is no pain quite like her love.

Billy accepts the meal anyway and eats, something that cannot be fed clawing deep inside him.

…

…

…

Growing up was quite a challenge

Acting normal he could not manage

His anger and frustration grew

Each time a sip made his sight get skewed

Just fit in and all will be fine

Never try to cross the line

These rules were made to keep us safe

Just give in, try not to chafe

Till one day Cipher had enough

Who cared if he wasn’t up to snuff

He gathered everyone to hear

His heart’s desire out loud and clear

I’m sick and tired of you sheep and cattle

If no one will do it, I’ll start the battle!

To fight against this oppressive regime

Who stifles all my hopes and dreams

I just want a world where I can be

Truly and absolutely free

So maybe if all of you could see

Every axis: x, y and z

We can get a makeup in 3D

And then there’d be a jubilee

Bill’s proclamations were crazy

They couldn’t understand

Just how spewing these blasphemies

Would change their motherland

But the gold triangle learned a trick

Straight from the forbidden text

If he could orient them all up

Then he would reach the stars next

But when you lift and tilt the world

Into a dimension they cannot name

The only outcome that is seen

Is all will end up in flames

As for the only one alive

Well tell me

Who else is there to blame?

…

…

…

Bill doesn’t understand how everything culminated in this.

He thought-

But the writings said-

WHY, everyone cut him off as the flickering tendrils continue to snake about and demolish the bounds of their previously 2D reality. They are now boundless, so everyone became everything, bodies disorting far beyond what they ever were. What they ever should be.

But they are. It’s happening. There’s no stopping it.

WHY

DID

YOU

DO

IT

?

Their voices are no longer voices. They are a blank howl of noise, like a ferocious gale that blows through him. Static agitatedly buzzes and penetrates his exterior, displacing everything that is the interior. Erasing his viscera and making him as hollow as he feels.

“I didn’t mean to,” he bawls, frantically trying to reach out to someone, anyone, but they are all moving away from him, streaming out into space like ribbons pulled by invisible strings into the unknown. They drip a rainbow onto him as they leave, splattering him with their radiant colors.

“I just wanted you all to see.”

They still don’t see what he wants them to. And now they never will.

They continue to twist and twist and twist out of shape, bending and contorting as they leak from the unnatural contortions, bodies somehow metamorphosing from the outside in. He can make out the overlapping snaps as their bones buckle to accommodate their new deformities.

Shoulda had more forethought, Prometheus, he thinks miserably to himself, and it’s not enough to encompass how much is irreparably damaged.

But even the Titan who risked stealing the hearth from the gods likely never imagined his gift becoming a curse.

Bill was so certain, was so convinced that he had found the solution to his problems when he learned the truth of up, down, and the z-axis. The third dimension.

The aged tome he had uncovered detailed such wondrous discoveries once known to his people. They were enlightened at some point before they were forced back into the dark, unseeing. Fear kept them down. Blind.

He had just wanted to return that knowledge, that boon, that crucial nurturing fire, to them. For their civilization to finally advance forward and break the constraints imposed on them as they cultivated that flame of knowledge.

And sure, he knew the higher ups would try to enact “justice” on him for his “crimes”, but it would have been a necessary sacrifice. They could have tied him to a boulder and sent an eagle to eat his regenerated liver every day for all he cared. It could not have stopped what he put into motion.

The masses would have finally seen what he could. They would have applauded him as the star that he always was. A shining beacon of hope to the oppressed. A mighty king. A heavenly savior.

They will consider him as a monster now.

It had started out as planned. He followed the instructions exactly, tearing his rigid body out of the mold that held him and, quite literally, popped out. When he looked down, and oh how satisfying it had felt to finally look in that direction, the exact space he had occupied was still there. An empty slot waiting to be filled by the perfect puzzle piece.

But Bill was done playing this game of life by the predetermined rules. It had certainly never done HIM any favors. Just stifled his vision and sabotaged his talents. No more. Not after today.

It was the next part where it all went sideways, per se.

From this point of view, the flat, board plane that was Euclydia was so unimpressive. So unexciting and predictable.

Time to change that.

Even the beaming radiance from above couldn’t persuade him to stop now. He was about to join them.

What he did next had never been attempted before. Even at their most adventurous, his predecessors had never tested this hypothesis they had postulated. It went like this: perhaps if forcibly aligned into the third dimension, thereby giving Euclydia a z-axis, all that existed in that plane would also gain what was called “depth”. A reformation.

So he simply grabbed one of the land’s edges, imbuing his hands with as much strength as he could and just. Lifted. Only a little bit! …maybe a lot. It wasn’t his fault. He was excited, impatient. He was so close.

What none of those philosophers and scientists had accounted for was how the reformation would occur. None had realized that pulling the plane into a three-dimensional shape pulled on everything and everyone housed within.

Bill now realized, and he’d never be able to forget it.

The instant he heard the screams and the soul-filled pain they expressed, as if the very fabric of their beings were being snipped away at, he tried to return it to its original positioning.

But-

It didn’t-

It just started rotating even more. He couldn’t stop what he had put in motion. He couldn’t create enough of an opposing, equal force to cancel it out.

But he endeavored to. He wrestled that blazing, powerful pit that was inside of him and tried to spread it all across his home. To bend it to his will. To restore what was being mangled.

Wrong move. Wrongest move he ever did.

In his panic, he had forgotten the nature of what dwelled deep inside of him. And he had set it free.

It was starving, malnourished from years and years of suppression, so it consumed the entirety of his dimension once unfettered. The oceanic-colored flames, appearing like a sudden tsunami, spread rampantly as it recklessly engulfed entire towns, nations and even land masses. A completely wild inferno that would not stop until nothing was left.

The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.

Only Bill is spared as the cyan fire eventually burns itself out without any fuel, the bodies are spiraling away in all directions, and the static is still clinging to him like fuzz. He thinks he can vaguely hear his mom as a single speck of dust, mere atoms of what remains, floats in front of him. Dangling teasingly, achingly close.

In the midst of all this horrific destruction, what does Bill Cipher do?

Remember, even when things seem bad, always try to laugh and have fun. Life is easier that way.

He laughs.

And he laughs some more.

He laughs because who would have thought he was capable of all this? He would have brought some popcorn to roast if he knew!

He laughs because the bodies of his fellow Euclydians now resemble his favorite straws, long and looping around themselves. They look so silly like this.

He laughs because it’s over. There’s no going back. There’s nothing to go back to. Its existence just ceased before his very eye.

He’s finally free. It’s hilarious. Liberation feels so suffocating. He can barely draw in enough air under the pressure.

He laughs and laughs and laughs and cries and laughs. It all blends together, starting and ending all over the place.

He shakily plucks that little speck and cradles it, careful not to drip on it. “This is going to be so much fun,” he assures it, smiling.

Bill either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as a rosy gleam worriedly peers down at him as the ever-shifting ooze that floats between dimensions moves him along. Down the Road to Hell he goes.

Alone. As always.

…

…

…

Now stuck within the Nightmare Realm

Bill Cipher was behind the helm

An unstable dimension soon to combust

A new living arrangement would be a must

So what was he supposed to do?

The world was cruel, he’d have to be too

Destruction was what he did best

Time to put these powers to the test

So he gathered outcasts, freaks, fans

Began to plot out brand new plans

Into the mindscape himself he threw

So he could reach out to worlds anew

The perfect place had caught his eye

Earth was the ultimate paradise

The Pacific Northwest had the tech he’d need

And the dominant species he’d trick to succeed

A portal, yes that’s just what he would make

And all he’d offer in return was a firm handshake

Yet Cipher’s lies somehow always came out

And so back to the start he’d have to go with a shout

A thousand years would come and go

All his schemes had gone up in smoke

Oh what, oh what, was a triangle to do

As the countdown kept going, tick-tock, next move?

…

…

…

Again.

Again and again.

Again and again and again! This pathetic, bipedal, barely-developed, sorry excuse of a dominant species has failed Bill again! This was becoming a veeeery predictable. Someone needs to introduce a plot twist or something soon or else Bill is gonna leave this story’s conclusion unread.

Really, he isn’t asking for much! Just for them to construct an advanced piece of science beyond anything that ever existed in their short history or prehistory, allow him to take over their watery dust ball, and give it that very-much-needed makeover only Bill can provide!

But noooooo. Every attempt he makes, every partnership he forges, all go spinning sideways before imploding in his “face”. It was bad hand after bad hand every time he made a bet.

The Shaman with his lousy prophecy. That asshole Dark Wizard Xgqrthx and his sneaky orb. The Anti-Cipher Society filled with his ex “partners” seeking his destruction. His run as Silas Birchtree with the Ciphertology cult. And don’t get him started on the “Tri-Angels” Collection. Martha did well, but not well enough to make up for the lack of profits he had lost with his investments. Can he at least fill out a tax deduction for that?

For some reason, every human he makes a deal with isn’t down to party Cipher-style.

Well, it was their loss that they can’t pick up what he was putting down! Who doesn’t want the ultimate destruction of their confining, boring home?!

…

…anyways! There has to be something he was missing! He wants out of this endless cycle. This constantly looping ride around and around and around. Passing through the sky as the sun rises high and dips low in the far horizon. Traveling through the Underworld until the new day comes again, ushering new life with it.

Reach the end and start at the beginning. Go through the gates of night and come out the mouth of a snake at dawn.

Perhaps the weather will change, maybe the sun won’t shine, but this undertaking always happens despite it all.

Look: Bill is as fond of the Egyptians as the next guy, just look at those grand pyramids they built in his image and their afterlife filled with snakes, but he wasn’t aiming to follow in their sun god’s footsteps. They were way too into keeping the “balance of nature” or whatever.

Balance took so much effort. Keeping everything properly attended to such that a singular, wobbling point of perfection was always maintained.

It was exhausting.

