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aneyeforatree · 20 days ago

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Widower part three! Containing syrup, Idaho, and other interesting facts.

Part One is here, and Part Two is here.

“Welp! With the chores outta the way,” Bill dusts his hands off, turning this way and that as he examines the empty field. He reels on Dipper, eye-smiling in his strange, triangular manner. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Dipper frowns, but doesn’t speak. He’s not dignifying that with a response.

Beside him, Mabel clears her throat, nudging him with an elbow. When he levels his glare at her, she returns it, in a clear ‘don’t piss off the super-powerful demon’ look.

He makes a face right back. What if he wants to piss off the super-powerful demon? Did she think about that? It’s not like they’re in danger. Mostly. The wide-eyed look of frustration he gets in return makes him roll his eyes.

Bill interrupts, clearing the throat he doesn’t have. “As touching as your fleshy blood-related bonding is - super gross, by the way -” He waves towards his terrible demonic base. “How ‘bout checking out the digs? See all the cooler things? Settle in!”

Mabel grimaces; Dipper merely rubs his temples.

More stuff after flipping his concept of magic and physics on the head, great. He totally wanted to have his brain explode, literally -

Another elbow to the side; Mabel, pointing out the winged eyeballs flying distantly overhead - and honestly? Point. They should probably stick by the guy who can fend off laser-shooting demonic pests.

“Great.” Dipper says, waving Bill forward with a grandness he doesn’t feel. “Lead the way.”

Bill does as requested. with considerable aplomb. He even gives a little mocking bow, tipping his hat, before he brings his two human captives back to his lair. Super cool. Definitely not ominous.

Dipper slinks along in Bill’s path, half-listening to him talk as they wander back into the black halls of the Fearamid. The stone makes almost no sound against his sneakers, while Bill himself makes none at all with his floating bullshit.

“Don’t make that face, kid,” Bill says, rolling his eye at Dipper’s askance look. “You won’t find a more comfy pad to hang out than the ol’ Fearamid! Trust me!”

Dipper grunts instead of a response. It’s a point he would love to refute, except. It is kind of comfy, in a weird way.

Bill’s lair has demonic air conditioning, or something, so the temperature’s neither too hot nor too cool. The halls are roomy, with no demons in sight for now, and though the non-euclidean construction is strange, it’s not too confusing. Almost like a puzzle he’s already solved.

Which is a good thing, really. Odds are they’re going to see a lot more of the place.

Bill leads him and his sister on another merry trip through his incomprehensible fortress, heavy bass from the party pounding in the walls, and he talks constantly. The noise is terrible - and the amount of bragging one triangle manages to produce per second is way too high.

Though considering what Dipper’s just seen… the boasts aren’t entirely unwarranted.

Sure, Bill’s shown off his magic before. He loves a good show, and tries to make his excursions exciting. He’s turned people into statues, blasted a few buildings into dust, mutated animals, controlled the weather -

But those were just advanced versions of typical demon powers. The logical assumption was that he was an extra-potent version of your standard demon grunt, and his bragging pure bluster.

Turns out all the shit Bill talked? Actually comes with the insane, physics-defying reality manipulating chops to back it up.

Dipper studies demons, it’s his job, and even he didn’t anticipate… that.

Bill Cipher is a bigger threat than anyone expected. Ever. A king not just in name, but in power. A monster among monsters. An immense, annoying, violent threat.

Dipper has to tell people. Spread the word. Let them what they’re really facing, the danger lurking latent inside this fortress -

But he’s trapped here, guided along by a madman with delusions of matrimony, with absolutely no one to warn about it. Except Mabel, who already knows.

And hell, who’d believe him if he did get the word out? Dipper barely believes it, and he saw it all firsthand.

He shivers, though the Fearamid isn’t cold. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, keeping his head down and his thoughts to himself.

The one relief is Mabel. In her continued, alive presence, in having another witness to the insanity - and in how she somehow keeps up with all Bill’s rambling bullshit.

“So, you just sent, like, a billion people flying.” Mabel says, thankfully breaking from the weird fashion tangent they’d been on. “Where did you send everyone?”

“Eh. Places.” Bill says, with his usual specificity. He turns his eye on Dipper before the interruption can even start to form. “They’re fine, kid. Dropped ‘em off in the nearest big human city. Might not be where they were picked up, but your guys can take it from there!”

Well… That didn’t sound like a lie, so. Everyone’s safe. Probably. And it would be unreasonable for Bill to pick out each and every person and figure out where he figurined them.

It’s still annoying. But complaining about how Bill released two thousand captives sounds petty even to Dipper, so he keeps his mouth shut.

As far as deals go, he just pulled possibly the most one-sided one in history - and it wasn’t in Bill’s favor.

His palm still tingles. He rubs it against his jeans rapidly, until it feels hot enough to ignore.

“So…” Mabel continues, hesitant. She taps the tips of her index fingers together, not meeting Bill’s eye. “What about me and Dipper?”

She says it with a hint of hope and a cheerful smile. Dipper sighs again. Optimism. So like his sister - and so misguided.

“C’mon, wasn’t it obvious? You two are sticking with me.” Bill says, resoundingly smug. He slings an arm over Mabel’s shoulders. The other travels a good distance before capturing Dipper, but inevitably drags him in. “Gotta say, it’s been a while since I’ve had mortals hang out in the Fearamid! Kinda nostalgic.”

Yep. No shot they were leaving. Bill already said he was going to help them ‘settle in’, and that means they’re in for the long haul.

After all. He has a ‘wedding’ to plan.

While Dipper’s unimpressed look doesn’t land, Bill takes in Mabel's wide-eyed stare - and rolls his eye again.

“Don’t gimme that look, Shooting Star! You should be flattered! Being a guest at my place is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Well,” He turns to Dipper and winks, a surprising feat with one eye. “Twice, in some cases.”

Ah, yes. The delusion. Dipper hasn’t come up with a good argument against it yet, so he flips this asshole off. Bill beams at him, brightening up and squeezing his shoulder.

Mabel tugs nervously at the hem of her sweater, though she keeps up a smile. The knitting pulls out in loops, and she weaves her fingers into them. “So are we, uh.”

“Safe? Ha! Safety’s a delusion to keep mortal minds safe from existential despair!” Bill says cheerfully. “But, eh, no one here’s gonna mess with you if I have anything to say about it. And I do! At length! With extreme violence if needed!”

“Great.” Dipper says again. He stalks forward, nearly getting away from the arm around his shoulders - until Bill darts over to keep it up, leaving Mabel unmolested. “So we’re captives.”

“Ahem. Guests,” Bill chides, nudging angle against side. “You and me got a wedding to think of, and your sister’s obviously gonna be your Best Man.” He points double finger-guns at Mabel, who’s already perked up at the prospect. “While you get to be the co-star of the show! An entire constellation, even!”

��I know,” Dipper snaps. “You’ve made your intentions pretty clear.”

Though he’s tempted to shrug Bill’s arm off, he holds back. Breathing in, then out again slowly.

Less of a cold shoulder. That was their deal. A few annoyances are a fair price for two thousand lives. Dipper figures he can put up with it a little longer.

That, and the consequences for breaking a deal are, almost universally, painful. He’d rather not find out how theirs works.

Actually getting married, though? That wasn’t part of their agreement, and Bill’s an idiot for not including it in his terms. There’s room to resist. To fight this asshole, in word and in deed.

If Bill thinks he’s gonna get everything he wants? He’s got another thing coming.

“Jeez, you’re grumpy this time ‘round,” Bill says with a sigh. Patting Dipper’s shoulder, he slows to a stop. “Your sister already got her four hundred winks in - but I think you need a nap.”

“Or a sandwich,” Mabel chimes in, unhelpfully. She leans in, stage whispering into Bill’s side. “He gets really hangry.”

“Ha! See, now that’s the kinda insight a guy can work with.” Bill points at her with both hands, then gives a double thumbs-up. “Your sister’s pretty decent again, sapling! I approve.”

Mabel, buoyed by the compliment, sticks her tongue out at her underestimating, ungrateful older brother - then blinks. “Wait. Again?”

God, right. She hasn’t heard the whole story yet.

Dipper waves off her questioning look, with a hint of apology. “Later.”

When they’re not in earshot of the insane demon. Explaining will be hard enough without Bill adding extra ‘details’.

“So! Since the wedding’s a ways off, you both need a place to crash. And we’re already here!” Bill releases Dipper - finally - and spreads his arms wide. “Ta-da!”

