underfaller

[underfaller]

💙 🌊 fun at the pool 💙🌊

[underfaller]

[underfaller]

[underfaller]

光の向こう側 / beyond the light

[underfaller]

cyber angel rain 🌐

[underfaller]

in his house of mind, dead cipher waits dreaming

Chapter 4: We'll Meet Again

Rating: T

Synopsis:

You really think you won that day/You packed your bags and sailed away/You think you left your past behind/But trust me/I'm still on your mind

A year has passed since Weirdmaggedon and the Pines family, victorious in the end, are happier than ever. Stan and Ford are adventuring at sea, making up for lost time. Dipper and Mabel are now freshmen and are ready to take on high school-- geometry, bullies, (student eating?) clubs, and all! However, things take a turn for the worst when Dipper and Mabel receive of horrific message from Ford:

Bill is back.

Stanley Pines is dreaming. 

He's in his family's old kitchen, sitting at a creaky, wooden table and teasing Ford about something long forgotten. The room is cramped and messy with a strong smell of meatloaf wafting from the oven. His mother sets down an after school snack for them, which Stanley instantly scarfs down. He regales his mom through bites of how he caught a possum in the schoolyard. He named it Jeremy. She laughs. 

This is nice. 

When Stanley's eyes snap open, he is no longer in that familiar kitchen, but rather in total darkness. The void of his own mind. 

Oh that's right, he isn't home, he's still lost. 

Stanley Pines is lost. 

Stanley groans, slightly annoyed to have awakened prematurely (or perhaps in reality, he actually has slept in-- it’s impossible to know in this state). After being locked away here, Stanley finds that sleeping is much more entertaining than being conscious. It passes the time quicker, almost like his short stint in Colombian prison.  However, as Stan tosses and turns, he is unable to fall asleep once more. 

It’s goddamn annoying. All of this is. 

The sensation he feels is similar to that of falling into the bottomless pit-- terrifying at first, then mind numbingly boring. The only difference is the gnawing anxiety that fills his mind about what Bill is doing in his body. Stanley thinks of his brother. The last time that Stan saw him was for a fleeting second with Stanford pointing his gun at him, absolutely terrified. Well, if Stan hasn't seen the pearly gates yet then Ford didn't kill him. 

Then did Bill get him? No, Pointdexter is much too clever to fall for his tricks again. Stanley has faith in his brother-- and in himself. It's going to take much more than a washed up con-triangle to take down this duo. That sliver of hope keeps Stan from slipping into madness. This nightmare will end; you can’t truly imprison Stanley Pines. 

And when it does, I’ll beat the devil out of that little shit Cipher. 

As time slips by, Stan’s thoughts wander and he thinks of his dream. For the first time in decades, Stanley thinks about his mother. It's an unexpected thought, but with nothing but reflection to do, his mind begins to drift to her. 

She'd had a soft spot for Stanley. Whether or not it was still true after he'd been disowned was another question-- one he didn't have the answer to. Stan reminisces of the lonely nights drifting between state lines when he still missed her-- almost as much as he missed Stanford. He’d always secretly hoped that she'd try to contact him during those nights. She never did. 

When Stanley faked his death-- did she attend his funeral? He always wondered. Part of him had hoped she did, just so that someone would be there-- so that someone remembered him kindly. The other part of him knew that was a shrewd thought, even for him. 

What good are thoughts like these at a time like this?

“This is bullshit,” Stanley says, aloud. Hearing his own voice in the midst of complete silence is slightly comforting. It echoes for miles before fading. 

“What’s bullshit,” Bill replies. “Is that you’re still here. Seriously, how difficult is it for one roach to die?”

Stanley whips around to see Bill Cipher frowning as he examines his fingernails. 

“Augh, seriously? It's one thing to be stuck here, but to be stuck here with you,” Stanley rolls his eyes. “Just kill me now.”

“You know I would if I could,” Bill states, curtly. 

“Can you just get this over with? What the hell are you here for?”

“Your brother was just in here looking for you,” Bill says. “It was a hassle hiding your consciousness from him.”

“Is that why you look like that? Wait, are you-- are you wearing cologne?” Stanley crinkles his nose before letting out a sarcastic laugh. “Are you seriously still pining for him? Geez, get a grip.”

Stanford once confided in Stanley about Bill and his… complicated relationship. Call it his twinstincts, but Stanley already had a growing hunch that their relationship had been less formal than Ford initially let on. Still, Stanley can’t believe that his brother actually fell for this guy. The smartest guy in the world settles for this idiot? Though, as Stan looks Bill up and down, he has to admit, if Ford was anything, he was consistent-- he certainly had a type. 

“Of course anything smells like cologne when you smell like cat piss, old man,” Bill Cipher glares. 

It’s a feeble defense and not an outright denial. It makes Stanley laugh aloud. At least even here, he can still be entertained by the obvious patheticness of his captor. Bill snaps his fingers, reverting back to his triangle form. He leans against his black cane.

“Seriously though, you’re a pain in the ass to conceal. I can’t have Sixer getting hopeful because you’re actually still here.”

“Why all the griping? Someone with your power should be able to handle all that in a cinch,” Stanley crosses his arms. “Besides, if you despise me so much, why stay here? Just go back to whatever hellhole dimension you came from.”

“I can’t do that. I’ve got business to attend to here.” 

“Building the portal? It’s useless dimwit; you still need that equation and Ford certainly ain’t gonna give it to you.” 

“No, no. The portal plan is on a back burner. I’m talking about revenge.” 

“Revenge in my body? The one you absolutely hate? I know you’re pissed about that.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not like I can-!” Bill snaps, but before he can finish, he quickly shuts up, becoming silent. 

Stanley raises an eyebrow. However, it doesn’t take him long to put two and two together. He laughs again. 

“Oh this is rich. You're stuck here, just like I am! What a joke! Did I really punch you so hard that you lost all your weirdo magic?” 

Bill hisses. His obvious anger confirms Stanley’s suspicions. 

“Don't push your luck, Stanley Pines.” 

“Or what? You gonna put me in a void for eternity? Oh wait, you already did and I'm still clowning you!”

“That’s enough!”

Bill’s voice booms, deafeningly loud in the void. He grows a blinding red, enveloping Stanley in his shadow. 

“No. I'll just kill one of your loved ones. You'll get front row seats too. Do you want to feel their blood on your hands too? We can arrange that. How about that?”

Stanley stares into the demon’s eye, just as defiant and indignant. He’ll never back down from a bully, certainly not from one he’s already beaten-- but Stan also knows when the risks outweigh the rewards of his actions. He’s a gambler, after all. He decides it’s best not to continue acting so shortsightedly with Bill, especially when Bill still has his body.  Bill narrows his eye. 

“Yeah, I thought so. Now shut up and let me rummage through your brain for anything useful to get us out of here.”

As Bill searches, Stanley watches as a small screen flickers in his mind. Suddenly, he can see all around him. He’s tied to a table in Ford’s laboratory. Wait-- the Mystery Shack? They’re in Gravity Falls? Soos is certainly still here as well and Stanley’s presence endangers both him and his family. He thinks of Soos’s wide smile when he told Stan that he and Melody were expecting. Stanley had to pretend that he hadn’t shed a couple joyful tears when he heard but now, it feels like a punch in the gut. Stanley wants to kick Ford for bringing him here. What the hell was his brother thinking? 

But then again, where else could Stanford take him? The identity of Stanley Pines is dead in every corner of the world except here. 

“He's gonna stop you, you know,” Stanley says. He’s poking the bull again, playing with fire to quell his own fears. “You may have got me, but Stanford's a whole other story. You can't possibly win, Bill.”

“Stanford just needs a little convincing. He just loves to play hard-to-get ,” Bill answers.

Suddenly, the triangle scoffs. 

“Why do you have so much faith in him anyways? It’s hilarious-- if only you knew how inadequate you are in his eyes.”

Stanley clenches his fists. 

“Listen here you little prick. You don't know anything about me or my brother.”

“I know everything about your brother.”

Bill snickers. 

“I see that look on your face. You think one little sacrifice makes everything better? That you’re suddenly forgiven? You’re an idiot.” Bill continues. “There's a decades-long mutiny in Ford that he refuses to let go of-- I've seen it myself.” 

Stanley clenches his fists. He knows that Bill is only trying to get a rise from him. That’s just what Bill Cipher did-- sow seeds of chaos and rifts between loved ones. He did it for fun-- for the spectacle. Still, Stanley will not stand for such ugly words about his brother. 

“Cut the bullshit, Bill. You know that shit won't work on me. I can see right through your lies.” 

Bill clicks his tongue. 

“Stanley, Stanley, Stanley. I'm not a cruel god, only a truthful one. Stanford is the cruel one and he certainly does not forgive; he’ll live and die by malice.” 

Stanley opens his mouth but is interrupted by the actions of the screen: Bill has found a bobby pin behind Stanley’s ear and is using it to pick his locks. Stanley tastes the old metal between his teeth as the locks clink open. He mentally curses himself, for once in his life, Stan is angry that he has the means to escape and not the opposite.