That’s why he is always going about his grand scheme to end all schemes in a new fashion or another. There has to be some way to go about this successfully. Weirdmaggedon has to happen. It has to.

And so the multiverse witnesses every attempt. Every let down. Every failure. Because by the end of every cycle, Bill has always tried to trick someone. Tries to entice them with tempting, luring promises he has no intention of keeping. Withholds crucial pieces of information about his true goals. Tortures those who defy him. Abandons the venture and starts again in another corner of the Earth, in a different time period. And so it renews despite it all.

It’s a self-fulling prophecy of its own right, and Bill is seemingly unaware of this. Blind to it. It’s insane to believe that the same methodology will yield a new result after churning out blanks for as long as it has been used.

And so, when he finally feels someone reverse the Shaman’s spell and summon him back to Gravity Falls, he’s ready to restart the cycle.

As long as he is Bill Cipher, this is how it goes. He never becomes a new person, even with the trillions of years of experiences he has gained.

Bill Cipher is Bill Cipher, always one being, and he does not change. Not for anything. Not for anyone.

Not even for himself.

…

…

…

But then a miracle managed to happen

In Gravity Falls, there was some fun action

Turned out Shaman’s warnings couldn’t halt the traction

Of the ambition of an outcasted man’s passion

The heavens answered me! You must be a muse!

Cried the six-fingered freak who needed good news

And tricky Bill Cipher, he knew just how to use

The blind love of a puppet, now there’s no way he’d lose!

Work was smooth, following the plan with no flaw

Close relationship grew despite the facade

The fallen angle knew that this was very odd

You really never wanted to kiss him, son of god?

…

…

…

This is…fine.

Yes: everything is fine. The portal is coming along in its construction since his eager pupil can access the advanced alien tech buried under Crash-Site Omega. His army is growing stronger and stronger and he cuts more deals and chats up old friends. Bill has simply…showed a bit more than he meant to.

It all works out in the end, okay? Sixer now trusts him more than ever after he allowed his newest disciple a peek at what he kept so close to him for so long. A so-called vulnerable “heart-to-heart”. HAH! As if Bill has one.

But why did Bill even do that? There was no need for him to let Stanford to behold the singular remnant of his origins, even in the pursuit of dragging the man down into an unseeing fog of devotion. The six-fingered outcast’s entire life already revolves around him. Bill can’t mess it up now even if he tried to blast it with a finger death ray!

And yet…

That was too close. Too close to the truth. His other Henchmaniacs believe that he liberated the people of his dimension from a tyrannical rule. That is its own truth, in a way.

Ford now believes that a monster destroyed his homeworld. That, too, is its own truth. In a way.

Even the lies are lies.

But this didn’t come about suddenly, didn’t it? At first, he spent some time stroking Fordsy’s already inflated, yet so fragile, ego. Affirming every hope and dream the man aspired to achieve in his own, unique way. The dream demon knows that since their first meeting, Ford has been charmed by him. How could he not be when a so-called being of enlightenment deemed him special?

Bill just didn’t expect to be so charmed in return.

He presented more and more gifts to the polydactyl: speeding up and calming his mind to maximize output, providing clever roasts for verbal spats, supplying coordinates for ghost busting, and even rewiring the guy’s optic nerves to see the eighth color of the rainbow! All to hammer in the idea that sticking with Bill was the smartest choice IQ could ever make.

Stay in line, get rewarded. Pavlov knew what was up.

It was the birthday karaoke sesh that crossed that line. The rats should have been enough, even if the socially-awkward human didn’t seem to know what to make of them, but Bill had been more than willing to take it to the next level.

The “Myoclonic Jerk” got them both loaded, so Ford was looser and more unrestrained than Bill had ever seen him, both in-person and in his memories. Together, they had slurred out the lyrics to “Disco Girl”, putting on a performance that knocked even BABBA out of the park. Just the two of them. Bill at the time couldn’t help but sling an arm around his latest conquest and watch from the corner of his eye.

Stanford Pines is a gifted man. Gifted in intellect, skills, and extra fingers. Gifted in ego, insecurities, and loneliness.

Gifted in devotion.

He is perfect for Bill. He is perfect because he barely needs to be convinced to fall for Bill’s lies. He will willingly risk himself and others in the pursuit of greatness.

Stanford Pines, the unsatisfied person he is, needs more. He always craves more. He’s always tempted by and attracted to what he perceives to be rightfully his. Fame. Recognition, Respect. Acceptance. Love.

Oh, how Stanford Pines wants to be seen and loved for who he is. But he knows that as a freak, he will only be loved if he can prove that he is more than his deformity, his wrongness. He needs to demonstrate that he is useful and has value since he intrinsically does not have any worth as he is.

Besides, he already pushed away the one person who did truly care for him, freak and all. He needs to fill that void somehow, with something. Or someone.

That is why he plucked Bill from the Tree of Knowledge as easily as a ripe apple from its branches. The one-eyed triangle is the ultimate forbidden fruit, as well as the serpent who entices you to bite into it. Whispering in hisses that once consumed, your eyes will open, and you will be like God.

Forever seeking wisdom, yet displaying none of it by seeking it in this manner. And so man falls, clueless.

It’s a sin. It’s not original. It’s inherent in this species. Time and time again, humanity will dig its own grave just to experience the transient sensation of satisfaction. Ford is no different, though he is so convinced that there are none like him.

Then why are things different this time around? Why is Bill doing things and feeling things he rarely has before?

He rewinds the memory of Ford’s face scrunching up in utter delight and laughing deeply, a rich sound straight from his gut. His dark honey-colored eyes are closed behind his lenses and a beaming smile is adorning his face, a gift to all who can witness its brilliance. Bill understands suddenly.

Oh. Oh. Oh no.

Then he promptly shutters it away into the recesses of his mind where it will never resurface from.

Drown it out, Bill. Kill it, if you must.

Stanford Pines is the fruit of the dead. So mortal, abundant, and already dying with every nanosecond that ticks past. He’s here now, but he won’t last past 92 years old. And yet he holds within him the potential to tie himself to Bill for far longer than his lifespan.

When Persephone ate a few pomegranate seeds, barely even the whole fruit, she had to spend part of the year with Hades in the Underworld for all eternity. She ruled the Land of the Dead as its queen and became more than just the young, naïve, goddess of Spring.

Some interpret this as a lapse of judgement, that she was tricked to marry the god who had stolen her from her mother. Others say it was purposeful. That she wanted to remain by the king’s side despite his terrible image. It doesn’t matter who is “correct”. The tale ends with the two becoming connected and creating a new beginning that lasts forever in the mythos.

If Bill rips open this pomegranate’s skin, puncturing the flimsy pulp of the exposed seeds as they stain his hands with tangy, bloody juices, and swallows even the tiniest morsel, he’ll be bound forever to this human.

That isn’t how it can be. Such indulgence, even for someone who never denies himself any vices, would be the act of a fool.

Bill can not be bound to anyone or anything. People can be dependent on him, but it is not meant to be reciprocated. Love is a tool, first and foremost. A strong, if a bit unreliable, force that Bill employs in his arsenal. It is not to be turnt back on him.

Bill is entering dangerous territory, even though he is still physically stuck in the swirling sea of nightmares like he has been for a trillion years. He needs to get away from all this. For a bit.

He has already been planning to leave Ford to his own devices for a bit. Remind the desperate unusualogist how blessed he is that Bill graces him with a meeting once and a while. That despite the favoritism Bill bestows upon him compared to the rest of his skin puppet race, they are not on the same level. At best, Sixer can join his crew of Henchmaniacs if the human doesn’t mess up in the future.

Partners? Sure, but not equal. Never equal. This is all on Bill’s terms, so what he says goes. And he is going away for a while now, no matter what the scientist may feel about it.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all.

Bill will remain untouched.

…

…

…

But that hillbilly sidekick made such a mess

And Ford’s probing questions pushed him to confess

That helping the world was really last on his list

Dominating the Earth was his goal, wanna assist?

Once again, his partner didn’t share his sight

Ol’ Sixer liked to play hard ball, was that right?

Fine then: Bill would torment Ford’s body, heart, and mind

Till he gave in, it was only a matter of time

But of course the loser, dumb twin got in the way

Pushed his brother through the portal during their fray

Attempts to make a deal with Stanley were for naught

So all Cipher could do was sit and wait and watch

Now fast forward to the summer of twenty twelve

Young Pines twins came to visit and began to delve

Into secrets their grunkle had hidden for years

Once the truth came out there would be no time for tears

All three journals combined, the portal was opened

Out of the Nightmare Realm, came Stanford Pines from it

Bill Cipher had not been victorious that day

But the rift that the tear formed would be the next way

For the rest of the summer he meddled with Pines

Creeping and stalking and planning while he spied

New divisions had torn the family apart

Which meant it was time for Bill to make a new start

Shooting Star fell for his lies with ease

Got the rift as simple as could be

The event prophesied one billion years had come

Now welcome, one and all, to Weirdmaggedon!

…

…

…

Weirdmaggedon: the predestined event Bill Cipher constantly strove towards has finally arrived. The perfect present to himself, from himself. He was so generous!

Prophecies are so tricky, aren’t they? You can do everything in your power hoping to avoid your fate, but it’ll still creep up on you eventually. In a more convoluted, disturbing way (looking at you, Oedipus!).

He spent a thousand years trying to steer clear of the Shaman’s symbols, but in actuality they were the key to unlocking the treasure trove that was the rift. Handed to him by Shooting Star. Created by Sixer.

Oh, Fordsy.

Poor, paranoid, obsessive Stanford Pines really thought he had covered all his bases. That he had made sure that everything that could possibly harm this world was protected or rendered harmless. He likely couldn’t have imagined overlooking something that could make it all useless. Or someone.