Dipper glances around. They’ve reached the middle of a black stone corridor, same as all the others. One single, human-sized door lies to their right, the dark wood inlaid with gold in triangular patterns - but that stuff’s everywhere. It’s elegant, yet not remarkable.

Strange. Dipper was expecting something… more dramatic? Showy? Something on fire, anyway, not woodwork that wouldn’t be out of place in a fancy manor. What’s so special here?

He tries to focus on their surroundings. To find out what’s really going on, even over the music from- then blinks at the near-silence, and reevaluates.

Nevermind, he gets it now. From their position in the Fearamid, the party sounds are so distant he can barely hear them. The halls are clean and clear, without clawmarks on the floor or spilled drinks or blood, and come to think of it - they did go up a bunch of staircases.

Special, then. In that nobody else is up in this section. Wherever Bill’s led them has a distinct vibe of privacy.

“Now where am I gonna stash you, Shooting Star?” Bill rubs under his eye thoughtfully.. He drifts around Mabel in one full circle, examining her in 360 degrees - then stops right in front of her. “Ha! Y’know, I’ve got just the thing!”

One solid clap later, a second door appears on the opposite wall, snapping into existence with a sound not unlike ‘poink’. The pale wood surface is plastered with glittery stars, and a pink plaque with cursive script reads, ‘The In-Law’.

“Oooh,” Mabel’s eyes widen, clapping her cheeks in delight. “Fancy.”

Dipper watches as she flings the door open - winces, briefly, from the eye-searing colors inside - then wonders how Bill got it exactly to her taste.

“But as for you, sapling,” Bill says, eye glinting. He floats over to the ornate door and swings it open, gesturing forward. “You get to stay-”

Dipper gets a glimpse of a wide, dark, richly furnished room - with every surface covered in empty bottles. A brief whiff of stale liquor drifts out before Bill slams it shut, pupil narrowed to a line.

“Actually, y’know what? You two catch up and do sentimental human crap,” Bill says airily. He shoos them away, keeping a firm third arm on the doorknob to hold it closed. “I gotta couple things to take care of.”

Dipper’s about to protest - why does Mabel get the bespoke room, and him the afterparty disaster pile - but his sister seizes him by the wrist and drags him in

Thankfully, Bill doesn’t follow. He simply waves, eye-smiling, and the door slams shut behind them. Dipper glances back, hoping that wasn’t as ominous as it sounded.

“Wow, Bill really knows how to decorate.” Mabel lets go, looking around her room with wide eyes. She spins in a circle, arms in the air. “Look at this place!”

The colorful walls, the bed with strings of lights around it, the rainbow theming. All very Mabel - and all very suspicious. This is clearly some kind of trick.

As his sister starts bouncing on the big pink bed, Dipper nudges a pile of plush animals. No blood gushes out, and there’s no screaming, so he shrugs and says, “It’s okay.”

Mabel stops jumping on the mattress when she catches the look on his face. The smile fades, and she sighs.

“I guess it’s got its downsides.” She slides down to sit on the edge of the bed, kicking her feet. “Like… how I got here.”

Ah. The whole… statue thing must have been lingering in her thoughts for her to come out with it so quickly.

“Yeah.” Shrugging, Dipper stuffs his hands in his pockets. There’s not much else to say.

“How long was I…”

“About a year.” He tries to crack a smile, reassure her that everything’s okay. He thinks it works, too. Because for the first time in a year, things are okay - Or at least way, way better. “It really freaked everyone out.”

Mabel nods, only half-paying attention. She wraps her arms around herself. “I don’t remember it. But it’s like. I kind of feel it, you know? That time’s passed.”

God, Dipper’s an asshole. Here he is, wallowing in self-pity because a super-powerful being has a crush on him, while Mabel’s dealing with all kinds of bullshit. He moves to put a hand on her shoulder -

“But enough about that!” Mabel rocks up her heels, looking up at the ceiling with her hands tucked behind her back - then reels on him, grinning wide. “I wanna know how long you’ve been dating-”

“Never.” Dipper says, before she can finish the sentence. It’s just so wrong. He returns her responding frown, only deeper and more serious. “I only met the guy today.”

Mabel lets out a low whistle. “Well, when you meet a great guy,” She shrugs, starting to smile. “Gotta move fast!”

“But not this fast.” Dipper cuts an arm through the air. “Bill’s insane. And he’s totally wrong about me being right for him. I’m not even the same person.” Catching Mabel’s confused look, he sighs. “Okay. It’s later, so. Let me fill you in.”

Explaining takes only a couple minutes. How she got enstatued - a fact she’s aware of and not thrilled about - and his efforts to take revenge. How fighting against demonic forces isn’t that hard, when you know what you’re doing. And really, he only made a little, tiny misstep anyone could have made when he ended up captured.

Then, Bill. Being offered as tribute. The culmination of their current situation, and where everything Dipper knows can be compacted into a few bulletpoints:

Dead husband, supposed ‘reincarnation’, and Bill being the worst at making marriage proposals, ever. In that he didn’t even bother with one.

Mabel listens to his tale with unusual silence. No interruptions, only nodding and frowning at certain points. Dipper guesses she’s still processing… a lot of things, probably. He’s not feeling on solid ground himself.

After he’s finished, she asks, “Do you think that’s why Bill invaded Earth?”

“What?” Dipper blinks. He was expecting… he doesn’t know. Maybe agreement on how evil and bizarre Bill is. Anger at what had happened to her. Not -

He sighs, again, and rubs at his eyes. “No, I don’t think Bill Cipher conquered the west coast just to date people.”

“Not to date people, Dipper,” Mabel insists. “To find his husband. Duh!”

“The dead one,” Dipper points out. “That guy. Who died.” He frowns. Maybe she’s not aware either… “Look, reincarnation-”

“Isn’t real. Everyone knows that.” Mabel rolls her eyes at his condescension, then beams as she delivers her retort. “But does Bill know that?”

Dipper starts to protest - but pauses.

That’s the same thought he had earlier. At the time he’d only been thinking about the pile of weird bullshit suddenly heaped on him, not the mystery of Bill Cipher’s motivations.

But. That would explain a lot. Not just his kidnapping and Bill’s bizarre behavior, but the greater scheme. One nobody’s ever found a real answer for.

“I… don’t think he does.” Dipper admits, after a brief hesitation. “He was really sure I was his husband when he saw me.” Which means rebirth is a thing somewhere. Maybe in his native dimension?

“‘Cause he’s pretty crazy, yeah.” Mabel agrees, though now she frowns. “But dunno. I kinda get it?” She shrugs, lifting her hands. “Losing someone you care about sucks.”

Yeah. Yeah, it sucks. It’s the worst.

Losing someone can drive you to desperate lengths, or send you on impossible journeys. Taking risks, inviting trouble. Hoping against hope. Dipper guesses he can’t point fingers, really.

The difference is Bill isn’t capable of caring about someone, ever. The closest emotion would be ‘possessiveness’ or ‘obsession’. Dipper might have argued even that was a stretch, if the paintings weren’t literally on the wall about it.

“Welp!” Mabel claps, bouncing over and sitting back on the bed. “Guess that explains that! One world-conquering mystery, solved.” She holds her hand up for a high five.

“Nope.” Dipper says. He shakes his head when Mabel starts to pout. “Look, if Bill was looking for someone, he would have mentioned it. He could have threatened the whole world to find his guy, or - or bribed people, or run a contest for best lookalike.” Or even leave his goddamn house once in a while, instead of making ‘collectables’. “It just doesn’t track.”

There’s a thousand things Bill could have done, since he apparently has absurd powers to go with his entirely absurd existence. A thousand spells he could have cast, a billion thaums of magic to throw around. And he spent it sulking on his throne, bothering decent people, and filling a side room with empty bottles. Not the behavior of a being on a mission.

Dipper’s known the guy for less than a day, but he’s certain about one thing.

Bill Cipher searching for someone? Would be obnoxious, violent and loud.

“Okay, maybe it’s not the whole story. But he did marry a human one time, right?” Mabel flaps a sweater sleeve, then points at the ceiling, and through it the x-shaped rift over the Fearamid. “I don’t think they have many out there.”

True; there aren’t. And It’s entirely possible Bill’s got a weird thing for humans; he wouldn’t be the first monster with that proclivity. Or the first to kidnap their intended, for that matter.

“Yeah, fair.” Dipper concedes. He plops down next to her, leaning over to rest his chin in his hands. “I just don’t see why the human spouse is me.”

“Hey,” Mabel says, in a softer tone. She punches him lightly on the side. “You’re a cool guy, Dipper. You could bag any demon you wanted! I mean, Bill’s totally into you already, and he’s their king.”