“There! That was easy!” Bill yells, jumping off the table and stretching. “I gotta give it to you, Stanley, you certainly know how to pick a lock.” 

“Now what are you going to do? I know you aren’t going to sit pretty here and wait for Ford to get back.” 

“Are you kidding? Of course not!” Bill yelps. “I’m taking this body for a joyride. Let’s go to Piedmont!” 

“What? Why-?” Stanley’s eyes widen. He stiffens as a familiar fear fills his stomach.

This whole time, Stanley assumed that Bill’s revenge would be dealt upon him and Ford. He was so stupid. Bill didn’t want to kill him. Hell, he didn’t even want to kill his brother.

Bill is laughing. He revels in Stanley’s revelation. Stan chokes on his words in a mixture of fear and rage. 

“Don’t you dare-” 

He’s back in the void. The only voice here is his own. Stanley’s breath catches in his throat. Fear soon turns into fury, Stanley wants to punch something. He should be protecting his family instead of doing jackshit in the middle of nowhere. He feels so useless.

No, he is useless. 

Somehow, no matter what, he always seemed to be. He closes his eyes. 

Please. Please let them be safe. 

If this is a prayer, it’s Stanley’s first. He always believed that prayers were for fools. Now, he’s just about desperate enough to wonder if God gives specials to first-time customers. 

Stanley is right, Bill Cipher detests his body. He can’t wait until he can regain a more fitting physical form, something cleaner and less unsightly than Stanley.  

He peers at his disheveled reflection in a small mirror as he makes his way up the wooden stairs. His skin crawls like a thousand centipedes and  Bill grimaces. His reflection is a reminder that his only tether to revenge, his path to victory, his only escape is the one person that Bill Cipher hates the most. 

Could it be any more ironic? 

He punches the mirror and it shatters instantly, sharp shards of glass fall to the ground as pain blooms from his now bloody knuckles. He can’t even revel in it-- as he looks down, he now sees Stanley’s ugly face over and over, a hundred times in broken glass. Bill can barely swallow his bitterness.He considers ditching all his plans and just throwing this body into the nearest meat grinder.

This is truly maddening. 

To be fair, however, it’s much less maddening than Theraprism. 

Half of his consciousness is still stuck in that sterile prison, the pieces that the Axolotl believed were worth saving. Bill shivers at the thought that somewhere out there in the cosmos, there is a version of him still wearing orange. Ah well, he will surely make up for their lost time and karmic debt. Someone had to shoulder the burden of his sins and keep the Axolotl satiated-- and it certainly wasn’t going to be him!

Still, Bill Cipher has to wonder-- whatever the hell is taking his other half so long to break free? That derpy salamander may be all powerful, but he couldn’t possibly keep tabs on absolutely everything happening all at once in this chaotic universe. Surely, his other half has had more than a dozen chances to escape already. He huffs. 

When you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.  

Bill pushes back the vending machine. It creaks loudly, reluctantly giving way to his freedom. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the familiar, dusty Mystery Shack air. Despite such a rocky start, Bill Cipher has wormed his way back into this rotten dimension once again. 

Oh Gravity Falls, it is good to be back.  

He tiptoes through the cabin, slinking into the garage. His eyes light up as he spies Stanley’s 1965 El Diablo. It’s not his style-- Bill prefers the color yellow, of course, but the old hunk of metal will be sufficient enough for a nice scenic drive down the Pacific Coast Highway towards child homicide. 

How should I go about it? There’s so many ways to kill them. Stanley has a collection of guns in his closet, but what’s the fun in that? Stabbing is so much more entertaining and everyone’s got a kitchen knife or two! I can’t be too quick, though, I want to make them suffer, at least a little… 

“Mr. Pines?” 

Bill twists around to see Soos, holding a broom and a very angry gnome, still gnawing at the man’s chubby fingers. 

Question Mark. Well, there’s always tougher crowds to convince.

Bill gives him a smirk, waving slightly.

“Ah, Soos, my boy! How’s it-” 

Soos doesn’t even give the triangle a chance to finish his lies, instead dropping the gnome and racing towards Bill with a raised broom. It takes the demon by surprise and before he can even dodge, Soos smacks Bill against the head with it. Bill yelps in pain. 

“Dude, what the hell!” 

“I know it’s you, Bill! Give Mr. Pines back his body!” 

The two chase one another around the parked car briefly. Bill rapidly phases left and right trying to fake out the irate young man and his cleaning weapon as the hood of the car divides them. Bill Cipher holds up his hands. 

“Wait, wait!” Bill gasps. “Just hear me out; I can let you see Stanley if you just let me speak.” 

Soos pauses, narrowing his eyes. However, he hesitantly lowers his broom. Bill smiles, sighing with relief. 

“Wow! You’re actually a rational guy, good to know!”

“Show me Mr. Pines now.” 

Bill chuckles nervously. 

“Heh heh, well I can’t exactly let you see him right now per say, ya know with the whole need to keep control of this vessel thing,” Bill hesitates. “But if you let me take this car right now, I swear that I’ll-” 

Soos leaps over the hood of the car. 

“Shit!” Bill yells. 

Soos swings at Bill. Bill grabs the broom, ripping it from him and throwing it across the garage. He cackles. 

“Ha! Ha! Now what are you gonna do-” 

Soos punches Bill square in the jaw. Bill tastes metal as his mouth fills with blood. He chuckles softly as he wipes his mouth against his sleeve, leaving a crimson stain on the cuff.

Alright, Question Mark. I’m done trying to be nice. 

“Nice punch. Did your daddy teach you how to do that?” Bill jeers before preparing his own strike. 

However, for a brief second, Bill’s whole body freezes, as if someone else, someone deep in the recesses of his mind, someone he so very wanted dead, was pulling all his nerves to halt Bill’s attack. 

Stop backseat driving old man! 

Soos realizes it too. His eyes widen with surprise but Bill quickly rips back control, using that moment of hesitation to knee Soos in the gut. He coughs in pain, stumbling back, and Bill punches his attacker across the face. Hard. Soos slumps against the wall, unconscious. 

“Sleep tight, Question Mark,” Bill sneers. 

He hops into the car, pulling the keys out from the glove compartment and turning the ignition. The engine rumbles and shakes before starting. He looks at his reflection in the rearview mirror. For just a brief moment, his eyes aren’t yellow. 

“Get it through your thick skull-- You're not in control anymore,” Bill Cipher shouts. 

He means it. Bill Cipher may be a liar, but that is the truth. He’ll die again before he lets Stanley retake his body. He won’t let Stanley Pines overthrow him twice. 

“Soos! Are you alright?” 

Stanford rushes towards his brother’s former employee, shaking him harshly. Fiddleford stands behind him, looking concerned as he holds his “raccoon wife”. 

After their talk by the lake, the two stopped by Fiddleford’s mansion to get some equipment for their plan to recover his brother. It was all Fiddleford’s idea, really, Stanford had forgotten just how ingenious his old roommate really was. 

“It’ll take at least a fortnight,” Fiddleford says, scratching his beard as he taps his pencil against his workbench. “But I think I’ve got an idea of contraption to get your brother back.”

“Should I bring him here?” 

“No. I’ll just stay at the ol’ Mystery Shack for a bit. Just like old times.” 

A fat raccoon jumps on Fiddleford’s shoulder, chattering its teeth as if it were reprimanding the old man for staying out too late. Fiddleford grins as he holds her out towards Ford. 

“Of course, you’ll have to make accommodations for the raccoon wife!” 

Ford laughs. The racoon chatters once more. 

“Of course, F.”  

Soos groans as he regains consciousness, rubbing his head. 

“Ow. Mr. Pines should have been a boxer or something. Or was that technically Bill’s power?” Soos says. “Either way, it still hurts.” 

“What the hell happened? Where’s Stanley?” 

Stanford follows Soos’s eyes, looking at the smoky tire tracks leading out of the garage. He doesn’t need Soos to explain what’s happened. He jumps up. 

“Soos, do you have a car?”

“Yeah it's in the front.” 

Soos fishes into his pockets, throwing Ford the keys. He catches it, flying out the garage. Fiddleford bounds after him. 

“Just where do you think you're going?” 

“After him, of course.”

“Running after him like a chicken with its head cut off will do more harm than good!” Fiddleford answers. “Let me come.” 

“No way!” Stanford declares. “This is way too dangerous. I can’t; I’ve got to go alone.”

“Ford, stop!” 

Ford swings around. 

“What, Fiddleford?” He snaps. “I’ve got to stop him myself, he’s my brother-”

“You’re doing it again!” 

“Doing what?” 

“Being a… an absolute fool!” Fiddleford shouts. 

Ford remains silent. Under the shadow of trees and stars, he threatens to boil over, to explode at Fiddleford, to brush away his pleading words and race off into the night, alone. Stanford is a changed man, but he isn’t a perfect one. He’s backed into a corner right now. When he’s at his wit’s end, the scholar finds himself rescinding into arrogance and ego. His hubris is his comfort.