The six-fingered genius sees values in people through the distorted lenses of himself. Who is his equal and who isn’t. Who is like him and who isn’t.

Dipper Pines fits the mold Ford has shaped and poured out. He is taken in because his great-uncle sees in him the perfect, supportive assistant who will only uplift Ford instead of challenging him.

Mabel Pines, on the other hand, isn’t like her brother. Isn’t like them. She can survive on her own because why won’t she? She goes out into the world with love on her sleeve, and the world loves her right back. She can fit in wherever she goes.

Ford is, therefore, blind to her vulnerability. She is young, weak, and scared that her whole world, the people she loves, is going to disappear forever once the summer ends.

No one thinks to include mistletoe. Young, innocuous, mistletoe who isn't asked to agree to the protection pact. No one except the trickster, who fashions that mistletoe into a deadly dart.

The start of the world’s demise comes as the glass container shatters on the ground. Bill delights in crushing what little remains into the grass in the bland time cop’s body. The wind kicks up its intensity. Shooting Star is out like a light with a sharp snap of his fingers.

He hauls himself out of the meat husk and levitates up high to the center of the sky, and the rift’s multicolored beam follows him. From above, reality tears under the influx of released power and continues to rip. Stretching and pulling at the edges until the X-shaped wound is large enough to start the exchange of physics, destroying Newton’s laws. Letting the unstable space of the Nightmare Realm illuminate the steady Earth underneath it. Small rocks and other debris float up as gravity begins to be unraveled.

The corruption of reality is heralded by his pitchy laugh as he finally gains a physical form, glowing pure white from the extreme energy. Gravity Falls shudders under his might, the terrain trembling with fear.

Much more is to come. The end of the world is rarely quick. Who wants to rush the process so much, anyways?

There is so much that can happen.

Perhaps Bill will start by unleashing his Bubbles of Pure Madness, engulfing all those in their path in a state of utter confusion. Bring to life monsters people could only imagine in their nightmares and direct them to chase the feeble little meat bags around the town. Construct a throne formed from solidified human flesh to lounge upon. Shatter a rainbow here or there, split the sky in half, the possibilities are endless!

Hey, he’ll even splurge a bit and put a deposit down on that ship made of dead men’s nails manned by the legions of Hel. He has been eying that for a while in the evil luxury goods catalogue. Sailing around the globe in that baby would be the perfect victory lap for when he finally conquers this entire reality!

This party is just starting, and Bill is gonna make it the best bash in the multiverse.

He’d love to see someone try and stop him.

…

…

…

That should have been the end of this act

So he could begin the invasion

But Bill now realized that to proceed

He’d need Sixer’s help with persuasion

Of course the survivors of the town

Tried to complete the zodiac

While the resistance attacked him

But those brothers threw it off track

The kids tried to put up a fight

But they ultimately failed

Twins in hand, when push came to shove

Sixer gave in, Bill prevailed

But when he entered that calm mind

Cipher realized he cost himself the game

Stanley had switched and trapped him here

As Ford got the gun and aimed

Desperate, he called his old friend

But you see

He’d never be the same

…

…

…

Here is a truth multi-universally acknowledged. Even by Bill Cipher.

The end is just the beginning.

The end of the world is rarely ever just that. There’s always a continuation. How it plays out depends on the story being told.

Look at all the human religions, new and old, and you’ll notice a pattern start to arise.

Many civilizations speak of floods. Floods that rise and cover the world, brine sweeping over the land and wiping away everything that marred it. Everyone that lived on it. A blank canvas is left in its wake once it recedes, ready to be painted on once more.

Fire is also a reoccuring theme. Fire that spreads far and wide, leaping high until it reaches the heavens itself and leaves the solar system charred and smoking. Louder than a crack of thunder as all goes dark, the sun now black and the hot stars fallen.

But then light returns, somehow. The land that had sunken returns to its former heights. All is reborn as the world restarts and spins once more. As if it is simply a record on a player whose stylus has skipped on the grooves, buffering. The needle probably just needs to be reengaged, or the record cleaned, to let the sweet music sing again.

Floods and fires.

Fires and floods.

Battles and bloodshed and sacrifices. All in the name of maintaining balance so the world doesn’t teeter off its edge.

It all is a waste to him. If the world is so fragile, why not let it shatter? Give it a little nudge and watch it fall apart at the seams. Let it get washed away. Let it get consumed. It’ll pop back up, somehow.

Bill has to wonder though, even for the briefest moment, why it was that his world never was reborn. No continuation.

Perhaps Euclydia is an exception to all the other apocalyptic stories out there. Perhaps there was not enough ashes to reform from. You can’t create something out of nothing. Even he is limited in that area of expertise.

…what if he is the continuation? As the sole survivor, it makes sense that it would all fall on him to live on.

But now, he is meeting his own end. Bill Cipher is somehow dying.

It’s unnatural. It doesn’t make sense. It can’t happen.

He’s not supposed to die, but he is.

All thanks to Stanley Pines.

Stanley Pines.

Of all people, Stanley?!

It’s unfathomable. Bill Cipher is greater than any force of nature! He is a god above all (most) gods! He is the strongest being in this dimension!

So how did the most pathetic, worthless, unworthy, sad sack of fat alive who was Sixer’s inferior in EVERY way best HIM?! How did Stanley manage to con him and trap him and punch him out of existence?!

There is no logic to it, and while Bill typically defies logic, he in this moment wishes it would kick in and correct the course. Let Bill land in a reality where the natural conclusion, his tyrannical conquest of the Earth, continues on and on eternally.

It doesn’t.

If Bill hadn’t invoked the pink tadpole’s name in time, he’d actually dead instead of very nearly dead.

He never tried this trick before. Hasn’t prayed in a lifetime. But it’ll work. It has to. There’s nothing else he has left up his long, black sleeves.

Bill Cipher will do what he always does and make a deal. Bill Cipher will deal with whatever the frilled schmuck has in store for him and beat it.

Bill Cipher will continue on. As he always does.

…

…

…

If you ask the Axolotl

What trial would Bill throttle

He would tell you that all patients

Just need a little patience

Yet the facility may not be

Exactly what his opposite needs

Program after program could not heal

All the pain Bill Cipher had concealed

Well, actions spoke louder than words

The triangle may thrive in a new world

A retrial Bill accepted

But what happened next was unexpected

Younger, desperate Stanley Pines

Living out his brother’s life

Goal was barely getting closer

Just wants to get some closure

Sadly, he was getting stuck

Feeling down on his crap luck

Looked at a star in the sky

Wished for someone by his side

Dropped on Earth in the year nineteen eighty five

Those three angles were given a brand new life

With a blank mind; body made of flesh, blood and bone

Now living as a human would be quite the next goal

You know how the rest of this story goes

We are nearly at the end

It seems that even with his new changes

Bill betrays his world again

I wonder: was this inevitable?

That no matter what he does

Bill Cipher can never seem to fix

His fate, he can not outrun

If you’re wondering why that is

Well here’s my point of view

Bill

You know you love your greatest fear

And it’s always been you

…

…

…

Bill is walking.

He’s been walking for a long time. An eternity, perhaps. Or it’s only been a mere blip of his endless existence. Time is dead. Meaning has no meaning.

He feels no exhaustion in his feet or legs or other physical extremities. His soul is what continues forward.

Out from the cold, isolated confines of that horrible, dark prison. Back to the warm, open surface of the living.

He’s not alone.

In front of him is Stanley, leading the way back to their home.

They’ve traversed this route many times before on better days. Already, the scenery is changing to that of the familiar viridian forest of Gravity Falls.

They have yet to breach the light.

The dense canopy of leaves and branches form a completely shadowed path back to the Shack. Only there does the brightness shine. Only there Bill will be liberated from the shackles that still keep him on a tether.

But it’s okay.

Stanley is going to save Bill. Save Bill from wallowing in the sheer blankness of the lonely walls filled with only his life’s regrets and bring him back home where he belongs.

As he should. After all, he’s Bill’s guiding light. The ever-pulling force that drags him along.

They’ve come this far. Achieved the impossible already. What was a bit more walking?

But something is wrong.

Stan cannot look back at him. That is the binding condition. If he looks back, they’re doomed.

And Stan wants to look back so desperately. Bill can tell by the way he constantly makes aborted movements with his neck, the pauses that stretch out too long, and his silent pleas for Bill to say something.

He’s full of doubt. It’s coming in. It’s plain to see.

And Bill cannot send him any sign that he is there right behind him. No words he could utter to soothe Stan’s fears for he is mute. No touch he could offer that would strengthen Stan’s belief in this journey for he cannot reach out.

All they have is blind faith, if they even have that.

The crucial test comes only a bit aways from the finish line. So close. Still too far.

Bill’s form has been becoming less incorporeal and more tangible, real, as the trek progresses, and now it shows itself in the worst way possible. The twisted roots of the old, gnarled birch tree catch on his foot.

He stumbles. Clumsy Billy.

What follows is inevitable.

Stan is alerted in some way. Or he isn’t aware of the blunder at all and another force overcomes him, be it doubt or some other emotion like pride, suspicion, or eagerness. It is all the same because he turns and looks back. Back at Bill, seeing him.

It is a betrayal of everything they worked towards.

Stan isn’t at fault. Really, he isn’t.

It’s an instinct engraved in his very being. If Bill is behind him, Stanley will turn to him.

There isn’t an ending to this protean myth where Stanley doesn’t look back and succeeds. How could you not look back and gaze upon the one person you’d defy nature for? Faith and trust are only so strong.

It’s an enduring human experience.

And as Stanley reaches for him one last time on this mortal plane, Bill is ripped away and returns to the un-existence where he began, a shade of his true self. Or, in some twisted, non-linear sense, once again becoming his true self.

Even love, supposedly the most all-powerful and permeating force in the universe, cannot save Bill Cipher.