Oh god. ‘King’ is only a loose description, demons don’t have a monarchy. But the image it conjures fits right into shitty romance novel tropes, which means -

She’s got the wrong end of the stick.

“I don’t need a pep talk.” Dipper drags his hands down his face, praying for patience “Did you forget we’re talking about Bill Cipher?”

“Yeah, I guess he’s not the hottest. Big shape made of metal. All angles. Super flat.” Mabel says, counting the flaws on her fingers. She rubs her chin and frowns. “Hey, how’s your honeymoon supposed to work when he has no-”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“What? He doesn’t wear pants, Dipper!” She insists, thumping a fist on her knee. “It’s the kind of thing you notice!”

“I wasn’t thinking of the honeymoon,” Dipper says through gritted teeth. Little sisters should not know what sex is, ever. “I was thinking, ‘How do I get out of this?’”

“Uh…” Mabel pauses, hand lifted - then lets it drop back into her lap. “Hm.”

“Yeah,” Dipper agrees. It’s a pretty tough question.

This was never going to be easy. They’re dealing with the biggest, most annoying, most powerful jackass on the planet - and he’s a particularly nitpicky flavor of supernatural to boot. They like their agreements in writing.

Without a deal, how does anyone convince a demon to do something?

Well, okay. Dipper’s done that. But only once or twice. Three times, max.

Manipulating demons is risky business, with coinflip odds at best. The few times he’s pulled it were to get the hell out of dodge, or to get their victims the hell out of dodge, and it was still a close thing. Demons can be stupid, and Dipper was lucky.

Unfortunately, his instincts tell him Bill Cipher’s a much older, smarter beast. He won’t fall for the ‘oh my god, what’s that behind you?’ trick. Though he would probably laugh.

“Hmmmmm,” Mabel continues. Her eyes narrow, and she taps her foot. “Hm, hm, hm, hm, hm.”

Uh oh. Dipper has a bad feeling about this. “What are you doing?”

“So we’re probably not getting out of here anytime soon. Right?”

“No,” Dipper admits, with some chagrin. They could still escape. It’s possible. But he needs time to come up with something, and right now he’s emptyhanded.

“And Bill’s probably not going to give up on marrying you, either.”

“No.” The word comes out like a tired sigh. Bill’s definitely, absolutely, 100% locked the hell in, with a certainty he’s rarely seen in demons.

“Then honestly?” Mabel shrugs, lifting her hands and tucking her chin in. “I’d play along.”

Dipper stares at his sister for a long moment.

She can’t be - oh, no, there’s that stubborn look, with the narrowed eyes and fists on her sides. She is serious.

He clears his throat. “Look, I know you read a lot of bad romance novels, but-”

“No, no, listen! Remember the field? The collection?” Mabel insists, waving at the window and the green view outside. “Dipper, he brought everyone back to life because you complained about it! They all got to go home!”

Dipper glances out the window at the empty field, then away again. “What does that have to do with-”

“Hey.” She takes him by the shoulders and shakes him. Her gaze is so intent Dipper doesn’t resist, lettering her rock him back and forth. “You wanna stop Bill from taking over the rest of the world?” Shaking harder, Dipper tries not to let his head snap around. “Then think about what happens if you tell him ‘no’!”

“That’s-”

Insane, Dipper was about to say. Impossible, too.

Only Bill is insane, impossibly so - and everything Mabel just said was correct.

With any other demon, this would be a stupid, impossible plan. But with a stupid being who’s already has shown he can be argued with… and he did free those people. He can be convinced.

It’s a totally bonkers, off-the-wall idea based mainly on vibes, and she’s still got a goddamn point.

“I know, it’s crazy. But Bill’s crazy, and you’re the only thing that’s ever stopped him,” Mabel says, mirroring his thoughts as she so often does. Her elbow nudges him in the side. “I thought you were the practical one, Dippin’ Dots.”

Shit. He is.

Dipper lets out a long, low, complaining groan, and flops back on the bed. Mabel pats him sympathetically on the arm.

Almost nothing thwarts Bill Cipher. There are too many demons in his thrall to fight, and his magic’s too strong to overcome. Nobody’s made a dent on that shining surface, and no bribe in the world, assault by force, or diplomatic approach has ever convinced him to relinquish bits of his collection. Much less all of it.

Until Dipper came along.

When you find the right angle of attack, you have to exploit it. You hit the big boss in his glowing weak point, or be defeated. This is the logical thing to do. The reasonable thing to do.

God, he hates being the practical one sometimes.

“Shit.” Dipper says, with deep feeling. Logic. Reasonability. And yet - He throws an arm over his eyes, and admits, “I don’t know how far I can take this.”

Even if it’s for a greater good. Even if he knew there was a higher purpose behind it and the whole thing was bullshit - Marrying someone like that feels… wrong. Because he’d know it was bullshit.

And Dipper can’t marry a demon at all. The concept’s insane.They’re only abstractly cool as a concept, nowhere near as cool in person, and Mr. King Nightmare Asshole is the single most annoying bastard of them all.

“Hey, maybe it doesn’t go anywhere! Like, maybe you call it off after he’s already sent all his demons back to the other dimension. Or maybe his real husband shows up to shout ‘I object’ at the wedding!” She clenches fists, as if wrapping htem around something, then thrusts forward. “Or maybe you stab him on your wedding night. Right in the eye!”

“What the hell, Mabel?” Dipper sits up, scandalized. Which isn’t fair of him, he knows; it’s not like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “Since when do you want to kill people?”

“He did turn me into a statue, Dipper,” She says, unimpressed. Along with an eyeroll, for older brothers being so uptight. “I mean, it’d be one thing if you were actually dating. But since Bill’s being a creep…” She shrugs. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

There’s so much he’s gotta do.

He breathes in slowly, sitting up. The path is crystal clear in his head, what he needs to do. What he’ll have to do - though hopefully there are fewer landmines than he’s imagining.

And Mabel must catch the expression on his face, because she turns more serious.

“Wait, wait. You don’t have to, it was just an idea.” She pats him on the shoulder rapidly, trying to reassure.

“Well, obviously I’m not going to marry the guy. But leading him on?” Dipper rises from the bed. “I think I can do that.”

There’s an invulnerable boss monster, never before defeated, and Dipper has the only chance at the big, glowing weak point. He’d be stupid not to try.

“We could find another way out, though! Tell Bill he can forget it, no triangles allowed.” She stands up after him, matching his determination. Then, after a beat of thought. “Speaking of, I’m gonna make a sign for my door.”

“You should,” He says. Not that Bill will respect it, but. He shrugs, then sterns his shoulders, trying to project a confidence he doesn’t feel. “But if there’s a chance to save the world - then count me in.”

“Okay,” She says, sounding more skeptical than he’d like. Then she nods once, firmly. “And if Bill really is a creep to you, I’ll punch him right in the eye.”

Dipper can’t help but smile. He has his sister back, and she has his back. Despite everything else going on, this feels pretty great.

He pulls her in for a hug, and they pat each other’s backs while going ‘bwomp bwomp’. Classic. Man he missed this.

“It’s pretty gross, just so you know.” He says as he pulls away. At her confused look, he adds. “Punching Bill in the eye. It’s like a… warm, slimy stress ball.” Or a huge tapioca pearl, or - ugh, his knuckles still feel gross. Dipper wipes them on his shirt.

Mabel’s eyes widen, like he’s said something insane. She starts to speak, then stops, looking oddly thoughtful.

“You know what, Dipper?” She gives him a big thumbs up, and a smile. “I think you got this.”

With the Bill problem temporarily settled - or at least having a *plan* for it, that’s a huge relief - they spend the rest of the evening catching up. Not that Mabel has much to catch up with, having been frozen in stone. But chatting with her in general feels so novel, and fresh after so long without it.

He’s pacing the floor by the bed, trying to plot out the exact steps of convincing their demonic captor to do anything and wishing he had a whiteboard, when he stops. “Mabel?”

A soft snort is his response. Mabel’s fallen asleep. Half leaned on the headboard, one star-shaped plush clasped in her arms.

Guess being de-statued must have taken a lot out of her. And it’s - Dipper glances out the window - dark already? They must have been talking longer than he thought.

Well, it’s probably for the best. Mabel’s ‘slept’ for a year, but probably not slept. He hopes that’s normal, for being refleshified. That everyone else is okay, too. She seems fine, muttering in her sleep and rolling onto her side, so… he shrugs.

Honestly, he’s getting pretty exhausted himself. The day’s stress hasn’t just affected her; Dipper just carries it better.