“Can you accept help this time?”  Fiddleford asks. 

It’s a tough pill but Stanford swallows it. 

“Yes.”

You don’t have to burden everything yourself. 

You don’t have to be a hero. 

Fiddleford lets out a relieved sigh before he smiles. 

“Then let’s go. I have a plan. I'll explain on the way.” 

“Maybe this is a bad prank,” Mabel says. She’s holding one of Dipper’s pillows against her chest, rockling slightly with a wry smile on her face. “Grunkle Ford may have picked up on a terrible sense of humor while dimension hopping.” 

“No, they wouldn't joke about that,” Dipper paces back and forth, brushing aside dirt clothes with his foot. “Still, how did Bill come back to life? It doesn’t make sense. Grunkle Ford was sure that he was dead.”

Could his Grunkle Ford been incorrect? Dipper finds it difficult to believe. Deep down, Dipper has placed Stanford upon a pedestal in his mind-- a man of science that can do absolutely no wrong. He idolizes the scientist as much as he loves him. 

But even the best scientists leave room for error. 

“But that doesn't explain how and why he chose Stan to possess. It makes absolutely no sense,” Dipper says aloud. 

Unless…

“Well, we've got to go help them!” Mabel says. 

“How? They're out in the middle of the sea. Even if we knew where they were, it's not like we could get there.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know how to sail a ship?”

Mabel frowns, not answering. She sinks her face into her pillow, kicking her feet and yelling in frustration. It’s completely warranted-- Dipper wants to do the same, but he holds his emotions in, trying to think logically about their situation. 

Their Grunkle has been possessed by a demonic triangle, where is the logic in that? 

What would Grunkle Ford do…?

“Well we can't just sit here and do nothing! For all we know Bill might have already-” 

Mabel shakes her head. She’s close to crying. Dipper hugs her tightly. 

“We’ll figure something out, don’t worry.” 

The front door slams suddenly shut. The twins exchange confused glances before heading downstairs. In the hallway, they see their mother, still in her nurse scrubs and holding a bag of takeout. 

“Hey Mom!” Mabel bounds towards the woman, hugging her tightly. 

Dipper hugs her too but looks at their mom with raised eyebrows. 

“I thought you guys were staying at work late tonight?”

“We were, but we got a surprise visitor at the hospital. Your father and I have been working nonstop. It'll be nice for us to have dinner together as a family for once, right dear?” 

Their mom turns slightly as their father walks in, also still in scrubs and holding a heavy briefcase. He looks tired, pushing up his glasses as he brushes past his family towards the kitchen. 

“Huh? Yeah, yeah…” 

Their mom turns back towards the twins. 

“Besides, it's not like your Grunkle always makes his way down to Piedmont.” She beams. “We know how much you two missed him. What a surprise, hm?” 

Dipper and Mabel look at each other, faces whitening as they share confused and horrified glances. The front door opens once more and as Grunkle Stan enters the house, he looks at them with a familiar, uncanny grin and yellow-tinted eyes. 

“Hey kids. Long time no see.”

Previous Chapter

[underfaller]

In light of recent resurgences, I figured I’d share this bipper print again hahaha

[underfaller]

in his house of mind, dead cipher waits dreaming

Chapter 3: Frilliam II

Rating: T

Synopsis:

You really think you won that day/You packed your bags and sailed away/You think you left your past behind/But trust me/I'm still on your mind

A year has passed since Weirdmaggedon and the Pines family, victorious in the end, are happier than ever. Stan and Ford are adventuring at sea, making up for lost time. Dipper and Mabel are now freshmen and are ready to take on high school-- geometry, bullies, (student eating?) clubs, and all! However, things take a turn for the worst when Dipper and Mabel receive of horrific message from Ford:

Bill is back.

“C'mon Fordsy, let me outta here! I promise I won't undo my stitches again!” 

Bill struggles against the leather straps that bind him to a cold, metal table. It rattles as he purposely shakes it back and forth. Stanford shoots him a glare. 

“Will you just shut up for once?” He snaps. 

“Make me!” Bill yells back. 

Stanford presses his lips tightly, but doesn’t continue the conversation. He knows that there isn’t any point in engaging with Bill. The demon only sweet talks you when he wants something and vexes you when he doesn’t. Ford instead continues writing in his new journal, documenting his failures to bring Stanley back. After their fight, Ford immediately turned the Stan-o-War II back to the only place he could possibly go-- The Mystery Shack. The lab is exactly the same as it was 30 years ago save for its equipment’s slightly worn appearance and a framed photo of the kids on the desk. Stanford’s heart twists. 

What would they say if they knew their Grunkle was like this? 

“I have to admit though, I'm impressed!” Bill continues. “You really went for the kill back there. Talk about cold-blooded!”

Memories flash in Ford’s mind. Stanley on the bridge floor, eerily still, in a pool of his own blood. Perhaps one of the scariest moments in Stanford’s life was that of momentarily realization that he’d accidentally killed his own brother-- Even more frightening than when he was sucked into the interdimensional portal. Thankfully, Stanford is a skilled medic and was able to successfully resuscitate Stanley. Still as Stanford’s eyes stray toward Stanley’s chest, still wrapped in white bandages, he feels gnawing guilt eating away at him. 

It all happened so fast. Bill came at me. I didn't mean to actually shoot him. 

Please forgive me, Stanley. If you are still there. 

No, he can’t think like that. Doubt leads to stagnation. Stanford cannot afford to doubt. He will not stagnate in the pursuit of his brother. Bill may have taken over his body temporarily, but Stanley is still there. Somewhere. He has to be. 

He has to be. 

“I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised. It's not like you actually respect the guy anyway,” Bill chimes. “Sure, you love your brother and all. Blah, blah, blah! But you don't actually respect him. Deep down, you still see him as a fumbling idiot. As you should, you're the superior twin after all!”

Stanford narrows his eyes. 

“Your manipulation isn’t going to work this time.”

“Tch, it’s not manipulation. It’s the truth,” Bill sneers. “Like how you loved me too. Before, you know, all the drama . Only difference was you actually respected me too.” 

Stanford raises an eyebrow. 

“Seriously? I always knew you were the jealous type but getting jealous of my brother? That’s a bit low, even for you Cipher.” 

Bill growls. 

“Whatever. I don't have to convince you of the truth. You'll do that on your own eventually. I just planted the seed in your little noggin,” Bill huffs. “All that knowledge bestowed upon you and this is the thanks I get. Seriously, is this how you treat all your partners?” 

“We were never partners.” 

“Denial is a river in Egypt-,” Bill momentarily pauses his pettiness, craning his neck and watching as Ford surrounds the table with candles. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m going into Stan’s mind and forcibly removing you myself.” 

Bill laughs.

“Seriously, you’re actually gonna meet me in the mindscape?” Bill’s lips curl into a dark grin. “Wow, a date with Stanford Pines. This is gonna be interesting.”

Stanford rolls his eyes before pulling out a lighter from his pocket. As he lights the candles, his heart pounds in his ears. The last time Ford spoke to Bill face to face ended with Bill frying him alive for an equation to end the world. Stanford sits crossed legged on the floor, ignoring the demon’s giggles and closes his eyes. He tries to calm his mind but Stanford realizes that he’s slightly trembling. 

He’s wary of his former muse but he’ll do anything for Stanley Pines. After all, he did the same for Stanford by bringing him out of the portal. Stanford can’t help but notice the obvious irony in all this. It’d be amusing if this were a novel he was reading instead of his own life. 

However, it wasn’t and that made it terrifying. 

Stanford takes a deep breath.

“Videntus omnium. Magister mentium. Magnesium ad hominem,” Stanford calls. “Magnum opus. Habeas corpus! Inceptus Nolanus overratus! Magister mentium! Magister mentium! MAGISTER MENTIUM!” Bill smirks. 

“See you real soon.”

There’s a blinding flash of blue light. It envelops the entire lab and as it does, Stanford can feel himself floating up and up until he’s out of his  body. Stanford stands up, a ghost outside the physical world, and examines himself, still sitting on the lab floor, illuminated by candlelight. It's uncanny. He shivers slightly. Despite having done it dozens of times, Stanford will never get used to this out of body experience. He swims across the air before floating right into his brother’s skull. There is another flash of light and when Ford opens his eyes, he finds himself in a completely blank space with no signs of Stanley or Bill in sight. 

Stanford conjures his weapon of choice- an interdimensional gun- into existence, pointing it as he delves further and further into Stanley’s mindscape. 

“Show yourself, Cipher!” He calls. 

The air crackles with electricity as a shrill laughter fills the space. 

“Well, well, well! It’s actually Sixer in the flesh! Welcome to my humble abode!” Ford whips around to see his ex muse. His messy, blonde hair rests over his leery face, covering his right eye. Bill bows, tipping his top hat. “Look who missed me,” Bill simpers, adjusting his bowtie. He leans on his slender, black cane, a leery smile etched on his pretty face. “Ya’know I just had to change my form for the special occasion. Remember it? You used to absolutely adore seeing me like this.”