It's a sad song. It’s a sad tale, is hummed by the chorus of all those who have ever lived as he stares uncomprehendingly, numb, as he is condemned once again.

Alone. As always.

It’s a tragedy.

It’s a sad song.

But we sing it anyway

‘Cause here’s the thing

To know how it ends,

And still begin to sing it again,

As if it might turn out this time.

…

…

…

Chapter Text

The world is ending. It is falling apart before his very eyes, the weak construction that it is. Honestly, it’s a fucking miracle it hasn’t collapse sooner, buckling under its flimsy supports like “belief” and “physics” that Stan barely grasps. But it is now.

Well, he is mostly referring to the fact that his world is crumbling, but also the entire rest of the world is meeting its doom alongside it. Like a two-for-one combo. Shit day can’t get any worse? Might as well go all in and make it the shittest one ever for the record books!

There’s a huge dripping hole in the sky that’s vomiting out nightmares, and his goat is now the size of the evil pillsbury doughboy from that ghost hunting movie. It can only mean that reality’s destruction is here. AM radio and Ford’s ramblings really prepared him for the warning signs.

Stanley always figured that the planet would finally hit its expiration date, and he’d do what he could to survive, like stocking up on too many cans of Brown Meat that suspiciously never expire and stashing a bunch of guns around the house, but never like this. Never so devastating.

He had– Stan had–

Oh God, he has ruined everything.

He stumbles a bit, attempting to not get trampled to death under giant hooves, as he makes his way back to the Shack. Ford and the kids should be there, hopefully. He can at least check on them before continuing his man hunt for the one man he wants to find more than anything.

Rapidly flapping black wings appear in the corner of his eye, and he throws himself to the ground to avoid a flying eyeball creature that swoops down where he was just standing. His face presses into the loose dirt surrounding the roots of the bushes that cover the sudden incline.

Quickly blinking, he tries to orient himself in his new position when something in front of him on the ground just barely shines across his lenses. His glasses are heavily smudged from him constantly wiping his eyes underneath them. It’s a dull piece of metal nearly hidden from him, with little particles of soil clinging to it so it’s camouflaged. Honestly, he is surprised he even sees it at all. It’s probably just a little hunk of junk, but Stan still goes to grab it. You never know, right? Even with the apocalypse taking over the town, old habits die hard. He may have to trade a chicken for it or something, like back in the 1800s.

But it is more than that. As he brings himself to his knees and wipes away the speckles, in his cupped palms sits a pretty gold ring. A too-familiar wedding band. Its design is one he knows like the lines etched into his palm. None of the unnatural light spilling down catches on it to make it shine. It’s gone dull, as if it can’t bring itself to glitter anymore.

Stan’s hands suddenly shake with a tremor that he can’t steady, a targeted quake making its way down to every little bone in his fingers. He groans, a low, wounded bellow of agony of a shot beast, and hunches over himself. Prostrating himself on the rugged, unyielding earth as he endlessly pleads to the heavens or whoever is out there that once granted his wish. The hole in the left side of his chest bleeds itself empty. He doesn’t know how he’s still kicking.

It is all over. He had 27 years of it, longer than anything else in his life has ever lasted, but it is gone now. And it is all his fault. Story of Stan’s life, right? Good things never last for him. He always screws up one way or another, even when he tries so hard to make it all work.

He is truly a fool. He knows that he was never the brightest student, the cleverest of the bunch, nor the most talented member of the team, but he at least thought he knew better after all the idiotic blunders he has made in his kinda-long crummy life. Especially when it comes to the people he treasures more than riches.

Believe it or not, Stanley Pines, as gruff, coarse and skeptical as he comes off when dealing with sappier emotions, is a helpless romantic at heart.

He wore this sensitive organ much more on his sleeve when he was younger. Never one to hide how he felt. Always reacting and following through with the first instinct that took over his body, usually leading with his fists. Now, this had gotten him into more trouble than it was worth, but it was who he was.

He’d learn in time, though, to hide more of himself. The world did not like who Stanley Pines was, and he had no deformity to blame for this like his polydactyl copy could.

When he was 8 years old, he dragged Ford into witnessing the not-holy and not-binding marriage pact between him and his poster of “Attack of the 50 Foot Woman”. During summer breaks, he’d watch the girls his age who were visiting the boardwalk on vacation (why Glass Shard Beach of all places, he would never get) through the windows of the pawn shop. He’d nearly suffocate from being trapped inside in the blistering heat and fantasize about what a whirlwind summer romance would look like. In high school, he got his first girlfriend, Carla McCorkle, and instead of paying attention in class (he could always copy the notes off of Ford later), he’d envision what their life after graduation would be. He and Ford would sail around the world and become the stuff of legends of course, but after that? Maybe there would be a wife and kids to come home to.

But he and Carla broke up after she told him that it wasn’t him, it was her, not the hippy dancer. From then on, he focused his sights on the Stan O’ War even more intensely and reminded himself that there were plenty of babes to score in the near future. Especially if he was gonna be going around the globe. There had to be someone out there, right? Someone who would stop and see that Stanley Pines was the kinda guy that they wanted to keep in their life.

Then of course even the Stan O’ War, that dream that was supposed to endure the test of time, went off-course. Got battered away and swept out to sea by the freak storm that was formed from Stan’s terrible luck before he could even try to grab the rope that should have been tied down to the dock.

The next thing he knew, he was tossed out onto the street with less care than the next day’s trash. Left with only his car, duffel bag with the bare essentials, and all the anger he could use to cover the overwhelming hurt that flooded out of his heart as the drapes were tugged closed above him. So what was he left with? A dream. An aspiration. A mission. A plan to prove everyone, especially his family, wrong about him. That he could be worth something, and then they would regret throwing him away. And he’d bag a hot broad while he did it!

Rarely did things go according to plan for Stan. Mainly because he didn’t make good plans. Other times, he sucked at following them. He was always more of a “fake it ‘till you make it” kinda guy, and he never made it.

As he bounced from state to state, he learned early on that he wasn’t what most women would consider a catch. Sure: he could talk the talk and give them a fun, distracting conversation at the slow dive bar if they were bored enough to entertain him, but he didn’t have much more than that. Not unless they were down to play around with a guy who slept in his car in between hole-in-the-wall studio apartments once he was chased out for not paying the rent. Who had more failed business ventures than he did fingers and toes.

The people who did let him linger around longer than others saw him not as a person, but as a charity case. A project that they could fix up and mold to their liking rather than who he really was. They let him crash on their couches or in their beds, fix him up with some breakfast that wasn’t days old or packaged with a gazillion different chemicals, and decide which stores they wanted to buy him new clothes from. Also would you like to work for my father/brother/family friend, they’d all propose? They all blended together, one voice of oppressive pity.

It’s decent pay, and you’ll make a fine living. You can become a good man.

Stan appreciated their efforts, really he did, but it was one thing to dress up and pretend for gullible crowds with his cheap schemes that he never would refund. It was another to put on an act for someone he was supposed to love and care for. Who was supposed to love and care for him , Stanley Pines. And so off he’d go once he was back on his feet. Leave them with a short, but genuine note that it wasn’t them, it was him. It was always him.

The quality of his life declined over the years. He messed around with risker crowds and never got the pay off. Then he started committing crimes that crossed the line and got him thrown in jail. At his lowest lows, he had to sell off his own body like one of his defunct products just to avoid starvation. As this progressed, that childhood wonder and hope in finding “the one” gradually faded away in the background, lying dormant in hope of sunnier days alongside the Stan O’ War.

Did he ever fall in love on the road? He had thought he did, sometimes. Maybe with that waiter who must have taken pity on him and added an extra slice of toast to his meager breakfast, which convinced Stan at the time that he was an angel sent from above. Or the Amish girl who wanted to save his soul at the expense of his gold chains (not a good deal). And how could he ever forget about larger-than-life Jimmy Snakes, who had welcomed Stan into his gang as an errand boy and protected him. The gratitude he had felt for being given a place to belong in might have toed the line at the time.

It all never led anywhere. Maybe that was just the way life was set up for him. Really, what did he expect? Who could look at Stanley Pines in his not-glory and decide that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with this talentless, crooked, good-for-nothing, waste of a human being?

…

Bill did.

Stanley never truly hid what kind of person he was from Bill, allowing the odd freak show of a man to see just what kind of person he was because honestly? The guy wasn’t much better. So he strung people along shamelessly, glued together the most ridiculous combinations of creatures possible, and walked around the house with stained shirts and shorts all of the time. This was who he was.

But Stan’s one-eyed carny liked the sight of him. His husband would always, in a weird off-putting way, fawn over him. Would leave hickies up and down his throat so everyone who toured with Mr. Mystery knew that he was spoken for, the suit never managing to cover the teeth-laden brands. Used that abnormally long tongue to wipe away the sweat that would pool under the brim of the fez during the hot months. Wrapped gangly arms around Stan’s middle from behind as the larger man cooked over the stove, burying his face into the chef’s back as he practically dozed standing upright. Curled up in Stan’s wide lap whenever it was available, as if the spot had his name on it, and tucked his head under that strong, square chin to listen to the heart beat frantically through the dense grove of chest hair. Interlaced their fingers, heavy rings clanking against each other, just because he could, admiring how the glittering expensive metals perfectly matched.

Of course it went beyond the physical. Good looks can only last so long, especially as the long years pass. Age and the rough life had taken its toll on Stan’s body, but his lover never seemed to care about the changes and embraced him as possessively as always.

The world-weary scammer had come to trust that when he robbed a few joints for materials and cash, Bill would be there to craft an alibi and be his lookout. If he planned to host a special event at the Shack to rake in more dough, his business partner would be pitching his own ideas to swindle the crowd. Whenever he was ever held in county jail, the town’s soothsayer would either bail him out or be in there with him.