And it’s not over yet. Not even a little.

He tosses the blanket with the least horrifying pattern on it over her, and goes to face his fate.

After shutting the door behind him, quietly as he can, Dipper pauses in the hallway.

Technically he doesn’t have to go to the room Bill brought him to. There’s at least two other directions in this hallway alone, and dozens more turns along the way. He’s not about to make a break for it, not without Mabel, but he could find somewhere else to hole up for the night. Just to stick it to Bill, the bastard.

Deep below his feet, a low quick beat of bass keeps drumming. The party must still be going; how long is it going to last?

Which means not only are there demons everywhere in the Fearamid. A lot of them are extremely drunk.

So. Take his chances with a horde of plastered demons, who barely have restraint in the first place - or with the obsessive madman who keeps wanting to wrap extendable arms around him? What a goddamn choice.

With a heavy sigh, he opens the door to ‘his’ room.

It swings open silently, the dark interior faintly lit on the opposite side by a flickering fireplace. The bottles have vanished, and the scent of recently sprayed air freshener lingers.

No sign of demonic activity, though. It’s eerily quiet.

Dipper steps in, shutting the door behind him. Guiding himself with a palm flat on the nearby wall, he bumps against a lightswitch and flips it.

The sudden light takes a second to adjust to. It takes a full three more to absorb the decor.

Wow. Okay. Mabel’s room might have been tailored for her, but those decorations are peanuts compared to the decadence of Dipper’s.

The dark walls, the gold inlay. The tapestries, the trinkets, the furniture made of heavy, expensive-looking wood. Dipper’s seen mansions online that would quaver at the subtle display of old, powerful wealth. Only the couch stands out as being not expensive as hell. It’s a slightly worn, cloth thing in dark blue that looks very soft. Near the feet, there are slight streaks in the carpet from where it looks like it was recently moved.

“Hello?” Dipper calls, checking the living room again. There are other doors, leading to other rooms in the suite, but they’re all closed. “Bill?”

Seconds pass. No response. He waits a little longer, but Bill doesn’t show. Even though he’s had plenty of time to pop up for a jumpscare.

And that’s good, really. Bill would probably give him a too-enthusiastic wave, saying something stupid and presumptuous like, ‘good to see ya!’ or ‘welcome home!’, or - just generally acting like Dipper’s not a stranger. An empty apartment is much more reasonable.

Stomping forward on the carpet, Dipper drops onto the couch with a ‘thump’, and crosses his arms. The soft cushions mold under him like it’s trying to absorb him. Which it better not, he’s already having a bad day. There would be repercussions.

Still… This isn’t the worst place to be trapped, He guesses. For all that it’s decadent, this place feels lived in. Cozy, almost. Unlike most mansions, there’s a sense that people actually went about their day-to-day lives here, once upon a time.

Dipper checks the room again - still empty. Very quiet. Almost too quiet, in a way that makes him fidget and keep glancing at the door. Waiting for someone to come through, almost upset that they don’t.

Funny. Just when Dipper thought he’d never be rid of that asshole, he vanished into thin air.

But - wait. Bill Cipher, dream demon, Nightmare King. Master of the mind. Technically his powers do let him vanish, into -

He couldn’t be -

Dipper’s hand flies to the side of his head, pressing the space between his temple and his ear. His gut twists in a rising wave of anxious nausea.

It feels like he’s the only one in his head. But how would he know? This is hardly his area of expertise, and nobody’s been in his brain before except himself. The only voice he can hear is his own, bouncing against the walls in increasing worry, but that’s hardly a sign when the monster could be in there with him and just keeping quiet, waiting to -

Wait a minute. Keeping quiet?

Dipper does a quick gut check - it hasn’t failed him yet, it better not fail him now - and lets out a deep, shuddering sigh. He slumps down a few inches in his seat, suddenly boneless.

Oh thank fuck. Bill’s not in his mind. No way, no how.

Because if he did get into Dipper’s brain, there’s zero chance in the world - in any world, in the entire universe - that he’d be able to shut up about it.

That leaves Dipper well and truly alone in this demonic penthouse suite. Nice and calm and empty.

So. Since Bill’s not going to make an appearance, Dipper should take advantage of it. It’s good. really. He doesn’t need his stupid hand held to figure out an apartment.

The most obvious door is the bedroom. Dark inside, with a fireplace unlit and several doors leading off it. One might be a closet, another might be a bathroom - which is honestly tempting - but since Dipper’s not about to investigate the biggest potential trap just yet, he shuts it and moves on.

Finding food ends up a little more fraught. The kitchen’s great, spotlessly clean with well-appointed cupboards - but scrounging in the fridge reveals something horrible and alive that Dipper has to kick back into its drawer, before slamming the door shut and holding it closed. He settles for a jar of peanut butter pretzels and makes a mental note to tell that asshole he missed part of the cleanup.

And there is another bathroom, not one off the master bedroom. Smaller and with only a shower, but enough to get himself sorted and wash off the fear-sweat in one of the briefest showers of his life.

Once that’s settled, there’s only one place left to explore. Perhaps the most dangerous place of all, considering the nature of his captor.

Dipper takes a deep breath, and ventures into the bedroom.

He stands in the doorway for a moment, then feels around until he switches on the light. Same as the rest of the place; opulent, indulgent, with a bed big enough to get lost in. The too-huge mattress is covered in smooth blue blankets that look soft and appealing, and that gives him the creeps.

All things considered, though. It’s oddly normal, for a bedroom in a nightmare realm. Sure, there’s an ominous tapestry woven with impossible patterns, too many trinkets with Bill himself emblazoned on them, and the fireplace lit up at the same time as the lights - but, like. It’s not riddled with blood or monster bile, and there’s only one portrait of Bill himself on the wall. It almost feels restrained.

In fact, it’s so restrained that Dipper almost doesn’t notice the photo.

Not because it’s not obvious. It’s in a frame on the bedside table, right there for anyone to see. He skims right over it at first glance.

Then realizes it’s not a photo of Bill, how weird that is, and does a double-take.

He picks up the photo, blowing dust off the frame. Frowning, he runs his thumb over the glass to wipe away old fingerprints.

Seeing another picture of Bill’s husband isn’t surprising. There are only a billion of them about.

But it’s weird seeing him older.

In the photo, Bill’s husband rests with his chin in his palm, eyes drifting shut as if near the verge of sleep. He sits slumped at a desk scattered with papers, covered with odd, cryptic notes. He has a few lines on his face, some grey hair, and a pair of big-lensed glasses perched precariously on the tip of the nose. A quick guess places him in… roughly late fifties? Early sixties?

Still the same guy, though. Age left its mark, but with a gentle touch that leaves the resemblance plain.

Dipper rubs at the bridge of his nose. At least he can count on aging gracefully. If any of that carries over; they’re still totally different people.

So. Another picture. Weird, definitely. Uncomfortable to look at, in a way he can’t place? Also definitely.

But Bill Cipher gets one - and only one - credit, and that’s for not being a creep. If he’s got a photo maybe thirty to forty years after those unsettling twink portraits, his weird attachment to his weirder husband lasted way longer than expected.

Which proves nothing vis-a-vis him not being a total kidnapping psycho, roping normal people into - whatever this is. It’s not - Dipper’s not - what is Bill even up to, anyway? None of this makes sense.

He’s about to slam the damn thing back down on the table when something catches his eye. Hesitating, he tilts the picture for a better look.

It was hard to tell at first glance, but on the second it’s obvious. Behind the husband, not covered by the desk, a black-gold pattern is just visible.

The carpet.

Which is a perfect match for the one in this apartment.

But the Fearamid only appeared after Bill invaded. Before that, it was in another dimension, a whole reality away from Earth. There’s no way it could - but if it’s not - and. Wait.

How did Bill’s husband get into the Fearamid before it slammed into northern California? Someone would have seen it if it manifested before in reality. Which reminds him of a question he had earlier, never fully answered: How’d this guy meet Bill in the first place?

Dipper sets the frame back down, carefully this time. Adjusts it to sit exactly the way he found it, in case Bill notices the difference - then he lets himself fall back on the bed and glares at the ceiling.

So many questions. Too few answers. It seems like that’s just how being around Bill operates. He might never know what’s going on, not truly. Hell, a whole lifetime isn’t enough to figure out that asshole’s secrets.

The thought makes Dipper feel like rolling himself up in these blankets and never coming out again. He tugs a corner of one over his lap in a huff. Then rolls onto the mattress, dragging the expanse of soft blanket around him..