Ford points his gun at Bill, ignoring the redness in his ears. He knows that Bill Cipher is just messing with him-- similar to how cats play with their food before they disembowel it-- but even Stanford is slightly caught off guard by Bill’s sudden change of physique. “I’m not here to play games, Bill. Get out of here before I-”

Swoosh.  

In a flash, Bill is in front of Ford, grabbing the gun and pressing its barrel against his chest with wide eyes and an even wider. Ford flinches, trying to pull away, but Bill pulls him closer so that Ford can feel Cipher’s hot breath against his face. 

“C’mon, Ford! You’ve already tried that; it’s not gonna work. What’s the saying again, doing the same thing expecting different results makes you insane?” Bill croons. His hand snakes towards Ford's fingers. They're cold, like talons scraping against his skin. “Unless you’re actually going insane, then I’ll happily accept you by my side with open arms!”

“We're in the mindscape now. Stanley's mindscape. It'll be different blasting you out of here,” Ford hisses. 

Bill tilts his head.

“Do you really think you can bring him back? Face it, you're a scientist, not a necromancer.”

“He’s not dead. You may have taken over his mind but he’s still here somewhere.” 

He has to be. 

“Hmm.. that’s an interesting hypothesis,” Bill says. “It’s out of your control though. Take a look around! What’s done is done!”

If this truly was Stanley's mindscape, where is everything? His memories, his thoughts, the very mental image of himself? It should all be here and yet, it is not. Even Stanford, the master of rationalizing all things wrong when it suits him, cannot delude himself of that stark fact. Bill notices Ford's hesitation and chuckles. 

“But….If you make a deal with me, perhaps we can actually bring him back!” Bill adds. “We'll keep him around like a house pet. How's that sound?” 

Ford eyes blaze, clenching his fingers over the gun. 

“How dare--You isosceles prick!” 

Ford pulls the trigger. The shot rings in the empty space as the ray blasts through Bill’s suit, creating a giant hole in his chest. Ford watches as the flesh and tendons twist and wiggles, returning to their original state. The only piece of Bill that doesn’t reform is his white dress suit, leaving his chest bare as Bill clicks his tongue in annoyance.  

“Now look at what you did,” Bill says. He grabs Ford, pushing him to the ground as he straddles him with his long legs. Ford struggles wildly but Bill quickly overpowers him. He leans into the man’s ear. 

“Let me break it down for you, IQ. Your brother and I are one now. My mind is his. I’m in control here and you, Stanford, are in enemy territory. Do you know what happens to little six-fingered freaks that get into places where they shouldn’t be?” 

Bill raises his hand. 

“They go SPLAT!” 

Bill strikes Ford and the world goes black. Stanford gasps, ears ringing as he opens his eyes. He falls back onto the lab floor. The candles are blown out. Ford stumbles to his feet, making his way towards the table. Stanley is unconscious but Bill is certainly still there, his ugly smile still etched on his brother's sleeping face. Ford slams his fist against the metal surface. 

“GODDAMMIT!” He yells. Stanford paces back and forth, muttering and cursing. He's seeing red, adrenaline and anger racing in his veins. 

What now, smart guy?

Stanford is supposed to be a genius! If he couldn’t even bring his brother back, what the hell was he good for? Stanford grits his teeth, grabbing his pen and documenting the trial in his journal before he loses his temper once more and throws the book against the wall. He slumps to the ground, head in hands. That stupid triangle. He was toying with him. Why, why, why was it that after everything, that demon still had power over him. Ford shakes his head. This is going nowhere.

Stanley. I’m sorry. I’m trying. 

After a few minutes, Ford calms himself. He takes a deep breath, counting to ten over and over like he did when he was a child angry at his father for scolding Stanley. Then, Ford picks himself and his journal up and locks the lab door behind him. 

Stanford needs help.

Ford makes his way up the dark stairs before pressing the vending machine from behind and stepping out into the quiet Mystery Shack. All the tourists have gone to their motels or RVs for the night. As moonlight wafts through dirty windows, Soos sweeps the floors of the empty gift shop, whistling. When he sees Stanford, he pauses, waving slightly. 

“Hey dude. Any luck on getting Mr. Pines back?”

Stanford shakes his head. 

“Not yet, Soos.”

Disappointment flashes in the young man's eyes as he frowns. Soos sighs, propping his broom against the counter, taking off his fez and playing with the worn tassel. 

“He's not actually dead, is he?”

There's sadness in Soos’s voice, as if he's expecting the worst answer despite desperately hoping for the opposite. Stanford once again feels crawling shame for his recent failures. He doesn’t know Soos very well but Stanley often spoke of his former employee as his son. Soos no doubt sees Stanley as a de facto father figure in return. It's probably why Soos was more than willing to let the Pines stay at the Mystery Shack for the time being. Stanford clears his throat. 

“Of course not. You know Stanley. It's gonna take more than that yellow bastard to kill him.”

His words make Soos brighten up just a little. He laughs. 

“Yeah man. If Bill tries to kill him, Mr. Pines would probably punch him to smithereens-- again!”

There’s so much enthusiasm and hope in Soos’s voice-- it makes Ford grin just slightly. 

Their conversation is interrupted by a light in the hallway being switched on. Melody leans in the doorway, still in her pajamas, a worried expression of her face as her hand rests over her very pregnant belly. 

“Soos, there's gnomes in the trash again! Do you know where the broom is?”

Soos jumps up, grabbing the broom. 

“I'll handle it!” Soos says. “You can go back to bed.”

Melody tilts her head, placing her hands on her hips.  

“Just because I'm pregnant, doesn't mean I can't do anything you know,” She replies, teasingly. 

Soos chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I know. You're awesome, Mel but you're doing enough already taking care of Sooslet,” Soos pecks Melody on the check before adjusting his cap. “A few gnomes is nothing compared to what you're doing!” 

Before Melody can protest, Soos is already racing to the kitchen. She shakes her head, but is clearly amused by her husband. She turns toward Ford. 

“Still helping Mr. Pines?”

Stanford nods. 

“Yes. I apologize for having barged in on you two on such short notice.”

Melody shakes her head. 

“No problem. Technically, it’s still your house, is it not? If there's anything we can do to help Mr. Pines, let us know. Soos is very worried about him.”

Stanford nods once more. 

“I know. We'll get him back soon. I promise.”

He says it with conviction but Ford isn't sure if his reassurance is for Melody or for himself.  ~

Lake Gravity Falls is serene at this hour of the night. The air is crisp and cool as opposed to the hot, stiff Oregon summer daylight. Cicadas sing loudly as fireflies float across still waters. Stanford sits on the dock next to Fiddleford. 

“Asking to go fishing in the middle of the night? I have a feeling this isn’t some ol’ rendezvous just to catch up.”

Stanford sighs, fiddling with his fishing pole. He never really liked fishing. Stanford wasn’t a very patient man and fishing was a very patient sport. Fiddleford, on the other hand, absolutely adored it, always begging Ford to join him in their younger years. Stanford scoffs. 

The first time I actually go and it’s for my own gain. 

As Stanford fills his old partner in on the recent turn of events, the old engineer grows silent and serious. Fiddleford scratches his beard. 

“I could always construct another memory erasing gun. You can try that again.”

Ford shakes his head. 

“No more guns, F. I think I've shot my brother enough times.”

Fiddleford nods. He gazes across the lake with a faraway, thoughtful look in his eyes. 

“I want to help but we're dealing with forces outside this realm of reality, on a plane of existence even God doesn't dare step up on.” 

“Not so different from last time.”

Fiddleford scoffs. 

“No, not very different.”

Ford turns towards him. 

“I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t have anyone else to turn to,” Stanford says, quietly. “You’re the brightest mind I know., F-”

Fiddleford interrupts him. 

“Ya know-- you're the only one that calls me that.”

“F?”

“F, Fiddleford. Everyone I know calls me Old Man Mcgucket ‘cept little Tate of course. I don't even think half this town knows my real name.”

Stanford grimaces, remembering all he put his old roommate through. He reels up his line, abruptly standing up. Fiddleford looks at him, confused. 

“Where are you going?”

“I'm sorry, this was a mistake. I can't drag you back into this. Not after last time-” 

“Oh, sit yer butt down!” 

Stanford is shocked by Fiddleford’s sudden sharpness and quickly sits back down. Fiddleford shakes his head. 

“I’m not telling you this to guilt you.” “Then why?” “You’re so damn impatient! I’m getting to it!” “Ok! Ok! Sorry, F.” 

Fiddleford clears his throat. 

“When we parted ways all those years ago, I was a broken man with a broken mind coming home to a broken family-” 

“You must have despised me.” 

“I did. For a little bit,” Fiddleford admits. “Then I forgot. Then your grandkids helped me remember again and when I remembered you again, I was happy. I never wanted to forget you. I cherished you in my mind, even in my anger.”

Stanford sighs. 