When he wanted to spend an early morning fishing out on the lake, Bill would groan and bitch but still let himself be dragged out of bed and wore the fishing hat Stan had stitched for him. As he published more Lil’ Stan comics, the fan base growing beyond what he had ever imagined, Bill celebrated each achievement as if it were his own and proudly collected the next edition. Say he was obviously in the wrong when it came to the petty squabbles he’d have with the other residents in town, the other hack in the Mystery Shack would always defend his side. The next day would find his opponent numbly traumatized by whatever was left on their doorstep, and they never spoke out against him again.

During the late nights in the lab, if Stan threw down a piece of machinery he just couldn’t get into place or ripped up an equation that bested him, the natural genius knew just what to say to encourage him to try again. He knew that when the night sky was clear, the astronomy junkie would want to spend it with him and dance under the dazzling stars together. And when Stanley whispered such vulnerable, heartfelt words into the other’s ear as they drifted to sleep, they would be whispered right back even more softly by Bill.

What had begun fortuitously, never planned on either end, had somehow culminated in these two crooks stealing each other’s heart from right under each other’s noses. And they never gave it back. They were never asked for by the respective owner, and so they kept the other’s heart as safe as could be. Cherished them infinitely more than they ever could their own, though it’s always a gamble.

Love takes. It always takes away a part of you that you can never retrieve. That will never be returned from whoever you shared it with, willingly or unwillingly. It’s always a risk. The payoff may never be worth it.

So you walk around with holes in your heart from these wagers, hoping that the pieces that you’ve gotten from other people can patch them up like some mismatched, hand-stitched quilt. But for people like Stanley, who are willing to give and give and give until there’s nothing left, hoping to receive something grand in return, this is dangerous.

That heart pumped hard and gushed streams every time Stan tried to kickstart it. But the people he wished to be with were so far away from him. Would never let him have a piece of their own hearts unless he proved himself. Unless he could show that he was more than the fucked up extra son no one had planned for or wanted.

His efforts bled him dry. He was almost a corpse. Only the hope that one day he’d be with them again kept pulling him towards the future. Surviving the present because this sure as hell wasn’t living.

For so long, his heart was nearly on the verge of giving out and going still, but he was saved in the nick of time. Bill saved him. Reinforced the gaps with what little he could offer because even if he didn’t remember, his heart was just as damaged as Stan’s. In return, the usually leery scammer spared what he could as well to help his partner.

That was what must have happened: they replaced each other’s heart with their own. Creating a bond that was entirely new and utterly priceless.

No more. Never more, now. That breathtaking beauty and tender intimacy he craves as greedily as bacon, toffee peanuts, and money has been razed to the ground. The heart he was entrusted with is now a pile of scorched, broken promises and demolished dreams on the forest floor. The fallout of their argument made it all crash and burn.

And now, William is gone. Was gone the instant he passed through the branches and became one with the wild, mystical land, disappearing into the thin gaps of the trees, as if returning from whence he came all those years ago. Instead of the addictive, blistering hot affection he’d warm Stan’s delicate heart in with the intensity of his feelings, all has gone cold. That ever-present fire was put out. The one person who said he’d always love Stan now hates the man’s entire being. And Stan deserves it. He knows he does.

The aged con artist should have fessed up from the get-go to avoid this total shit show, and now it doesn’t even matter that he only did it to protect Bill from Cipher! Looking up, he can make out the glowing form of the geometry asshole in the distant sky. That only means one thing.

Ford has failed. Stan has failed. Everything failed. Everything was for nothing.

But that doesn't mean he is giving up. If there is one thing he actually takes pride in about himself, it’s that Stanley Pines doesn’t know when to quit. He may be running away like a coward from a wave of…whatever that is rushing towards him, but he swears that he is going to find the rest of his family. Including Bill.

“Please, please, please,” he finds his mouth panting as he makes a break for the Shack. His least favorite word is the only one he can speak now.

Please let Stanford, who has done everything in his power to avoid this outcome, find a way to undo this mess. He would know how to fix this, right? That big brain has to be good for something, especially now.

Please let the kids be safe, wherever they are. He won’t be able to handle it if they are hurt. Hopefully they are in the Shack and away from this now dangerous landscape, but they always either look for trouble or trouble finds them. He’d bet on both being true.

Please…oh please, please, please let Bill be okay.

Stan doesn’t know if Cipher finally used his partner like Ford always warned about or found another way in, but whatever happened to bring the world to shit, he doesn’t care. Even if he never gets the chance to apologize and make up for his betrayal and cruel words, though he’d give anything to do so, he just wants to make sure that the person that he holds most dear is free from all of this.

~

Hero.

What a puzzling title that is.

Let it be known that Stanford Filbrick Pines never intended to become a hero. At least, not the spandex-wearing, cape-flapping, brightly-colored characters that lived in his brother’s comics. He might have dressed up as such as a kid, but his alter-ego “Six Shooter” was all part of a fantasy game that can only exist in a naïve childhood creation.

But scientists are heroes in their own right.

A cure to a devastating disease that preys upon the population’s most vulnerable.

The technology to contact people across the globe instantaneously.

Mapping out the cosmic microwave background to pinpoint the origins of the universe.

The discoveries they uncover, the theories they introduce with novel equations, and the advancements they push forth go on to increase the standard of living for society. Does this not constitute a superpower? To reflect upon the world as it exists, envision how it can be improved, and fundamentally alter how people conduct their lives? If so, wouldn’t it be remiss of Ford if he did not apply himself to his fullest capacity? He has a great power, so was it not his great responsibility to harness it?

In the privacy of his inner reflections, Ford’s motivation was never fully rooted in such selfless values, though he wished it could have been.

Stanford Pines knew from the earliest of his formative years that his extra appendage distinguished him from everyone, even his twin brother. However, when his teachers would lavishly praise his astronomically high grades, despite his classmate’s jeers, and his dad would spare more than a short grunt when glancing over the newspaper at his test score, a belief became deeply ingrained in his mind. Intertwining itself within his immutable perception of himself.

His brilliant intellect could deliver him from a life of ridicule and ostracization. Allow him to fill a niche where he could exist as the freak he was and belong there freely. And if he utilized it extraordinarily, raising him above other geniuses, he could benefit everyone else as well. Then, it would be absolutely undeniable that he was someone to respect. Someone who the rest of the world would look upon with admiration instead of revulsion. Someone that his family would be proud of, affirming years and years of colossal expectations that had nearly crushed him under their weight.

Stanford is special, and it has to be the great kind of “special”.

West Coast Tech was supposed to be his golden ticket. The identifying mark of exceptional potential that would accompany him for the rest of his career. It would have propelled him to unparalleled heights and one day to the stars. Exactly where he was aiming for.

Well, the most celebrated heroes, the underdogs, always did start from a humble background. He was not opposed to traversing the road less-traveled, even if it did grate upon his sense of self that this was where his efforts had taken him. If it weren’t for his brother, his successful trajectory would have remained untouched, and he would already be standing on the shoulders of giants.

It was an exhausting, tremendous slog, especially starting as low as he did with Backupsmore and its less-than-lackluster reputation, but he assiduously clawed his way up to the top of the institution. Funded with grants that would support him for years to come upon his graduation, he set out to change the world in a manner so unfathomable no other scientist had ever thought to do so: pinpointing Gravity Falls as the hub for weirdness on the North American continent and striving to uncover its secrets. Once he did so, history would keep its eyes on him long after he passed and went to live on in its books. His six fingers would be the least noteworthy aspect about him.

With this in mind, perhaps he was doomed from the start. It wouldn’t have mattered which university became his alma mater because he would have ended up here sooner or later. Maybe the instant he crossed over the town’s borders, drawn to land by an unspeakable pull that shepherded him along, Stanford Pines was predestined for failure. Always prophesied to find that accursed cave and choose not to heed the warnings of wiser people because how could he possibly stop when he had barely begun? There was so much more to achieve. He couldn’t be halted.

Many heroes do not attain happy endings. Their stories are twisted into warnings for others to heed. Gaze upon this arrogant, reckless individual and avoid his footsteps. View the tapestry that is his life, burn it into the back of your eyes, and never let it repeat.

Ford had never fathomed his life becoming one of those follies. But now he can only witness, as if time has slowed for this particular moment so he is forced to witness every single detail, as his quantum destabilizer misses its mark. His ears hollowly ring with a warning his old friend had chided him with long ago that were brushed off in frustration.

Don’t forget what happened to Icarus.

And what had Stanford replied with? Like the rash, prideful fool that he was?

He didn’t flap hard enough.

The true mark of a hero is their hamartia, after all.

Though after remembering those ancient tales that taught lessons rather than true history, he is more akin to Bellerophon.

Icarus was reckless, but what young boy isn’t? So eager to be free at last from the only life he knew of locked towers that he disregarded his father’s warnings. He had too much faith in his wings. After tasting sunshine for the first time, he plummeted to his death, achieving his dream. No regrets to leave behind when you have none.

Bellerophon’s hubris matches Ford’s. So convinced he was greater than his peers after his rise to fame, he rode the Pegasus up to Mount Olympus, where he thought he belonged. He was brutally struck down for such a ludicrous assumption by Zeus’s lightning bolt.

Mortals cannot play equal with the gods. No matter how much they were doted on, visited in dreams, and hailed as special. That is when they fall, careening to their fated end.

Ford is very well aware that he made a fatal error. That he allowed himself to be lured in by such cloying promises and reassurances that imbued his very soul with untouchable hope. That he permitted himself to actually believe that this higher being truly wanted to be his partner, his friend, maybe even–

Well, look where it got him.

But he worked so hard once the truth ripped away the veil of deception that was draped over his rational mind. Thirty years of devoting his life to righting this wrong. Hoping that the next world he hopped into by those nauseating wormholes would be kinder to him than the last. That he could glean a few more details as to how to defeat the universe’s biggest boogeyman. He allowed his own cranium to be altered to ward off the demonic influence from taking over his body after the thoughtless deal he made. He constructed the ultimate weapon that could expunge a seemingly-immortal existence from reality, eradicating even the smallest fragments so that nothing could reform.