For all the many, many faults of Bill Cipher, he made Dipper some excellent bedding. Mattress firm, but yielding. Blankets, comfy and warm. And Dipper himself is tired, having been put through enough mental and emotional wringers that he’s lost count of them.

He settles into the divot in the mattress, molded to his body like it was meant for him, and falls instantly asleep.

-----------------------

He isn’t sure what time he wakes, only that the morning light isn’t coming in through his window, and the rattling of his neighbor’s shitty air conditioner is thankfully absent.

His bed got an upgrade, though.

Dipper rolls over, kicking his feet against the luxurious sheets. The pillow stays cool against his face as he nuzzles into it, and the blankets are just right. He could easily lie here for another hour or so - and hell, why not?

Lazy morning is a go, then. He gropes around for his phone, before realizing it made its way under his arm during the night. Weird, he usually keeps it in his pocket or on the table.

Also, it’s really warm. Kind of like his forearm’s resting on a hot water bottle. Dipper shifts against it, trying to feel for the edges, but the solid smooth screen stretches from his elbow to his wrist. He pats his palm against the surface, fingertips trying to find purchase - and hears a chuckle.

“Gah!” Dipper yelps, sitting bolt upright. He tugs the blankets up his chest, heart pounding as he stares at this… asshole. “What the fuck, Bill.”

“Good morning, sapling!” Bill chimes in, lacking both hat and tie but with his eye curved in his usual smile. He rolls onto his side, propping his top angle up with one hand and tracing coy circles on the sheets with the other. “Sleep well? How were your dreams? Tell me all the deets!”

Unwilling to dignify that with a response, Dipper simply glares. As usual, Bill brightens at the sight.

Stupid. His phone got taken when he was captured. He should have realized something was off, or noticed it was way too big, or -

And shit, he can’t believe he fell asleep last night. Like, at all.

Dropping off that fast, in the fortress of a madman? Without staying up for hours, wracked with worry and insomnia? That’s a rare occasion even without all the bullshit going on, he must have been exhausted.

“Bill. What the hell are you doing in my bed?” He asks, instead of going on a tirade about ‘privacy’ or ‘personal space’. It wouldn’t have any effect.

“Hey! This ain’t just any part of the Fearamid. It’s the penthouse suite!” Bill sits up, legs crossing. He wags a chiding finger at Dipper’s face. “You’re invading my bed.”

…Shit. Damn it. Dipper makes a face, but doesn’t comment.

Welp, that explains that. This place was too good to be true, wasn’t it.

Mabel got a new bedroom to suit her, with total privacy - while Dipper got an invite to the ‘best’ accommodations available. And because from Bill’s perspective it’s a favor, he can’t even call it a dick move. Or at least, not an intentional one.

“It was the only bedroom,” Dipper points out. It’s stupid to be embarrassed, so he decides to be annoyed instead. “Or were you going to make your fiance sleep on the couch?”

“Fiance,” Bill says, with an odd, dreamy tone in his voice. His pupil widens as he stares off into the distance. “Now that’s a fun word.”

Fuck. Dipper slaps himself on the forehead. Why did he say that. Now he’s reinforced the damn delusion.

Which… technically he’s supposed to be doing, right. To lead Bill on. In theory, encouraging him, leading him deeper and deeper into an inevitable trap, might even save the world.

That’s the goal. The shining endpoint, the final part of the game. Dipper can see the possibilities in his mind’s eye, distant but - again, in theory - reachable.

Problem is, he can also see how the process is going to suck.

With a groan, Dipper rolls out from under the sheets and stomps towards the bathroom. Bill stays frozen in glimmering delight for a second, then snaps to attention and drifts after him.

“Hey, hey, don’t go! You're welcome in between my sheets anytime, kid! It's a real highlight of the day!”

“Yeah.” Dipper mumbles, “You would like that.” With the obsession and everything.

“Where you headed?” Bill’s voice comes from behind and to the left, a way-too-chatty shoulder devil. “A lazy morning lounging with your fiance would rule and you know it!” He adds, relishing the word he’s rediscovered.

“Nope.” Dipper states, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. He pulls open the bathroom door a bare fraction, trying to shimmy his way in without letting this guy follow. “Too busy.”

“Busy with what?” Bill’s arm wiggles in after him, and refuses to budge when Dipper tries to shut the door on it. God, shapeshifting is really annoying. “Stop running, idiot! Lemme in!” For crying out loud, why can’t this stupid demon take a hint -

He opens the door just enough to glare and state, “I have to pee,” before slamming it shut again.

Bill’s arm gets flattened between the door and the frame, waves once or twice, then slithers back out in a desultory manner. Dipper waits a full thirty seconds, listening for knocking or whining outside. When none comes, he finally lets himself relax.

Good. A little privacy. Better yet, he’s learned Bill won’t barge in just anywhere. Or at least, not anywhere, anytime.

Unfortunately, he can’t live in the bathroom. For one, he needs to eat and stuff, and for another he’s gotta check on Mabel and make sure she’s okay. Not to mention plan their escape, manipulate a monster and save the planet. There’s a lot on his list that can’t get done in the shower.

He pulls on his t-shirt after, distantly wondering if Bill can summon new clothes or something. This one’s seen a lot of wear over the last week - then pauses, cocking his head to one side.

There’s… whistling? A distant tune. Accompanied by clattering and a horrific bang, then laughter.

Great. Bill’s up to something. And there’s no way of knowing what unless…

Right. Dipper tugs his shirt the rest of the way down and sterns his shoulders.

There’s a plan in place. He’s got half a dozen key debate points, five theoretical ways to manipulate a demon, and three different conversational flowcharts cross-linked for possible insane tangents. He’s about as prepared as any one man can be, so. Might as well face the literal music.

And besides. He’s supposed to encourage the delusion, right? Bill’s… ‘Husband’ would probably want to find out what he was doing in the kitchen.

Which is… Cooking. Apparently.

“Heya,” Bill says, cheerfully waving with a third arm. The other flips something in a pan on the stovetop. “Thought I’d have to drag you out here! Way to spoil my fun, kid.”

His eye rolls back into its socket, and he sticks his tongue out. Dipper doesn’t flinch. He just shuts his own eyes, and tries to focus.

Weird. Everything’s going to be weird. He has to adjust to the weird, bring it in as part of his viewpoint, and let it roll off his back.

“What are you up to, Cipher.” Dipper asks, flat. He stays back from the table, and very far back from the flames on the stove and any extant knives.

“Breakfast.” Bill turns around, gesturing with an empty plate in Dipper’s direction. “Duh.”

That sounds… normal. Too normal.

Dipper narrows his eyes. “Because that’s not ominous at all.”

“Flatterer,” Bill says, smiling again. He drifts in, moving pans and dishes and food around with multiple arms, too fast for Dipper to track. “Ease up, sapling. You act like I’ve never had a human around my place before!”

The table’s set now. The food steams slightly, the dishes are way too fancy for the tiny kitchen table, and it’s… clearly an invitation to sit.

Dipper pulls the chair out. He steps in, sits down, and scoots in before Bill can get any funny ideas about pushing it for him. A good instinct, too; he’s pretty sure Bill almost darted in to do just that before he lost the chance.

That settled, he eyes the plate in front of him. The terrible, demonic concoction looks like… French toast. With powdered sugar. And slices of something identical to strawberry that might be a horrible trick. It smells sweet and buttery and - he makes a face as his traitorous stomach grows.

“Eat up, sapling! Use your logic,” Bill adds, while Dipper’s still struggling between his stomach and not accepting demonic gifts - “If I was gonna poison ya, I’d’ve done it before ditching my statue collection.”

Okay, that is a point. But -

“It could be revenge poisoning,” Dipper argues. He waves the fork in Bill’s direction before spearing it down into his breakfast. “I’d never suspect it after winning the statue argument.”

“Nah, easier to not need revenge in the first place.” Bill shakes slightly from side to side, like his whole shape is his head. “And you suspected it anyway! Pretty poor plan if you ask me.”

“Mmh,” Dipper mumbles, not quite agreeing, not quite arguing around his mouthful. He shuts his eyes, making a soft sound. Damn it, it’s good french toast. Who knew Bill knew how to cook?

Bill beams, leaning back in the air and watching Dipper chew, then swallow. “You like it, sapling?” At the responding nod, his eye narrows in sadistic delight. “Good! Enjoy the last moments before your skin starts melting off.”

Dipper freezes in place, fork halfway to his mouth. Glancing down, then up again at Bill.

Then he stuffs more toast in his mouth, swallows again, and says, ”Your jokes suck.”