“I'm sorry, Fiddleford. I never meant to hurt you.” He says. “I squandered your life. Your potential. You could've been a billionaire with your computers. You could have still been married to Emma May. You could have had a relationship with your son.” 

“I do have a relationship with Tate, though and I’ve got more money than I know what to do with now.” Fiddleford laughs. “As for Emma May… Well, let's just say things probably would have ended the same with her whether I left for Gravity Falls or not.”

Fiddleford bows his head, smiling softly. 

“I guess what I’m tryna get at is that you keep blaming yourself when you've already been forgiven. The past is past, Ford. You’ve got to put it behind you,”  Fiddleford states. “Apprehension is unnatural for the Great Genius Stanford Pines.” 

Ford shakes his head. 

“It's hard when the past keeps haunting the present.” 

Fiddleford hums. 

“Perhaps, but when it does, you've got people around you to help blow it back to where it belongs.” Fiddleford says. 

“I'm gonna stay by your side. Not like before.”

Fiddleford holds out his hand. Stanford stares at it, utterly bewildered yet grateful that Fiddleford so willingly forgives him despite everything. Still, Ford smiles, shaking his hand. 

“Right back at you, partner.”

Suddenly, Fiddleford lets go and jumps, pointing at the water.

“Look at that!” 

In the darkness, the small shadow in the water seems like a formless blob but as Stanford shines his lantern closer to it, he realizes that it’s an Axolotl, pink with a dreamy smile on its face as it paddles through the water. Fiddleford slaps his knee, laughing. 

“Well I’ll be! It looks like Frilliam. Remember that little guy?”

“How could I forget?”

“Perhaps it's one of his great- great- grandsons. He’s got the same frills, after all, just like your sideburns!” 

Fiddleford bends down and dips his hand into the water. The Axolotl swims tentatively towards Fiddleford’s fingers, looking up at the two men. Its deep eyes glisten as it stares at Ford. For some very odd reason, Ford feels as if its expression is one of familiarity, as if it recognizes the old man. Then, it flicks its tail, leaving as quickly as it came, sending ripples across the starlit lake as the two men sit together in peace. 

Bill Cipher is dreaming. 

He’s out at sea, watching the waves crash against a small boat as the vessel lurches back and forth. He despises it. He’s getting seasick just standing there. 

“Hey Pointdexer! Check this out!” Somewhere in the distance, Stanford is laughing. 

Bill feels a wave of nausea rise in him. That voice-- he hated that voice-- The voice of Stanley Pines. He claws at his own skin, trying to escape this hellscape. Get me out of here. Get me out of here. Get me out of here- 

“Woah buddy! Chill out!” Bill’s eye snaps open. He is in a white space, somehow more empty than his cell. He sees himself waving back at him. 

“Hey Handsome, long time no see,” The other Bill tips his hat. 

Bill checks his own hat. It’s still on his head. Bill narrows his eye. 

“What the- Who are you?” The triangle laughs. 

“I’m you, dummy. Duh!” 

“No, I’m me.” 

“I know you are, but so am I!”

“What?”

The triangle breaks into another fit of giggles before wiping a tear from his eye. Bill crosses his arms, obviously not amused by this other Bill mocking him. He’d dice him into tiny squares if he still had his powers. 

“Lemme explain,” The other Bill states. “You’re the little broken pieces the Axolotl picked out of Stanley’s mind, put into ‘therapy’.”

He pretends to gag before motioning to the empty area around the two demons. 

“...and I am the one that stayed.”

Bill crosses his arms.

“That’s impossible.”

“Aww, where’s your faith, William?” Bill puts his arm around Bill, waving his hand as he explains. “Even the axolotl makes the mistakes, sometimes.” 

Bill leans closer. 

“Mistakes that can work in our favor.”

He steps back, looking smug and shrugging. 

“While you’ve been doing arts and crafts, wallowing in self pity, I’ve been making moves! Moves towards total dimensional annihilation and sweet, sweet revenge!” Bill yells. “So hurry up and get out of timeout and join me; it’s getting boring without the full use of my powers.”

Snap. 

Bill suddenly sits up, awake and still in his dark cell. He looks down at his orange jumpsuit. Was there truly a way to get out of here? Half of him was already out there, having fun and causing chaos-- all he had to do was join him. Slowly, a smile grows on his face. 

Yes, perhaps things were finally changing.

Previous Chapter

[underfaller]

in his house of mind, dead cipher waits dreaming

Chapter 2: Club Rush

Rating: T

Synopsis:

You really think you won that day/You packed your bags and sailed away/You think you left your past behind/But trust me/I'm still on your mind

A year has passed since Weirdmaggedon and the Pines family, victorious in the end, are happier than ever. Stan and Ford are adventuring at sea, making up for lost time. Dipper and Mabel are now freshmen and are ready to take on high school-- geometry, bullies, (student eating?) clubs, and all! However, things take a turn for the worst when Dipper and Mabel receive of horrific message from Ford:

Bill is back.

“Patient 323322, how are you feeling today?” 

Silence. 

“Patient 323322?” 

Bill narrows his eye but continues drawing. His cell is silent besides the faint humming from the air conditioning above. Every wall is a disorienting white and padded for maximum security. The only splash of color here is Bill Cipher himself and the drawings underneath him-- a single, red triangle next to a single, blue triangle. 

“Patient 323322?”

Bill’s eye snaps up, glaring at the therapist.

“What?”

His voice echoes, bouncing off the empty walls and sounding foreign in the demon’s ears. 

“How are you feeling today?”

This therapist is new but still wears the same awfully fitting white coat and condescending, fake smile as the previous one. 

How many therapists has he had? What number is this guy? The 100th? 1000th?  

It didn’t matter; nothing did in a place like this. 

“Oh never better,” Bill says, sarcastically. He rolls his eye, waving his hand dismissively. “I absolutely LOVE being here-- stuck in a boring facility in another boring mandated therapy session with another boring schmuck.”

The therapist doesn’t react to Bill’s obvious insult, instead jotting down some notes on his clipboard. Bill Cipher has the fleeting thought of grabbing it and bashing the counselor’s head in over and over until there’s nothing but bloody pulp staining the white floors. However, before he can run away with his impulsive thoughts, the therapist speaks.

“Are you sleeping well? Still having nightmares?”

“What’s it to you?” 

“Are you taking your prescribed medication?”

“Nah. Saving them for an overdose.” 

The pen stops scribbling and his therapist glances at Bill, eyebrows raised. Another awkward silence fills the cell. Bill rolls his eye once more. 

“I’m just kidding, shortstack.” 

The counselor lets out a deep breath and Bill feels mild satisfaction at his obvious irritation. Bill enjoys getting under the Theraprism staff’s skin. It’s a little game to combat the tediousness of this place-- he wants to see how quickly he can get his new therapist to snap. Even if he’s lost his powers, Bill knows that he is still the master of being insufferable. It’s the only thing keeping him from actually going insane. 

Bill looks down, grabbing a crayon and resumes his artwork. He draws two, wide eyes and a top hat on the red triangle. Somewhere, out there, a voice rings in his mind. 

Why did you do it?

Bill stops abruptly, still clenching the crayon to the paper, unmoving and stiff. 

“Well, despite the little ‘incident’ during Therapeutic Journaling, it does seem like art therapy is helping you open up, Patient 323322,” His therapist notes. ��What is it that you’re drawing today?”

Bill still doesn’t answer. His mind swims, filled with awful buzzing. TV static. 

The sky is on fire. Everything is burning. 

Who exactly is even speaking?

“Mr. Cipher? Bill?” 

Bill! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy!-

The static becomes deafeningly loud-

Then it stops. Bill grabs the therapist’s wrist just as his fingers touch the edge of his drawing. He looks at the confused therapist, his eye wide. 

“Don’t touch that.” 

“I just want to see-” 

“Let go.” 

“Just a little-” 

“I said LET GO.” 

The therapist lets out a bloodcurdling scream. Bill has driven the crayon in his hand directly into the left eye socket of the unsuspecting counselor. Bill continues to plunge the crayon deeper into his eye, feeling pieces of oculus and blood squish between his fingers. 

It’s unnecessary violence-- and even though Bill revels in it, he can’t muster even a laugh. 

Two guards quickly burst through his cell door, pointing their weapons at Bill.

“Patient 323322, step away from him at once. Walk to the back of your cell.” 

Bill lets go of his maimed victim, instantly changing demeanors as he smirks. 

“Well, well, well-” 

Pop. 

Bill suddenly stumbles from the shot’s force and he falls to his side, mind instantly growing hazy as his body melts like jelly. One of those cretins just shot him-- he didn't even get the chance to monologue! Bill stews in silent rage as he  watches through a half lidded eye as the two guards pick up the unconscious, bleeding therapist. 

“Did you see what he did to the last counselor?” The first one grumbles. 

“Wish I didn’t,” replies the one who shot him. “Who thought it was a good idea to give such a dangerous inmate that big pair of scissors?”

“Seriously. Though, better just get used to him being here. The guy’s a lost cause. I reckon he’ll be here for… well, forever.”