Ford would gladly surrender his own life to ensure that Bill is defeated.

Bill Cipher.

His worst enemy.

His greatest regret.

His former “friend”.

His trusted partner.

His Muse

Every hero needs a villain, no? An adversary who can fundamentally challenge them on every level. An antagonistic force that pushes the protagonist to grow and evolve and become better over the course of their quest.

It makes sense that so many come about from betrayals. A person who knows the inner mechanisms of your heart also knows exactly how to dismantle it. They can prey upon your weaknesses because you so openly bore it to them, never once doubting their intentions were pure. The notion that they will hurt you once you let them into the most vulnerable crevices of yourself, ones that even you weren’t aware existed, is never considered.

Bill had seen every part of Ford. Steered his willing body, frolicked around in his pliable mind, touched his untainted soul…there was nothing hidden between them. Or so Ford thought.

His betrayer had plotted to hoodwink Ford even before they met, the ruse already at play. It was only fair that Ford be the one to seek retribution and trounce his fated foe for the sake of all reality. The Oracle confirmed it with her firm, yet equivocal words. It solidified his resolve into a crystallized array of emotions that could withstand everything and anything.

Of course he was the one prophesied to take down a god. The most formidable opponent one could oppose in the multiverse. It was all on him. It both weighed him down and buoyed him up, dictating his next moves but propelling him forward with a purpose. A glorious, righteous purpose. Once he met his fate and destroyed his demonic rival, would he finally be worthy?

But things are rarely so cut and dry, aren't they? On both sides of the portal, Bill had him cornered.

William Birch.

It hadn’t been easy separating the malicious tumor that had invaded his home and covered his loved ones with its sickly growths. With a sharp, surgical scalpel as he enacted his plans, Ford had carefully cut away at the source of the sickness over time. Removed the attachments, extracted larger pieces, and medicated the chronic malignancy. Patience was key. He couldn’t afford any more accidents.

Utilizing his resources and strategically orchestrating the optimal conditions, Ford had made significant progress. He had Dipper as a reliable confidant, Mabel was free to obliviously enjoy the rest of the summer, and Stanley eventually entrusted him with safeguarding the house. Finally, Bill was losing the game they had started so long ago, more and more pawns being stolen off of the board.

As much as he would not consider himself a particularly vindictive person, Ford couldn’t deny that watching Birch’s downfall wasn’t satisfying. That every day that the double-agent was confined in the lone corner of the house, his putrid soul wasting away under the cleansing enchantments, wasn’t another tally to count towards his victory. This was karma at play, it was a bitch.

Cipher may be a god, but Ford was now a non-believer. What couldn’t the scientist achieve when he put his mind to it? He’d save his family from this monster, and the world would celebrate. And if only a monster could triumph over a monster, he would assume the role as long as he had to. His family would understand in time that his deceptions only came from a true desire to preserve their wellbeing.

That didn’t mean he enjoyed the lies. He may not know everything about Stanley’s life these past thirty years, but he knows his brother and his overwhelming sentimentality. His twin clings too tightly to dead dreams and has too much faith in the undeserving. It is not his fault that they live in a cruel world, but he allows danger to slip past his defenses far too easily when they are disguised as those he cares for. Birch took advantage of this opening for the worse while Ford had done so for the better. He promised himself that he would make it up to Stan once it was all over, as if that could stave off the guilt. Constantly crashing in waves against the walls he surrounded his heart with every time he had to assure his other half that all would be okay.

It still wasn’t enough. Somehow, Stanford Pines is never enough even when he pledges his all. Even when he imperils his life to atone for every mistake he’s made, it is barely a drop compared to the vast ocean. His labor bore no fruits, as if grown in a nutrientless garden that he could till day in and day out but never harvest from. His transgressions must be far too egregious to ever be forgiven.

But how did Bill invade this dimension in such a short window of time? How was it so easy for him to claim victory? Is this what destiny feels like? Standing firm against the coursing current for decades and still getting swept away by it in the final hour? Heroes are supposed to always prevail, especially in the most direst of situations, but Ford can’t.

Or it is simply bad luck in the form of a sentient, giggling church bell. There was no way to account for it when the laws of reality are pulled and molded like silly putty according to Bill’s amusement. All is unpredictable. So why does this feel inevitable?

“Oh no!” is all that tumbles out of his mouth, thoughts for once halting their rapid pace.

Funny thing, people’s instinctive responses to disasters.

The hole he blasted through the tall top hat closes as quickly as it was formed, and his hopes dash just as fast.

Useless. It is all useless. The bazooka that Parallel Fiddleford helped him finish was meant for that exact moment, for that exact target, and it was squandered. And it is all on Ford.

Both he and Dipper gape dumbly as Bill’s eye and limbs shift around his flat body to face the source of the blast, clocking them immediately. “Well, well, well. And here I thought today couldn’t get any BETTER!”

Ford can only push his nephew away from the wall just as a beam of pure energy is shot straight at them, immediately piercing through and destroying the church tower. Dipper, who is thrown to the ground and bruised, fares better than himself, who is trapped under the wooden wreckage. He coughs out the dust that forcibly blasted up his nose and entered his mouth.

Damn it. Damn it all.

“Great-uncle Ford!” He hears the muffled exclamation through the sudden blockage in his ears, and he cranes his neck to lift his heavy head, evaluating the severity of the situation. He comes to a conclusion not long after: there is no way to get out in time before Bill arrives.

Ford shifts as much of his torso as he can, sliding his backpack towards the young boy. His only hope. “Dipper! Take my journals!” It is imperative that his protégée finds the pages containing the zodiac circle and somehow completes it. It’s a long shot, but what else is there? As the books get closer to him, Dipper picks up the third journal that escaped the pouch.

“Listen,” The experienced adventurer speaks quickly, attempting to get straight to the point. “I know of one other way to defeat Bill. It's–” He cuts himself off short as he makes out a rising hum, like an active forcefield crackling with voltage, behind him. “Oh, no! Dipper! Run! Get down!”

His nephew, thankfully, does not protest and abides by his warning, rushing down the stairs just as Cipher rises up.

The growing shadow envelops him, and despite everything he has faced, Ford can’t help the instinctive quiver that overtakes his heart as the triangular shape covers him in its darkness. With fright, fury, anticipation, or some other shameful emotion, he can’t say. Won’t ever say. The atmosphere grows heavy, charged like lightning is about to strike as the ozone wafts into your nostrils.

This is an entirely new playing field, one the likes he has not contended with before. His encounters with Bill have only ever been in the Mindscape or the Nightmare Realm. Never on his physical, home turf. The fact that it has gotten to this point is one he wishes he doesn’t have to accept, but it has cornered him with nowhere to run.

“Good old six-fingers,” the mocking greets him, and for once it is not reverberating inside his head, but out in the open. Another piece of evidence that he cannot dismiss as a horrible daydream he cannot wake from. “I've been waiting an eternity–” that high voice deepened only on the last word, “–to have a chat face to face.”

Formless fingers telekinetically free and lift Ford, who can only let out a surprised yell of alarm, and the surrounding wreckage into the air. He glances down and there is Bill, exactly as envisioned. His appearance isn’t altered at all, though his presence is undeniably louder and permeating, as if sending off electromagnetic waves to make all in his immediate vicinity queasy and wired. Ford’s deceiver displays him high up so that all of the Henchmaniacs can see. Like a conquest, a victory trophy.

The devastation Weirdmageddon has inflicted on the town Ford had come to love, even after thirty years, is tremendous. He had barely allowed himself more than a glance earlier, so focused on sneaking himself and Dipper undetected to the best vantage point, but now it is unavoidable. The surrounding atmosphere is a deep rust, nearly black, that casts a dismal coloration over the mountains and forests, as if it is sucking away at their natural brilliance.

The nearby trees that line the streets are smouldering and charred, as if a wildfire had decimated the greenery. The water tower is scuttling about, wooden boards split apart to form a sharp mouth as it screeches. Ginormous creatures are accompanied by bubbles blown by the breath of raw madness, prowling about for their next victims. The humans who haven’t been spotted yet tremble in the shadows clutching each other for comfort, helpless in the face of such perverted strangeness.

Ford hates that they will come to fear it, that these horrors will cement the belief that “weird” is “bad” when he knows it can be so much more than that.

“Everyone,” Bill announces as if he doesn’t already have their undivided attention as their tyrannical ringleader. “This armageddon wouldn't be possible without help from our friend here. Give him a six-fingered hand!”

The aged scientist can only struggle uselessly against the mental restraints as the monsters below clap and cheer on command. It only heightens his already towering feelings of shame. Yes: behold the disgraced human who constructed the machine that Bill had been scheming to build for thousands of years. He is the human who broke the losing streak that had kept Earth secure.

“This brainiac is the one who built the portal in the first place! But that’s not all he did for me! Get a load of this!”

Huh? What else had Ford done? What other sins does he carry that he does not already know he shoulders?

He can only watch on in confusion as the barely three-dimensional shape, still so flat despite his alterations, grandly takes off his hat and with deliberate slowness reaches in, like he’s about to perform a magic trick and wants everyone to witness it. But instead of pulling out a rabbit, another human is hovering in his darkly-colored clutches, not touching his palm.

William Birch.

Ford’s jaw drops in downright shock at the reveal. The man who he has been going toe-to-toe with since he first returned home appears the worst Ford had ever seen him. The blonde is clearly unconscious, head bobbing to and fro as Bill magically man-handles him like a string puppet to show him off to the monstrous crew. Blue cords are wrapped around his wrists and ankles as a twitch of the puppeteer’s pinky makes the pliable doll wave to the audience.