“HA! I totally had you for a second!” Bill prods the air in Dipper’s direction with his own fork. “That look on your face! All, ‘oh no! What does skin melting feel like? Is it happening right now?’”

Dipper refuses to acknowledge that with a comment. It’d only encourage him.

Besides, he has better things to do. Eat, for one. And for another, watch the most terrible demon in the universe have breakfast.

Seeing Bill switch eye and mouth is hardly pleasant to watch, but also… kind of intriguing? What kind of biology situation does he have going on? Is there one? Can he see while he’s eating? Is this a subtle weakness? Dipper has so many questions.

Not that he has much time to ask them. His breakfast companion’s taking up plenty of talking space.

The topics Bill goes on about are both bizarre and somehow mundane; demonic gossip, gory stories, bad jokes. A distinct lack of threats or maiming. Their so-called ‘engagement’ doesn’t come up, other than Bill eyeing Dipper in a strange way. When Dipper responds, he always seems delighted, even when it’s needling him about some totally pedantic point.

It’s strange, and disconcerting, and deeply, deeply weird. But overall? Not that bad. Or at least considerably better than Dipper thought conversation with this creature would go. Nobody’s even exploded yet.

Dipper fiddles with another bite of french toast, gone slightly soggy from syrup.

While it’s nice to pretend that this is normal - like having a meal with a horrible demon-conquerer is no big deal, happens every day - he can’t just sit here forever. He has a goal, and can’t put it off. No matter how daunting it seems.

“Look,” He says, once there’s a gap long enough to break into the topic. “We need to talk.”

“Oooh, ominous.” Bill says, floating up out of the chair he wasn’t really sitting in to hover over the table. “I like it. Go on!”

“It’s about… our wedding.” Dipper starts awkwardly, cringing back an inch as Bill visibly brightens. “There’s something I want you to do first. It’s, uh.” He swallows. “Important?”

Shit, this is going badly already. That’s not what he was supposed to say! It didn’t come out right, he should have practiced this, damn it.

Dipper mentally fumbles for his debate points. Where was he going to start again? And why aren’t there any index cards in this stupid apartment, he could have written this down. Maybe he can recover if Bill says -

“You got it, kid.” Bill’s eye glimmers and he floats closer, knocking over the syrup bottle in the process. “Anything you want.”

Dipper stares.

Shit. That wasn’t in his flowcharts.

He prods at the last third of the french toast, ducking his head. God, Bill sounds eerily sincere. Like if he asked for a pony to ride in on, he’d get it. One that breathes fire and has a mane made of knives? Even better! Like Bill would hand over whatever he wished in an instant, or faster if he asked.

Wait, is this good? Or very very bad? Dipper isn’t sure. Only now he’s glad he didn’t have notes, because he’d have had to toss all of them already.

It’d be one thing if he was asking about, like. Changing the color scheme for the wedding. He’s certain he’d get it, possibly in the most over-the-top manner possible. Some minor detail before they dive into whatever hellish commitment Bill has in mind would be simple.

But what he wants - truly wants - is another matter entirely.

This idea felt like it might work yesterday, when he was at the stage of exhaustion where maniac energy took over. But now he’s facing with how patently insane it is. How it might not work at all.

But that sincere-sounding statement. The freed people, the empty field, and the way Bill’s looking at him right now, like -

Shit, if Mabel was actually onto something, she’ll never let him forget it.

Dipper sets down his fork with a deliberate clicking sound. He takes a deep breath, and plants his palms on the table.

Here goes nothing.

“Could you… not take over the planet.” He says, finally. “It kinda sucks.”

Bill blinks, several times. He looks away, then back again.

“Ah,” He says, finally. Also, not quite meeting Dipper’s eye, with a look of… not guilt exactly. But like someone with their hand in the cookie jar, about to explain how he just had to grab the baked goods. For reasons!

“Okay, okay. I get it. Worried about your fellow mortals, huh?” Bill continues. He reaches out as if to pinch Dipper’s cheek, a gesture barely dodged by quick thinking. “Easy, sapling, they’re mostly fine! We can lower the casualty count by-”

“Not just that. The whole thing sucks.” Dipper interrupts. He scoots his chair back an inch as Bill floats closer. “Seriously.”

“Hm,” Bill taps under his eye as he hums. “Well, relationships do gotta have a little compromise. And you are pretty cute…” The sentence trails off as his eye roves over Dipper again. “Hmmmmmmm.”

Dipper frowns, and waits for the inevitable assholery.

Bill’s not truly willing to give anything up. Sure he looks like he’s thinking about it, with the little tune and the rubbing under his eye - but the display is a show, and a condescending one at that.

The suspicion is proven right moments later as Bill pats his shoulder, eye-smiling again.

“But since you so insist, and because I’m such a generous, handsome, and amazing partner - you can have Idaho back.” Bill spreads his arms wide. “See? Compromise!”

Oh, for - c’mon, really?

Dipper scowls and drums his fingers on the table, trying to think.

He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. But Bill deliberately misinterpreting a pretty obvious statement - that’s just annoying. Like he was gonna fall for that show, or accept a tiny pittance. He’s young, not stupid.

Dealing with demons, right. The mistake was leaving any wiggle room at all.

“You’re only offering that because it’s boring. I meant the whole world, Bill.” He says, firmer this time. He meets that single, strange eye, glares, and sets his shoulders. “Get your stupid demons off my planet.”

After a beat of silence, Bill groans. “Ugh.” Then, louder and longer, running his hands down his front, eye rolling back until only the white shows. “Uuuughhhhhh.”

He goes on. For a while. Longer than he should, really - Dipper taps his fork on the table a few times, then just throws it at this jerk so he’ll shut up. It bounces off his surface with a ‘ting’.

“Jeez, pretty broad interpretation of ‘anything’! And pretty bold to call it your planet.” Bill rubs over his eye, like the very idea is giving him an angle ache. “And they call me arrogant! Do you have any idea how long it took the ol’ minions to make this much of an impact?”

“Around twenty years.” The first incursion was tiny, really. The next, a little bigger. It didn’t truly ramp up until about ten years ago - but by then the damage was very thoroughly done.

“Exactly!” Bill drops with a thump to stand on the table, fists on his sides. “That time investment’s nothing to sneeze at, sapling. You’re barely older than my conquest yourself!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not budging.” Dipper leans back in his seat, folding his arms. “You can either get the planet, or this stupid wedding. Not both.”

For the second time, Bill groans at an inhuman length, with inhuman annoyingness. The butter knife bouncing off him barely gets his attention.

“Okay, but listen,” He says, tapping his index fingers together.

“Hm.” Dipper narrows his eyes, and prepares himself to hear more absolute bullshit.

“Technically speaking, I only took over Oregon.” Bill says, like he’s laying the winning card on the table. He rests a hand on his front, eye shut in smug triumph. “Everything outside of that was henchman work.”

Dipper presses his face into his palms. Yep. Bullshit.

On the one hand, this is arguably going better than anyone could have imagined. Bill hasn’t rejected it outright. He’s arguing, but not denying. The request hasn’t been tossed off the table to rot.

On the other hand, Bill’s not giving up without a fight, and he’s old, and powerful, and stubborn as hell. Wresting any concessions from him is going to be like pulling teeth.

“They did it on your orders.” He points out, once his bullshit meter has recovered.

“What orders? I don’t have to tell ‘em how to rampage and ravage, they do that themselves!” Bill waves him off. “Look, your stupid planet got off easy. If you were really facing me in full world-consuming terms, there’d barely be one to stand on! Or maybe not at all!”

Dipper grimaces. The worst thing about that statement is it’s not wrong.

Bill loves to brag, to show off, to talk himself up - but on this point at least, he’s not exaggerating. The amount of energy he commands and the precision he wields it with is literally unmatched on Earth. If he had brought all that to bear. Turned his horrible eye upon the planet with real intent…

Nothing would stand in his way.

A cold trickle trails down his spine. He grips the edge of the table, trying not to grit his teeth.

Nothing, that is. Except Dipper.

Who almost forgot the monster - the threat - he was dealing with.

“I don’t care about the details.” He smacks the table before Bill can add another bullshit comment. “You know what I want. Stop trying to twist the subject.”

For a split second, Bill’s eye narrows. Then it returns to its jovial smile, rolling slightly as if Dipper’s being a petulant child. Like this is all nothing and stupid.

“Sure, we can talk about cleaning up a few states, but the whole thing? Pffft. So tedious! Who wants to pluck up every individual imp outta their lairs? Not me!”