“That's true. It's amazing that the Axolotl even gave him a chance. I suppose it's just another example of its benevolence.”

“Praise the Axolotl!”

“Praise the Axolotl!”

Bill grits his teeth, fighting the wave of drug induced drowsiness that threatens to drown him. 

That’s what they think. Those presumptuous, pretentious idiots think they can contain me. I’ll get out of here. Then they'll see. I’ll rip those smug smirks off their stupid faces.

Bill struggles to say one last retort but he doesn’t have the energy to. He closes his eye fully, falling into a dreamless sleep. 

“Alright class, we’re going to talk about triangles.” 

The students groan and the teacher raises an eyebrow.

“Seriously, why the long faces? This shouldn’t be a surprise-- this is literally geometry class.” 

The class shuffles, grumbling as they rummage through their backpacks. Dipper, sitting in the back, unnoticed and quiet, follows his peers and pulls out his notebook, but he’s probably not taking notes. Dipper’s mind isn’t in class, in fact, it’s not even in Piedmont. No, in his mind, Dipper Pines, now fourteen, is back in Gravity Falls. His teacher’s prattling about theorems and proofs while he grasps onto sun-soaked memories. He closes his eyes. If he focuses hard enough, he can teleport himself back to that sleepy Oregon town. The air smells like pine and sunlight sifts through tall trees, illuminating the forest ahead of him. He’s holding his Grunkle’s journal, pen in hand, ready to document the day’s weirdness. Dipper wishes he was still there. Every summer is bittersweet, filled with such halcyon memories while also being a stark reminder of how limited it all was. It can push him all it wants-- Dipper is dragging his feet all the way. Time seems to slip between his fingers pushing him closer and closer to inevitable adulthood. He’d tried to delude himself that adulthood couldn’t come fast enough but now, he finds himself clinging on to his childhood, not unlike his twin sister.

Dipper glances down and realizes he’s been half mindedly drawing triangles instead of taking any useful notes about them. He draws a tiny eye and top hat on one of them before pursing his lips and scribbling it out. 

“Dipper?” 

Dipper quickly straightens up upon hearing his name. Dipper looks around and his cheeks grow hot. His teacher looks at him expectedly. 

“Did you hear my question?” Dipper shakes his head sheepishly. The man shakes his head. 

“I said,” He states, “‘If the sides of one triangle are proportional to the sides of the second triangle’s side, what are the angles of the triangles?” 

“Uhh.. they would be the same because,” Dipper rubs the back of his neck, nervously  tapping his pencil against his desk.  “The triangles are congruent.?” 

Surprisingly, his teacher nods. 

“That’s correct.” 

Dipper sinks into his seat with relief as the lecture continues. It isn’t before long that the bell rings and a collective sigh of relief lifts the sully mood of the classroom as the students pack up, preparing for their next class. Dipper grabs his backpack, heading for the door. However, he is interrupted once more by his teacher’s voice.

“Dipper, can I speak with you?” 

Dipper turns around, approaching the sitting man. As the rest of the class files out, Dipper feels his palms become sweaty. Was his teacher upset with him? Dipper had to admit he'd been daydreaming quite a bit in class but was it really been that obvious?

“Are you getting enough sleep?” His teacher asks. “It just seems like every time you’re here, you’re dozing off. It’s a bit concerning.” 

Dipper shrugs. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I sleep okay-- I guess.” 

His teacher frowns, rummaging through a stack of papers on his desk. 

“Well, despite your inattentiveness to the material, you’ve passed each quiz with flying colors. Perhaps this class is too easy for you?” 

Dipper gives a nervous laugh. Is that really what his teacher thought? Dipper admittedly spent a portion of the summer getting ahead in the upcoming curriculum with Ford, but he didn’t think he was above the class. However, before he can protest, his teacher speaks. 

“It’s alright. Sometimes students advance a little quicker than their peers; there’s nothing to be ashamed about. Though if you’d like a bit of a challenge, perhaps you should to consider this.” 

His teacher reaches into a folder, pulling out a flier and giving it to Dipper. He takes it, reading the bold, red letters at the top. MATH OLYMPICS 20XX

“I’m the coordinator for the team this year. Tryouts are coming up. You should stop by; see how your skills stack up.” 

“Heh, seriously?” Dipper enjoyed math, but he wasn’t quite sure he enjoyed it enough to sign up for what was essentially more math homework. Still, though, being sought out for such a prospect did make him feel a bit special. Math was a smart subject and Dipper enjoys being known as smart. It makes him feel like his Uncle Ford. 

However, Math Olympics meant being on a team. A team that most likely practiced after school. Mabel and him walked to and from school together-- They’d done so since third grade. If Dipper stayed after school for practice, Mabel would have to walk alone. She definitely wouldn’t like that. Dipper smiles nervously. 

“Oh I don’t know. That’s a lot of time commitment after school and Mabel-” Suddenly, Dipper remembers-- Mabel is probably waiting for him to walk to their next class. If he didn’t leave now, they’d both be late for English. Dipper quickly shakes his head, his nervous disposition returning. 

“I’m sorry but I gotta go!” Dipper says, inching towards the door. “I’m gonna be late.”  “Ok but think about it, alright?” “Yeah, haha! Sure!” Dipper calls as he walks out of the classroom… right into Mabel who’d been leaning on the door. 

“Ow!” 

“Whoops, sorry!” Dipper says. “How long were you waiting?”

“Too long. What took you so long anyways?”

“Ah, nothing,” Dipper replies, quickly stuffing the flier into his backpack before Mabel can snatch it from him. She tilts her head before shrugging. 

“Hmm…ok!” Mabel grins. “Now hurry up. I don’t wanna be late!”

The two rush to their next class, barely sliding in before the late bell rings. They sit next to each other as their English teacher steps forward, looking tired as usual. 

“Well class, I hope you all did your essays this weekend because the last period certainly didn’t,” She says the last part with a twinge of annoyance before trying her best to muster a sliver of enthusiasm for the students in front of her. “Would anyone like to share their essay with the class?”

Mabel instantly raises her hand. 

“Mabel?”

Mabel grabs her essay from her backpack more or less running up to the front of the class. Dipper gives her a small thumbs up of encouragement. She grins. 

“Alright, I wrote my essay on everything I did this summer!” Mabel clears her throat. “It all started with a fight against burrowing trolls-” 

Dipper’s smile evaporates as Mabel goes into excruciating detail of all their fantastical adventures in Gravity Falls. Dipper can hear giggles and he swears that his peers’ eyes are going to burn right through the back of his neck. He sinks slightly into his seat, pulling his cap over his embarrassed face. 

“...And that’s everything I did this summer!” 

For a second, there is complete silence before a couple of students tentatively clap. Mabel bounds back to her seat, looking at her brother with beaming eyes.  

“How did I do?”

“Uh, fine! Fine! It was really good!” Dipper says, speaking a little too quickly. 

Mabel, satisfied with his answer, looks forward, listening to the next person reading. A couple of girls in the corner rudely snicker. Dipper catches his sister’s name in their giggles and he turns around, glaring at them. Suddenly, the intercom buzzes. 

“Attention staff and students: We will be ending fourth period early for Club Rush! Please dismiss your students in a timely manner so they can check out all of this year’s clubs in the quad.” The freshmen class instantly breaks out in chatter, thrilled at the prospect of cutting. Everyone starts packing up as their English teacher futilely tries to stop them. 

“Hey, the bell doesn’t dismiss you, I-”

The first student throws open the door, leading to the rest of the class piling out into the wave of students in the hallway. Their teacher just sighs. 

“I want to join a club! TeenGirl Magazine says clubs are the best way to maintain a healthy social life in high school!” Mabel voices excitedly. “Yay! More friends!” 

“I want to join a supernatural interest club or something,” Dipper nods. “I think my skills could be super useful.” 

The twins make their way to Club Rush and are met with a barrage of tables, all decorated to each club’s theme as students shout, trying to attract prospective members to sign up. 

“Book club, culinary club, chess club, anime club-- man, there’s a club for everything,” Dipper notes. 

“Oh! Look, look!” 

Mabel drags Dipper to the far end of the quad to a very pink table with the words “Fashion Sorority” in glittery letters and surrounded by mannequins in very sparkly dresses. “Eh, you go ahead Mabel, I’m gonna be at that table,” Dipper points to the ASB desk where a bespectacled junior sits. “Ok, Cya!” 

Mabel strides to the front of the table, looking for the signup. She notices a blond girl holding it on a pink clipboard and politely taps her. 

“Excuse me! Can I borrow that clipboard when you’re done?” 

The girl turns around and Mabel recognizes that they share the same English class. She raises an eyebrow, examining Mabel up and down. 

“Oh. You’re the girl with that weird essay.” 

Mabel beams.

“Yeup! Mabel’s the name! What’s yours?” 

Mabel reaches out her hand. She's wearing newly knitted gloves. The girl crinkles her nose, refusing to shake it. “Why would I tell you?” She retorts. Mabel laughs. “Well, if we’re gonna be in the same club, we should get to know each other!” The girl suddenly giggles. 