Underneath that dirtied and tangled hair, half of Birch’s face looks like someone has messily vandalized it with a red paint brush, though the rusty flakes that littered the edges make the picture far more gruesome. That isn’t the end of the injuries: his knees were busted open with patchy wounds and yellowing bruises, with the arms just as scraped up, and there’s a sickly pallor worse than a corpse’s set deep in the skin.

Nothing is adding up; his internal calculator is not computing.

The next round of heaping praises answers his questions. “Without Fordsy over here, I wouldn’t have been able to get my hands on my best puppet yet: me! Turns out, this birch twig is one of my parallel variants, and he's been hanging around town practically the entire time this old genius has been kicked around the multiverse. All right underneath my eye! I mean, can you really blame me? Just look at him!”

The magical attachments dance Birch a bit closer to Ford. In this direct angle, his brother’s so-called partner’s expression, while comatose, is tortured: mouth downturned in the most pitiable frown, the only eyeball fluttering back-and-forth underneath its lid, and forehead furrowed as deeply as plowed trenches in a farm field.

“That feeble human nature totally mutes my natural vibrancy, so he’s just a wretched little ball of hair, teeth, and spit. It’s honestly embarrassing to even be associated with this failure, and why I was never the wiser! Who would have thought for even a second this preachy mystic rando was me?! But it made tricking Mabel Pines to get the rift as easy as could be.”

A disbelieving gasp is pushed from Ford’s chest and comes out of his throat at the admittance. If what Bill is spewing is true, and surely there is nothing to conceal now that he has claimed his laurels, then Birch isn’t in cahoots with Cipher? He is innocent? This entire time, Ford has been pursuing a false lead?!

This revelation is noted by the giant geometric being, cat-like pupil widening in amusement as he delights in the distressed reaction.

“That’s right, IQ,” he heckles, tone taking a sharp turn for the worse as he continues to gloat. “Poor human Billy-boy here had no contact with me or even knew about Weirdmageddon until you started messing with him. His mind was a secure safe I couldn’t break into until you cracked open the lock on his mental defenses.”

The protection circle. His efforts to isolate Birch and curb his influence on the family. Oh God, did he–

“I barely had to push the guy at all after that!” The dapper triangle exclaims, practically oozing noxious satisfaction at his success as he redirects Ford’s train of thought back towards him.

“In the end, he was so psychologically tormented and heartbroken by his partner–” the endearment is sneered out “–and family being turned against him that he was practically dead by the time I got to him. He surrendered everything to me, so I decided to do some charity work in return. Look at him now, all cleaned up–”

With a snap of those looney-toon fingers, the exposed wounds close up as if they were cosmetics being cleaned away with a wipe, and a fancy golden suit not too dissimilar from the ones housed within the parlor’s closet replaces Mabel’s hand-knitted poncho. The knotted straw on his head becomes rejuvenated and pushed back as distinguishing black accessories find their rightful place on his body. The bleached shade fades from his complexion and a warmer undertone returns, instantly the image of health and style. He still looks miserable.

“–and getting the best view in town to watch this glorious reinvention! I’m sure he’ll love it. I know I would if my entire life crashed and burned before my very eye!”

With one final snap, William Birch floats up towards the hideous pyramid in the ruined sky, the physical epitome of Cipher’s dominance. Ford tracks the blonde as long as he can until the man is out of sight, the walls at the very tip of the structure unfolding to accept its newest occupant. The top of the tower to contain its prisoner.

Oh no. Ford had–

He–

The consequences of his actions slam against his mental barriers and spill over the top, flooding him with a torrent of overwhelming sensations. This…this was all his fault. Again. He was the one who laid Birch on the chopping block, and now they are all paying the price as Bill pulls apart the very fabric of their reality, tearing open holes at the most worn areas of the cloth. If he hadn’t interfered, would Earth have remained untouched? Or would this still have occurred, but unfolded in a different manner?

He should have endeavored to not put too much faith in the promises of tomorrow. It is never set firmly in stone. It is more akin to making out obscure lines you drew in the sand on the sea shore, the uncaring waves washing it away before you even can see what you’ve created. But he had wanted to believe the Oracle’s reading so badly that he never considered that he would play a part in bringing it forth.

Prophecies truly did work in mysterious ways. How Ford wished he had never heard his, like all other heroes. Then he wouldn’t have followed it so faithfully to the world’s doom. How disappointing.

But there are Stanford Pineses out who have attained the dream, the happy ending where Bill Cipher cannot harm their universes. It’s entirely possible. He’s seen it himself: breathed in its crisp air and basked in its warm sunshine as he walked the Better World that Parallel Ford created with his Fiddleford. It exists out there.

If he can do it, then why hasn’t he? If Stanford Pines can achieve success, then why is he failing?

Hiis pity-party is abruptly crashed by the most discourteous guest. Large digits that have already wrought unimaginable amounts of destruction grab his head and easily turn it so he makes direct eye-contact with his detestable foe.

“Ah, don't look so glum, Fordsy. It's not too late to join me!” Bill pinches Ford’s arms, the touch revolting and frantically raising the rate of his pulse, but not as harsh as he knows it can be, as he is brought closer to the Henchmaniacs. “With that extra finger, you'd fit right in with my freaks.”

Ford regards his physical abnormality, the feature that had driven him towards the supernatural and into the waiting palm of this monster, and clenches them tightly, misshapen nails cutting into calloused palms. If only he could rip off the extras and fling them at Bill if he likes them so much.

Maybe if he hadn’t been born with them, he’d never be here. He’d be settled down somewhere, impossibly content with life instead of always chasing the next strange mystery into the unknown. Maybe he sailed away on the Stan O’ War after high school with his brother in that world. It could have been nice and fulfilling. Or it would have never been enough, and that version of him still dreams of adventures such as this one. They both don’t get what they want, but it is probably the fate they deserve.

He shifts his expression into that of defiance, a stone cold mask of irrefutable strength. With no more plans at his disposal, he will go down fighting. He refuses to let himself become an amusing, pitiful spectacle that Bill can reminisce on and laugh at as he retells the tale of “Stupid Sixer” to his lackeys.

“I'll die before I join you!” To emphasize how much he doesn’t respect the all-powerful being, he spits a wad that lands dead-center on that onyx pupil. Bullseye.

The triangle doesn’t even blick at the crude gesture. Instead, the saliva is lapped up by a forked, cobalt tongue that slips out of the side of his eye and wipes over the surface, maintaining Ford’s gaze all the while as he revels in its taste. “Thanks for the treat, Sixer! Got any more?”

Ford shudders at suggestive sight, especially as those long lashes are batted directly at him, face flushing as his mind dissects the implications this has about the mysterious entity’s anatomy.

Very little has been confirmed about Bill’s biology since he was never able to uncover the name of the triangle’s home dimension nor his species. Yes: he saw Bill drink beverages before, the upper and lower lids serving a dual purpose as lips as well, but had not gotten a clear view of his mouth. Was it a separate organ housed within the same space as his ocular– No! This is the last query he should be devoting precious time to!

In an attempt to regain some semblance of control, he points dramatically at the angular cyclops. “Your actions don’t bother me, Cipher, because I know your weakness!”

“Oh, yeah?” The threat does absolutely nothing, why would it when he is clearly incapacitated, and Bill’s eye shifts to display a question mark like a television screen. “And I know a riddle: why did the old man do this?” He lifts his fingers in a claw-like pose.

Ford is always too fond of riddles. Forgetting himself, even for the briefest of moments, he mimics the positioning. “This?”

A bright, intense cyan light, almost white from its strength, surrounds and punctures his being, and Stanford Pines knows no more.

~

Witnessing his uncle being turned into a golden statue is what finally tips Dipper over the edge as Cipher and his lackeys cackle loudly at the humiliating joke. He can’t stay hidden like some weak little kid while both of his uncles are turned into degrading possessions by the most evil shape in the world! Especially with one of them being used to scratch the guy’s back! Gross!

Before he’s even aware of it, he’s on top of the melted raised platform that used to house Nathaniel Northwest (as he deserves, full offense, Pacifica) to confront the monster that has tormented everyone in his family. No running away. There isn’t even anywhere to run away to. It is all or nothing now. It is all up to him. Only he holds the secret to defeat Bill, entrusted to him by his great-uncle. Despite everything that has gone wrong up until this point, he has to believe that Ford isn’t mistaken about this like everything else apparently.

“That's enough!” His shout surprisingly carries across the space between them. “Hand over my uncles! Or else!” He holds up Journal 3 as a threat, putting all his confidence into it. He doesn’t have much else.

Well, that certainly snags the triangle’s attention. “Now isn't. This. INTERESTING?” Cipher booms with layered voices that suddenly become way more menacing, instantly appearing in front of the boy, eye losing its pupil as it transforms into a theatrical spotlight.

Dipper resists the urge to cower as this tri-vertex predator circles him, blinding him with the intense rays as he holds up a hand in a poor attempt to block it out. “My old puppet is back for an encore!” The eye returns to its default appearance, as creepy as ever, while Ford is twirled around like a fidget spinner. A mere toy for entertainment.

“Well, that’s too bad! I’m not hiring anymore! That vacancy has recently been filled with the uncle you threw away so easily!”

He involuntarily flinches at the harsh reminder of his past mistakes. There has been a low murmur in his mind ever since he overheard Cipher’s proclamations as he hid in the rubble, but now it was becoming unignorable. Grating accusations that left abrasions on his raw conscience. It doesn’t escape his tormenter’s notice.

“Yeah, that’s right: I saw it all! The nasty looks, the silent treatment, the biting comments. And now you want to save him? Because you’re finally feeling guilty? That’s a lot of flip-flopping around you’re doing, Pine Tree. Do you like the guy or not? Then again, I guess you can’t make up your mind without Ford implanting it into your brain, right? There’s not one useful thought in there without him!”