Oh. So it’s too boring, is it. Bill could clean up the entire coast and more, he’s powerful enough, but he won’t because it kind of sucks? Because he’d have to put in some effort for once?

And yeah, he would think that, wouldn’t he. Because he only cares about himself. He only thinks about what he wants, takes what he wants, and what anyone else wants doesn’t matter.

“Someone has to-” Dipper insists, louder now to talk over Bill’s obnoxious voice.

“Someone, shmumone.” In a contest of volume, Bill wins every time. He even laughs, setting fists on his sides. “What do you care, anyway? Most of these idiots mean nothing to y-”

“Billions of lives isn’t nothing! It’s a whole planet! My planet!” At some point Dipper stood up from his seat, and now he slams his palms on the table, sending the dishes rattling. “You can’t just wipe them all out.”

What’s strange about his outburst is that Bill actually draws back. Floating off the table now, blinking at Dipper rapidly with his pupil narrowed. Like he didn’t expect the anger, or like he caught a glancing blow.

Fuck him, though. Dipper doesn’t give a shit. Heat is building in his chest, not just from the carelessness. Not just the callousness. But from how goddamn frustratingly, awfully stupid his -

“And - seriously, that’s your excuse? Really?” He says, disgusted. “That the biggest bad this side of the multiverse can’t get some lowlifes to obey him?”

“Easy, easy, sapling! No need to get fussy.” Bill pats the air in a calming motion, seemingly unaware it’s causing the exact opposite reaction. “I said it’d be annoying, not impossible. And that’s not even counting that I haven’t agreed yet. I took over fair and square!”

Yet. He said - That’s an opening, Dipper lunges to follow up.

“No, you didn’t. Like you said, the minions did most of the work.” He points directly at Bill’s eye, slightly disappointed when he doesn’t budge. “Can you pull your troops out or not?”

“‘Troops’ is a strong word, y’know? Demons and orders go together like oil and water, kid! Who’s to say-”

“You should say!” For fuck’s sake, Dipper doesn’t add. The avoidance, the shrugging off, how Bill’s totally not taking responsibility - He glares. “I already knew you couldn’t control yourself. Not controlling other demons is just pathetic.”

“Don’t talk to me about ‘control’. You don’t know what control is.” Oh, now he’s hit a nerve; Bill’s radiating heat, eye narrowed. His fists ball at his sides. “I’ve mastered control in ways you’d never believe! Your eyes’d pop right outta your skull!”

“Then your stupid conquest would look a lot less pathetic. You didn’t even get the whole continent? Really?” Dipper snaps. “All your power, all this time, and you’ve spent it on is frivolous bullshit. What the hell happened to you.”

“You wouldn’t say this crab if you knew what was good for you,” Bill hisses, low and furious. The quick return jab in Dipper’s direction has him cringing at his own flinch. “Sounds like someone forgot who he’s messing with! Oh, wait, you did! ‘cause you forgot everything!” Bill stomps hard, sending dishes clattering; a glass tumbles off and shatters on the floor. “You forgot me!”

“Good. I’d rather not know you at all.” Dipper snaps. Bill’s surface dims - weakness - and he rises to chase it. To hit this miserable asshole right where it hurts. “Maybe I’d rather die than put up with you.”

Sudden heat blasts through the air, hot as a furnace, as Bill’s surface turns a bright, furious red. Dipper flinches away, holding onto the table so he doesn’t fall.

…Okay. Turns out there’s a difference between making Bill angry, and making him angry.

Smoke rises from the table where Bill’s standing, little flames spluttering up besides his feet. The sclera of his eye has switched to black, the slit pupil and limbs solid gold, and the furious glare he levels in Dipper’s direction might literally melt another guy. The heat in the air already has him sweating. With the ambient magic, it feels like he’s breathing in soup.

Dipper eases back towards his seat, not wanting to make any sudden moves, and braces himself for impact. Or possibly, obliteration.

But surprisingly, Bill shuts his eye tight. He vibrates for a moment, then flickers briefly back to yellow. Then red again, in a strange strobing light.

“Fine. Who cares. I don’t need you.” Bill says, voice deep and strange. He folds his arms as his surface shifts in kaleidoscopic patterns. “I’ll find a human husband who’s not you! A better one! One with all the bells and whistles, the fleshy aspects in vogue these days, and the right attitude to boot! No more arguing. No more bitchiness. And way better fashion sense.” With that said, he sets triumphant fists on his sides, as if presenting the winning card. “How ‘bout THAT?”

Oh, he wouldn’t dare. Dipper seethes, ignoring the heat as he leans in to yell at Bill for saying such a stupid, awful -

Then he pauses, and shuts his own eyes for a moment.

No, that’s bullshit. Bill only said it to get under his skin, like an asshole. He knows better than to take the bait.

And there’s evidence otherwise. If he thinks that’s going to get a rise out of Dipper, he’s got another thing coming.

“You won’t.” Dipper says simply, and sits down. Folding his arms over his chest for good measure, and glaring.

“Don’t test me, fleshbag!” Bill stomps a foot on the table, the lines between his red bricks glowing yellow with heat. “I’m Bill goddamn Cipher, and I’ll do whatever I want.”

Dipper snorts. Yeah, he always does - Which is why his stupid threat is as empty as his soul.

“Then you would have done it already.” He says, and leaves it at that.

Bill raises a finger as if to protest - then drops it, fuming again, as whatever retort he’d plotted fails. He taps a foot on the table as he tries to think of a response.

Dipper knew it. Again, his instincts were right on point.

Bill didn’t need to wait for Dipper to come along. With his power, he could have found a hundred willing mortals anywhere. Or picked one off the street, for that matter; messed up their minds, altered their bodies, changed their face to this face - and he’d have a perfect replica within the hour.

Exactly what he claims he wanted, and precisely what he didn’t do.

“Don’t bullshit me, Bill. You don’t want anyone else,” Dipper says, calmer than he should be, certain that it’s right. He leans over the table, glaring. “Like, yeah. You could find or make another mortal, but that’s boring. You want the argument. You wanna win it. You want me to do this of my own free will, because you actually want this bullshit to be-”

Realization smacks Dipper in the forebrain before he can finish his sentence, and he shuts his mouth with a click.

Bill watches him silently. Fists still balled at his sides, surface flickering between red and yellow and white. Burning holes in the table, but not moving; like he’s waiting for Dipper to either pounce or flee, and either way he’s got a followup.

Slowly, Dipper sits back down in his seat, thoughts racing a mile a minute. Great, he’s gotta do a full review of his flowcharts. And most of his priors.

So Mabel was right. Deep down under that impenetrable exoskeleton, somewhere in the shriveled black soul - Bill cared about his mortal husband, in his own alien way.

Because he wants this, desperately, to be real.

A replacement would never work. If it could, he’d have tried it already. But Bill knows lies, inside and out, and fooling him is no easy endeavor. Buying or making someone would only remind him they weren't who he was looking for - and exactly how much that sucks.

They stare at each other over lukewarm syrup, shattered ceramic, and toeless scorchmarks seared into varnished wood.

Tapping his foot on the table, Bill glares, but doesn’t speak. The furious red still flashes on his surface, but it’s mostly gold again. And he’s not shouting anymore. Is he angry? Definitely. Plotting revenge? Possibly. But violence is, quite literally, not on the table, as he visibly wrangles his anger under control.

Dipper ducks his head to poke at his breakfast in silence. Bill starts pacing back and forth, making the remaining plates and glassware clink.

Looks like neither of them want to start up again. Dipper especially isn’t sure what to say. How could he say anything. How does anyone follow up on the most insane revelation of the last quarter-century? Asking about it is tempting, but he knows he’d never get an honest response.

That, and they only just stopped shouting at each other. Bringing that up would definitely kick things off.

This was almost a half-decent morning, too. Despite the kidnapping, and the company, and… well, everything about this awful situation.

But the worst part. The absolute worst part, of the entire situation Dipper’s wound up in, is that now he… kinda gets where Bill’s coming from.

It’s all about that jerk bastard’s face. His stupid, awful doppelganger.

Dipper rubs at his eyes, but it doesn’t help. Not when he can see Bill’s train of thought, clear as day. He could plot it out on a pinboard with only one piece of string.

Just like Mabel said: Losing someone you care about sucks. But seeing them again? In the flesh? When you never thought you’d get the chance, that they were gone forever? It totally rules.

There’s a huge, bright burst of excitement. Sheer relief that they’re there. Feeling nearly weightless, as grief gets shucked off like a heavy coat and left behind. Anyone could get suckered in by the rush.