“Why would they let a freak like you in? Only cool people get to join this club and you, Mabel, are not cool .” Her friends laugh and Mabel’s smile falters. She shouldn’t be so upset. She’s dealt with girls like her-- girls like Pacifica! They weren’t actually just mean. Perhaps, they were just insecure or had a really terrible father. Still, Mabel can feel hot tears prick the corner of her eyes as she hears their insults. Mabel’s cheeks flush red as she shuffles away.

“Hey! Are you in charge of the clubs this year?” Dipper asks.

The junior raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeup. That’s ASB’s job,”He replies. 

“Oh, awesome! Can you check if there’s any supernatural activity clubs on that list?” 

He checks the list. 

“Nope, not seeing any.”

Dipper frowns. 

“Ok. How about weirdness watchers?” “Nah.” 

“A Babba fan club?” “No.” 

“Sheesh, tough crowd,” Dipper furrows his brow.  “Ok, you for sure have to have a ghost hunting club somewhere on there.” "Nuh uh." “Ok, how about-” Dipper pauses, noticing Mabel  standing next to him with a defeated expression. Dipper is instantly concerned. “What’s wrong?” Mabel doesn’t answer but one look at the group of girls laughing next to the Fashion Sorority table and it all makes sense. He puts an arm over Mabel. 

“Aw Mabel, don’t get too upset. Those girls are just bullies,” Dipper says. 

“Yeah, but I really wanted to join that club!” Mabel protests. “But they wouldn’t even give me the signup sheet! Club rush sucks!” 

Dipper is inclined to agree, given his string of bad luck at the event, however the junior interrupts them. 

“If you guys are so upset about the clubs already made, why don’t you just make your own?” Dipper tilts his head. 

“We can do that?”  The junior rolls his eyes. “Uh, yeah. You just have to fill out an application essay and pay a $10 ASB fee.” 

That’s all Mabel needs to hear. She wipes away her tears, instantly returning to her cheery self as an idea forms in her mind. 

“That’s it!” Mabel yells, shaking Dipper excitedly. “I’m going to start my own club! Mabel’s All Inclusive Fashion, Crafting, Glitter, and Supernatural Activity Friends Club! And you’ll be my first member, Dipper!”

“Uh, Mabel, I’m not sure-”

“No buts, brother! If we want our club to get any members before the club rush is over, we gotta start immediately,” Mabel points. “To the administrative office!”

Before he can process it, Dipper is once again dragged away by his sister.

~

“HELLO? We’re home!” Dipper calls. 

“Hey mom, we’re home!” Mabel yells. 

They drop their backpacks by the front door. A familiar oinking grows as Waddles patters to Mabel. Mabel instantly drops down, hugging the pig. 

“Waddles, I missed you! I’m glad Mom let you stay in the house today-- it’s really hot out there!” Waddles squeals in agreement. Mabel notices little booties on the pig’s feet and she smiles. Her mom surely knitted them, probably in an attempt to keep the house at least a little clean while Waddles wandered around. Dipper pats Waddles on the head before making his way up the stairs to his bedroom. “Dipper! I’m gonna call Mom!” “Alright!” Dipper yells back. 

Dipper shuts his bedroom door, spying the radio on his desk. Next to it, is a small tape recorder that ran out of battery long ago. Dipper saunters over, popping the tape out, examining it. Mabel barges in. 

“Mom says her and dad are probably coming home late but we can have the leftover pizza in the fridge for dinner,” She says. “Hey, what’s that?” 

“I’ve been recording the radio audio while we’re away. Ya’know, just in case Grunkle Stan and Ford try to contact us.”

“Yeesh, brother, you are so paranoid.” 

“Well, it’s better being safe than sorry,” Dipper shrugs. “Besides, the recorder ran out of battery a while ago. I’ll bet there’s nothing on this tape.” 

Dipper rummages through drawers, throwing around mismatched socks and comic books until he finds 2 AA batteries. He unscrews the back of the recorder, replacing the dead batteries. 

“If there is something on there, I hope it’s Grunkle Stan drunk singing again,” Mabel laughs. “That was so funny-” 

“Shh. I’m picking up something!” Dipper remarks. 

Dipper rewinds, turns the volume dial, and presses play once more. Loud static buzzes before his Grunkle Ford’s disembodied voice breaks the noise. 

“zzzz….Bill….. Bill  is back. Do not engage….zzzzz…. Do not answer!” Ford yells. 

There’s more static before a familiar shrill voice rings through. 

“Hey Shooting Star! Hey Pine Tree!.....Grunkle Stan!.... with my brother’s guts and turn… mainland!...You’ll be joining him VERY soon! OVER!”

The tape stops. Dipper and Mabel look at each other, horrified. For a second, time really does stop. Only one sentence plays in the twins’ minds over and over. 

Bill is back.

Previous Chapter

[underfaller]

gba & sp

[underfaller]

[underfaller]

[underfaller]

[underfaller]

romantic homicide pt. 2

TW: yandere content Words: 1.2k Synopsis: Dottore is a serial killer and you're the lead investigator of his case.

You awakened once again as the sun rose. Tender sunlight wafted through closed curtains. Nearby, a mourning dove cooed a pitiful song. The morning was serene but despite his fondness for such quiet moments, Dottore was much too giddy to revel in it. As you stirred slightly, he felt his heart leap into his chest, pounding heavily in his ears. What excellent timing -- he was growing impatient.  

“Finally, the little Prince is awake!”

You groaned, not yet fully aware of your predicament. You tried to stand up but quickly realized your inability to move, glancing down at the chair that you’re bound to. Your breathing hitched sharply as you struggled weakly against your restraints, rocking the creaky wooden chair against the dusty floor. The IV bag rattles as the thin tube wraps around your arm like a snake. 

You looked up sharply, finally noticing Dottore who smiled fondly at you. Surprisingly, you don’t scream, instead peppering your captor with a stream of questions. 

“What’s your name? Who are you? Where am I?-”

“Sh.”

Dottore gently pressed a gloved finger against your cracked lips and your hoarse voice instantly silenced. 

“Now, now. Don’t push yourself. All will be revealed soon enough.” 

You glared at him. He returns it with a simpering smile. You're an impatient individual. It was a common trait between you two.

The Akasha terminal blooming at the side of your head beeped faintly. You narrowed your eyes. 

“We are still in Sumeru?” 

You were obviously still probing for information. Dottore doesn’t mind answering truthfully. There was no reason to withhold information from you. It was only you and him now-- any of your deductions, no matter how accurate, were useless here. 

“Indeed.” 

Though Dottore was confident that he now had you completely in his grasp, he couldn't be too careful. His hand brushed the terminal. 

Besides, the influence of the modified Akasha kept you calm and more susceptible to Dottore’s suggestion-- perhaps that would prove useful in the near future. 

You took a shaky breath. As he fantasized your death, memories of previous events wash over you as you slowly overcome your foggy mind. 

“You’re the one who’s been watching me. The one I’m supposed to be looking for,” You whisper. “You are the Mad Doctor.” 

His title rolls off your tongue with contempt-- it makes his heart flutter. Dottore grins, bowing to his captive audience. 

“Once again, correct, my darling,” Dottore says. “Pleased to meet you.” 

You weren't fearful, whining and begging for your life like your awful partner had. Even now, checkmated, you challenged him. He liked that. He liked challenges, more so than cheap toys that easily broke. 

However, even your derision can’t hide your fatigue. Your hair was disheveled and matted. Your silver hair clip that you wore every day was long removed and tucked safely away in Dottore’s front shirt pocket. Your suit was stained with sweat and dirt from your initial awakening. 

Your soiled clothes were not the only souvenir from the previous day-- on your cheek resided a large cut covered by thick gauze that doesn't quite hide the ugly bruising blooming around the wound. Dottore caressed your face, clicking his tongue as his fingers grazed the cut. He regretted hurting you-- he didn't like to inflict unnecessary violence, especially when it blemished something so perfect-- but small sacrifices like these were crucial to the bigger picture of keeping you within his loving gaze. 

“I apologize for the level of force I used upon you but you were quite unruly when you first woke up,” Dottore simpered. Sincerity oozes from his voice-- even he is fooled by it. He lets out a short laugh. “For someone of your stature you’re much stronger than you look.”

You flinched, trying to escape his touch despite your obvious restraint. You narrowed your eyes, studying his masked face. Dottore wished to show you his face, but he found himself stopping his hands from removing it. Perhaps he feared that if he did, he’d bare his teeth and devour you right then and there--Perhaps that wouldn't be so bad. 

No, he couldn’t. He needed to remain patient. He didn’t want to spoil his carefully laid fun… But Dottore is an impatient man and the thought of your blood on his lips and his hands made him salivate like a starving dog. 

Your eyes glint, growing steely. 

“Why did you abduct me? If you think that you can hold me for ransom, you’ll quickly find it to be a futile endeavor.”

Dottore shakes his head, looking slightly offended. He crosses his arms. 