“Shut up! I know your tricks! I won't listen to a word you say!” Dipper insists because he does know better now compared to earlier in the summer, when he agreed to that misleading deal that almost cost him his body, but this time is different. This time, everything coming out of Cipher’s…mouth…is the truth, and so the guilt it creates strikes him like a physical jab.

He did turn his back on Bill after Ford validated his fears and never gave his poor grunkle a chance to prove his innocence. He avoided, ignored, and mouthed off more rudely than he ever had, but his uncle just took it. Gosh, Dipper is the worst nephew ever. Saving Bill is the least he can do to make up for it. “I’m going to save both of them!”

Cipher doesn’t seem cowed at all by such big proclamations from a little boy. “You think you can stop me?” A third limb pops out of his body so his uncle’s metallic figure can still be held as the three-sided bully gets into a punching position, ready with his fists raised. ”Go ahead, Pine Tree, show me what you've got.”

Oh no. Dipper didn’t think this through.

He madly flips through the journal and holds up a blacklight on the pages, frantically trying to find the secret method Ford hinted at. Or has his uncle messed up again? “I...uh... I... uh…”. He stops on a page whose secret message reads, "IF HE GAINS PHYSICAL FORM THEN ALL IS LOST!". His fear ramps up accordingly at the hopeless warning. If Ford deemed it a failure, how could he possibly do anything?!

“I– UM– I—,” his opponent ridicules him by throwing his stutters back at him. “Do it, kid. Do some brilliant thing that takes me down right now. Whaddya got, Pine Tree? Everyone's waiting. DO IT.”

Well, what would Grunkle Stan do?

Dipper yields to his base instincts that all scream at him to fight. He launches himself at the monster, swinging his fist towards the eye, shouting out his war cry.

It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t. Even worse, he has to watch all of the journals, the most coveted collection of books he ever cared for, get incinerated right in front of his eyes. After that, as Cipher kidnaps Ford, pulling up to his sky-bound fortress with his gang, Dipper has to flee from the henchmen who want to eat him!

He runs on pure adrenaline and the last bits of hope he can salvage for hours until he manages to tuck himself away behind a trash bin, catching his breath. What now? What can he do? Who is still safe?

Stan and Mabel are his top priority, he determines, with a specific emphasis on Mabel. She must have been at ground zero when the rift shattered since it was in the backpack she took. She would have been one of the first people to witness Cipher’s entrance into their dimension. His stomach squeezes tightly in fury and worry as he remembers the demon’s words, how Mabel had entrusted him with the device because he had used Bill’s body to trick her.

How dare Cipher pit Dipper’s family against each other. Using them like puppets, invading their minds, never letting them have any peace. He can barely think about what must have happened to his sister without sending himself into a panicked spiral. He has to find her first. Somehow.

Stan, on the other hand, is probably around the Shack somewhere. Hopefully his uncle managed to hide out inside and stay safe. They, because he will save his twin, will look for him afterwards. As for breaking the news about what happened to Bill and Ford…well…that was not gonna be pretty.

And after that…Dipper Pines, a boy whose anxious mind never stopped calculating, wondering, and planning, has no clue.

~

Humans are made of stardust.

It’s a funny little fact that Bill toys with from time to time. He doesn’t recall where he learned it from: a one-off lecture, a scientific paper, or if it was always known to him, as if he witnessed their creation himself.

The dull, fragile race of bipeds that relies on complicated pack dynamics to function is the farthest thing from the huge, lustrous spheres that occupy so much matter. Yet practically all of the elements that comprise those mortal bodies were produced within them. Well, the Big Bang is responsible for the lightest elements that exist, such as hydrogen and helium, but the heavier ones were forged during fusion events at the star’s core.

Supernova explosions spread the material through space, propelled by the force of such a massive reaction and carried by stellar winds. The constant cycle of stars forming, burning, and allowing their products to be swept out into the universe ensures that there is a constant reprocessing, a galactic chemical evolution. The elements combine in novel ways and create bigger and better products, depending on who you ask.

Some of the heaviest eventually condensed together and created the “happy” accident known as Earth. And from Earth sprang forth life. And life, after billions of years, created the perfect environmental conditions for the Homo sapien species to dominate the planet which, BTW, was probably the biggest mistake history could have made. Look how badly run everything was with them in charge! Even without Bill’s interference, they are gonna implode by the year 2039 due to political corruption, global climate change, and other avoidable issues that no one bothered to fix in time. That’s all on them, not Bill!

As he is now, Bill is mere stardust, miniscule residues of silicon carbide, graphite, and nanodiamonds. He is drifting aimlessly after how brutally he has been shattered apart. He doesn’t care anymore as he feels what remains of himself scatter. The larger shards begin to leave their clusters to journey out into the boundless creation of nothingness.

Everything is here to recreate life, if he acts fast enough. If he pulls off a miracle only gods can bring into existence. But even if everything is here, Bill doubts he’ll ever be human again.

As he remains suspended like this, He speaks to him.

Here we are again.

Bill doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. They understand each other without words. They just are.

It does not need to be like this. It is not complete, yet.

‘Not complete’? Just where have you been all this time? It’s done.

You need to think bigger, Bill.

Wow, he hasn’t heard that one before. Usually, people want him to think smaller.

You need to think bigger than yourself, for once. Your mind is limited as it is. But you’re almost there. So close. You need to go beyond what you think you know.

Really? Playing mind games now? He doesn’t even have a mind to compete with. He doesn’t even know why or how he is still here.

Oh, Bill.

A painfully gentle caress touches him, somehow. He feels a bit more whole even after it draws away.

It is there. If you want it.

All at once, the limitless expanse clamps down on him, and his asymmetrical parts are somehow forced back together without his input. Space becomes space, and a tight one at that. A familiar one.

Hey, what gives?!

No one replies.

Bill tries to regain himself, if barely. The heaviness that now surrounds him is simultaneously unfamiliar, yet recognizable. He feels a drag on his consciousness, like a casted hook getting reeled in by the line, and he lets it get pulled where it pleases as light presses into his eye, or what should be his eye.

Then Bill wakes up. He immediately regrets the action as his muscles burn from discomfort, letting out an annoyed groan. For some reason, he’s lying in an unnaturally twisted position, as if someone just plopped him down in a tangle of limbs. A careless child with their toy-of-the-week. Kids are such assholes.

He instinctively blinks, then blinks again. And again. And again. Something is off. In his older years, with him being over-reliant on one eye for vision, it has deteriorated a bit more than he likes. That one trip to the ophthalmologist was never repeated since he, quite literally, had to be tied up and restrained during the vision tests and fitting session so he wouldn’t bolt. Undiagnosed medical trauma disorder? He hardly knows her!

But there’s no blurred film covering the world now, and he’s quite sure that he’s not wearing his eye contact. Odd. He pushes himself onto his knees and nearly gets taken out by the sudden vertigo, caused by the influx of stimuli assaulting his senses. Especially his eye, which is now functioning as some sort of high-definition super camera. He can make out every single tiny stitch of the rug he is kneeling on, a wide-open eyeball peering up directly at him.

Another round of blinks come in as he surveys his surroundings, déjà vu irking him. He’s in front of a luxurious dark brick fireplace, the flames steady and contained as it sits politely on its logs, domesticated. Not like the wild spitfire that illuminates his parlor. So he is definitely not in the Shack. Yeah, of course he’s not: the setting is all wrong. No room in his house is this grandeurious, with its too-high ceiling and marble-like flooring. So where…

Wait a damn minute.

He recognizes this sweet suite. It was conjured from his mind, after all, the talented interior decorator that he is.

This is the tip of the Fearamid: the penthouse level he had designed with certain…intentions in mind. To wow the most important people he wanted to bring into his fold, or make them fold by force need be. It sure has been a while! Did he really have to make the color-scheme so dim, though? The ambiance is pretty intimate, but it came off as too inorganic. Unlived in. Then again, he had been going for a pretentious, intimidatingly classy vibe when he designed it. Just look at that flattering picture of him wearing that crown and wielding that scepter! Bill admires the kingly portrayal for a moment before what he is looking at clicks together.

Huh? That is clearly Bill Cipher, the one-eyed, Mr. Peanut-wannabe triangle! How could he possibly mistake that for himse-

Everything slams into him all at once, a hurricane of realization that blows apart his mind. All he can do is weather the storm as a trillion years worth of memories crush his eggshell of a mortal brain, clutching his head as he hunches over on the rug. Ok, not a trillion. He’d have a seizure trying to process all of that. But the most essential and relevant highlights of his life? Yup: they are all there.

Bill stays paralyzed in this position, panting from the strain until it gradually recedes to a faint pulse that beats in his temples. After a moment, he loudly curses in a language he hasn’t recalled in 27 years, the combination of syllables awkwardly falling off of a tongue that has never spoken them.

That shitty, two-faced salamander! This was His latest test for Bill?! Altering his body, wiping his memories, and dropping him onto this disappointment ball with all the strength of a maggot?! Between the two trials Bill has been given, this one was even more inane and degrading than Theraprism! Bill Cipher: a human being?! It isn’t natural! It goes against everything he is! He is an Euclidean; the only one left! Not a run-of-the-mill, one-life-spanned, waste of carbon!

Bill shakily rises to his full height, no longer trusting his feet to hold him upright as he is forced to abide by gravity after what felt like a lifetime of defying it. No wonder this body constantly betrays him! It is just a meaty containment husk meant to keep him trapped and anchored to the mortal realm. Of all the nonsensical schemes to put him through! Just what was that slimy fish bait thinking?! How could He do this to Bill?! WHY?! WHAT COULD HE POSSIBLY GAIN FROM THIS BESIDES HUMILIATING HIM?!

Learn lest the same fate will befall. Change is the hardest trial of all.