Hell, what if the person Bill revived hadn’t actually been Mabel, just a girl who looked exactly like her? Would Dipper have believed they were different? Or would he convince himself that it couldn’t be a coincidence, she’d only forgotten who she was? That he could fix it?

And as loath as he is to admit it, Dipper looks exactly like Bill’s goddamn dead husband.

Thus proving he has the absolute worst luck in the universe.

Of course Bill thinks what he thinks. Who wouldn’t? The thought’s too tempting. The evidence, compromising. It might even be the sanest conclusion he’s ever come to.

There are many, many things Bill Cipher’s done wrong - but Dipper can’t blame him for wanting to hope.

He glances up from his plate, then back down again as Bill’s eye nearly meets his. Both of them avoiding the brief contact.

…Unlike the theoretical Mabel scenario, though, Dipper’s pretty sure he’d listen to reason. And he sure as hell wouldn’t kidnap anyone, much less make her sign, like, adoptive sibling papers or whatever. There are a million billion reasons to kick this demon’s ass.

But he has to live with this guy for… who knows how long. They can’t be at each other’s throats all the time. Making progress on world-saving will be hard enough without ending up flesh-based salsa.

Silence still hovers in the kitchen, tense and weird. The quiet is starting to put Dipper’s teeth on edge, almost more than a threat would.

The sheer level of awkward they have going on might kill an empathic entity. So why doesn’t Bill say something? Doesn’t he love the sound of his own voice? …Does Dipper have to -

Damn it.

“Thank you. For breakfast.” He says, long, long after it made sense to do so. The food’s cold, but he doesn’t dare ask for it to be warmed up. “It’s pretty good.”

Bill slowly turns toward him. He blinks twice.

Then he glows gold again, spreading his arms wide like the earlier conversation never even happened.

“No duh it is! I know you, sapling, better than anyone!” He floats closer, hands clasped and held next to his eye. “And you’re usually less whiny once you’re fed.”

Dipper pokes at his toast with his recovered fork. Thankfully it didn’t land on the floor, or get melted under Bill’s feet. “...I still don’t like the conquering.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Bill heaves a long, tired sigh, eye rolling in a dramatic arc. “Always stubborn! Jeez, you’re even worse than last time.”

Last time? But that would mean - Dipper blinks. “Wait, what?”

“You don’t like the invasion, and I don’t like giving up what I’ve rightfully conquered. Oldest dilemma in the book! Only one solution there, sapling,” Bill steeples his fingers, gazing over them at Dipper. “We’ll have to… negotiate.”

He adds weight to the final word, like it’s somehow significant.

Dipper, not about to look a gift triangle in the mouth, simply nods once.

“Great!” Bill claps his hands together, rubbing them in ominous anticipation. “Plenty of time to get things sorted, then. Wedding planning’s gonna take a couple weeks at least! We’ll fit your stupid ‘protect the planet’ crap in the contract somewhere.”

“Sorry, contract?” Dipper sits up straighter. Nobody mentioned signing shit.

“Uh, hello? Bill Cipher here! You didn’t think ‘marriage’ was just gonna be rings and a kiss, didja?” He laughs, amused at Dipper ‘forgetting’ what was apparently obvious. “We gotta make a deal to seal the deal, duh.”

“Right,” Dipper says, after a moment. “I knew that.”

He’s kind of hitting himself for not thinking of it sooner. Deals get complex if they’re long-term things - and what’s longer term than ‘til death do they part? Another addition to the long, long list of reasons this will be a pain in the ass.

And no chance he’ll get everything he wants out of it. Not with the resistance Bill just put up. Even though Dipper knows better, the disappointment stings.

Guess the planet hasn’t seen the last of Bill Cipher. Maybe it never will.

But honestly, what was he thinking? That Bill would fold before his demands like wet tissue paper? That he’d win back the world in one fell swoop? Bringing the Nightmare King to the negotiating table at all is a triumph worth celebrating.

…friggin’ Idaho, though. Dipper can do way better than that.

“Between your stubborn ass and the main event, we got a lot of discussion ahead, kid.” Bill clasps his hands together, holding them by his eye. “Lucky for you, I got a few ideas already!”

With that said, he goes on. And on. And on. About freakin’ wedding planning.

About how finding contractors is already being a pain in the angles, a smattering about the decorations. Along with the guest list, and which interdimensional beings are disinvited forever, for reasons.

Dipper only half pays attention, nodding at the appropriate points. Now that they’re not arguing, he can actually finish his food.

So, he’s stuck here. Living with Bill Cipher. Listening to him bitch about finding the appropriate tailor for getting hitched to a human. Not exactly where he thought he’d be at this point in his life, or ever. But he thinks he can work with it.

Arguing with this creature about the world is going to be a struggle. It never won’t be. But it’s one he’ll survive, since Bill’s sort-of cooperating.

Let Bill shoulder the wedding stuff. He’s the only one enthusiastic about it anyway. Dipper has his own to work on - and with any luck, they’ll mean he’s far, far away before any of Bill’s come to fruition.

Now that the mood has lightened, Dipper even finds himself perking up a bit. Saving parts of the world is better than none of it. Plus the food’s pretty good. And best of all, his sister’s alive and staying right next door, a goal he’d never thought he’d achieve - and she’s ready to help him through the worst of this. Even Bill Cipher standing right in front of him can’t ruin-

Dipper pauses with his fork in mid-air. A chunk of french toast, soaked with syrup, lies directly in his view of Bill.

He looks up at the top point - no hat - scans down to the toeless feet. The toast on his fork hovers right below where the tie usually is, and slightly above the bottom side where Bill’s legs are. A drop of syrup slowly drips onto the plate.

“Bill.” He says, quick and clipped. “Question.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Are you naked?” Dipper asks, then leans forward, pointing his fork-toast at this asshole accusingly. “Have you been naked this entire time?”

“Maybe! Who’s asking?” Bill’s eye-smile somehow looks incredibly smug. “And for that matter, what’s the definition of ‘naked’ and ‘this entire time’? See-”

“Go put some clothes on.” Dipper states. Seeing Bill not moving, he reluctantly adds, “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got my own stuff to do anyway.” Bill floats up and off the table, drifting towards the doorway - then pauses, pointing both thumbs at himself. “Enjoy the sight, kid! I know you love to see me leave, but you really love to watch me go!”

And he drifts out of the room, shimmying his bottom side like - Dipper’s going to pretend he never saw that.

At least he’s gone. For the moment. Leaving Dipper to chew on his french toast and a bunch of new information.

One especially intriguing secret sticks in his head. Forget the demons for a second; Bill’s going to do the heavy lifting on that end. Forget the single bed issue, or the dire problem of upcoming matrimony.

The last guy argued with Bill about the world too.

Dipper didn’t expect that.

He’d kind of assumed anyone involved with Bill would be after what he could do for them. Power, money, fame. Those are all common human aphrodisiacs. With Bill, there’s also taking over countries, revenge on their enemies, and gleeful, gory slaughter.

But Bill said it himself, didn’t he? His dead husband was against conquering the world. That it was something they argued about, almost as bad as the nearly-deadly conversation minutes before.

Which… makes sense, doesn’t it. This is the first time Bill Cipher’s ever invaded this planet.

If his human husband had been into that, and helped him, it definitely would have happened when he was alive. Another mark on the ‘truth’ column for ‘not-evil husband’.

Hell, as far as Dipper can tell, Bill only started his conquest sometime after the guy passed away, when nobody was around to stop him. Which is also when he started moping around his Fearamid and spending too much time on collectables.

…If Dead Husband wasn’t into the conquering, Dipper doubts he would approve of the statue ‘collection’. And if he wasn’t into the ‘collection’, he’d be against the more showy forms of violence. Did they have anything in common?

Like, Dipper kinda gets why a human would marry a demon, even with the rest. Power’s still a thing. Money, too. Bill’s got knowledge in spades, an oddball sort of an indulgent streak, and despite being yelled at he never lashed out. Weird, definitely, but Dipper’s seen worse in ‘normal’ relationships.

… but what does Bill get out of this?

Dipper turns his hand over, staring at his palm. It doesn’t look or feel any different than before; Bill high-fiving it stung for an instant, but that was it. The ‘deal’, such as it was, was done, marking him magically in a strange, invisible way.

So he’s supposed to stop giving that creature the ‘cold shoulder’, whatever that means. Behave in a way more befitting a fiance, he supposes.

But despite their argument. The shouting, the swearing, the defiance he showed -

His palm hasn’t hurt even once.

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