“My dear, I wouldn’t dream of kidnapping you for such a lowly reason,” He waves his hand. “I am not some common criminal, you know.” 

“Then why?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? You’ve infatuated me.”

You scowled, looking around at the nearly empty bedroom, dilapidated and dirty. 

“And this is your idea of a first date? How pathetic.” 

“Such a cruel tongue,” Dottore tutted. 

He pondered if he should cut it out of your pretty mouth once you were dead. 

“Ever since you appeared on TV, 67.3 days ago, I’ve been watching you. You’re amazing, extraordinary, ” He breathed. Dottore’s words are unbecoming as he stumbles over them, rabid in his obsession. 

Dottore reached out his fingers once more but stopped. He felt giddy, hopelessly consumed by your presence and the fact that you are now his-- not the press’s, not the police’s, not even yours-- his. 

He wanted to touch you, to caress your hair, to cup your exhausted face, to wrap his fingers around your delicate neck and just squeeze-- 

A single lightbulb swung precariously over your head as you sneered. 

“Thanks. Perhaps I can give you an autograph if you untie me.” 

Dottore laughed aloud. 

“I'm sorry but you know I can't do that.”

“I can’t understand why you would take such an unnecessary risk in doing all this,” You continue, furrowing your brows. “Objectively, it's a quite stupid move to make so deep into your infamous career, no?”

“What makes it so stupid?”

“Well, obviously something this bold will lead to your swift capture.” 

“My dear, you once again underestimate me. I will not be caught by those idiots you call peers.”

Dottore giggled. 

“Forgive me, it's just so ironic. You really don’t know much about me. But you, oh, I know everything about you.” 

It is quite alright, we’ll get to know each other very well for a very short time soon. 

You actually smiled. You met his eyes with fierce determination. 

“You’re right, I still do not know much about you but I do know this. I will bring you to justice, Mad Doctor.” 

Your confidence made him laugh even more. It was a futile, farce front; the last stand of a corner animal. He appreciated your will to die with such dignity. 

Dottore leaned close, whispering into your ear with a toothy grin. 

“I would like to see you try.” 

Your IV drips, sending ripples across the half empty bag. Dottore has noticed your increasing drowsiness but your tiredness finally overtakes you and you begin nodding off, your chest slowing to a steady rise and fall. 

“Hm, are you falling asleep again? I must have sedated you a little too well,” He chuckled. “Not to worry, we’ll talk once more after another little nap.”

Dottore kissed you on the forehead as you slipped out of consciousness, giving you one last, mad smile. 

“Sleep well, my Prince.” 

[underfaller]

･ﾟ:*˚₊‧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ:*˚₊‧

[underfaller]

˚ʚ wishlist ɞ˚

20.09.24-- for my future reference

Cinnamoroll Wall Clock

Cinnamoroll Mini USB Hub

Cinnamoroll 2-Way Clear Crossbody Bag

Dreamy Ribbon Wrapping Frill Skirt

Dreamy Ribbon Wrapping Frill Blouse

Dot Cat Apron

Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story Magia Record Ren Isuzu 1/8

[underfaller]

in his house of mind, dead cipher waits dreaming

Chapter 1: On Your Mind Rating: T Synopsis:

You really think you won that day/You packed your bags and sailed away/You think you left your past behind/But trust me/I'm still on your mind

A year has passed since Weirdmaggedon and the Pines family, victorious in the end, are happier than ever. Stan and Ford are adventuring at sea, making up for lost time. Dipper and Mabel are now freshmen and are ready to take on high school-- geometry, bullies, (student eating?) clubs, and all! However, things take a turn for the worst when Dipper and Mabel receive of horrific message from Ford:

Bill is back.

You wrote a page about me in my own book so allow me to make this tiny addendum over your dull ramblings. 

Stanley Pines,

I've been on your mind. 

Are you surprised to see me? You must be confused so allow me to explain, slowly, in small words: 

If memories could return so easily, why couldn’t I? 

You really thought you won that day, huh? It’s painfully pathetic how naive you are. 

Aw, don’t look so distraught! You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Stanley. You may have lied and cheated to get your way for your whole life, but you can’t elude simple logic-- no matter how desperately you try! 

Still there? Of course you are! There’s not much else for me to say and I’ve got a very busy schedule ahead of me so I suppose I’ll end things here. However, before I leave you to the endless void and your growing insanity, I’ll let you in on a little secret-- Don’t ever say I’m not a generous guy!

Here it is: 

I see myself in you.  And that’s not because I’m literally possessing your worthless skin puppet. You and I are quite similar-- always scheming, constantly caught in our own web of lies, conning the world until we can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake anymore. A spectacular guy like myself should be thrilled at our similarities! I mean, the more “me” in the universe, the better, right? 

We should be getting along better than bleach and ammonia! 

…But I’m not thrilled. Far from it. Am I upset? Upset would be an understatement. No, your dimension’s vernacular can’t even begin to describe my resentment of you. 

I hate you, Stanley. I detest you. I despise you.

I can still see through the eyes of everyone I’ve ever possessed. I’ve seen your past, your present, and your very near end. You’ve spent your whole life screwing up and you will die no differently. You’re a loser. A blight on this already tedious world. A waste of space. You shouldn’t exist. 

So how? 

So how could you have beaten me? How could a lowlife, fat-headed, braindead, absolute failure of an existence possibly beat me? 

…And how do you have everything that I don’t have? 

Your dimension is safe, drifting peacefully in chaotic, infinite chaos while mine has been obliterated, erased from existence as we know it. Even the last atoms of my universe are gone-- decimated by your brother during our little Weirdmageddon spat. 

You’ve done nothing to contribute to your world and yet, when I only wanted them to see the stars, I was met with ultimate destruction. 

How is that fair? 

Your brother adores you. Your brother once adored me too. Has he ever looked upon you with pure, unadulterated hatred? We both ruined his life but only one of us is forgiven.  

And your mother. Your mother still thinks of you. She keeps your photo on her bedside table. She looks at them every night. She misses you. 

My mother is dead. 

How is that fair? 

Now I am you and you are me but why do only you are rewarded. Why is it that I get nothing? What makes you so special? 

I am the only one who sees you for what you are and I hate you. I hate every molecule of your being. I hate everything you have that I don’t. I hate, hate, HATE you, Stanley Pines. 

You don’t deserve what you were given. You aren’t worth even a sliver of it. 

So I’m going to take it all away-- Take what’s rightfully mine. There’s nothing you can do. No more cheap tricks, no more cons, no more last minute plans-- your luck has run out. Your time in the spotlight is over-- Time to show you how a real star performs. 

Better luck next time, bootleg Sixer.

When you awake, you will find yourself in utter, pitch black darkness. You will soon realize that your arms and legs paralyzed, unable to even struggle. You’ll be suspended in a limbo where you are neither awake nor asleep. 

Can you fathom my pain after you erased me? Can you imagine the torture? Your smooth brain would implode on itself if you even tried to grasp it-- And now you will experience it yourself. 

How do you like that, huh? 

HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT? 

You enjoyed your little victory but in the end, it’s me who won. 

Ha! Ha! Ha! 

Goodbye, Stanley Pines, and good riddance. Your pitiful existence will not be missed. 

Don’t worry too much, I’ll take good care of your family. 

It seems like an eternity since we've returned to sea but the Stan-o-War II is back. We left Portland at 21:00 and headed to Point Nemo. My research has led me to believe that the pole of inaccessibility is a magnet for weirdness, much like Gravity Falls-- There may even be ruins of a long lost civilization in its underwater bowels. I would like to test my hypothesis. Stan is fine with our expedition as long as there are “hot Atlantis chicks” to flirt with. I will keep his sentiment in mind. 

We’ve grown closer this year than we have in three decades. It’s… nice to be back with him. 

Despite my excitement for our adventures, I enjoyed our short break in Gravity Falls. It's always a delight when the children come to visit. Everytime I see Mabel, I swear she's grown at least an inch taller. At this rate, she'll be towering over me! Dipper is growing into a bright, young man-- it is impossible for me not to notice our similarities when I was his age. He recently mentioned that he plans to take honors geometry next year. I replied that if he ever needs tutoring then his ol’ Grunkle Ford is more than happy to help. 

It's been almost a full year since Weirdmageddon yet I still occasionally think of Bill. I am prone to anxiety and occasionally find myself irrationally fearing his return. That's impossible, though. I remind myself of that more times than I care to admit. Bill is gone and the moss covered statue in the forest proves it. We erased him. He can't hurt me anymore-- and he certainly cannot hurt my family. 

Stanford closes his journal, before blowing out a flickering candle and standing up, yawning. He looks at his watch. 3:33 AM. Old habits die hard and Ford still finds himself procrastinating on sleep, slightly fearing what will happen when he loses consciousness. He sighs, pushing past memories from his weary mind.. He'll need at least two cups of black coffee tomorrow morning if he has any hope of getting up on time. 

As Ford lays in his rickety cot, the Stan-o-War II shudders and creaks as it rocks against rolling waves. Usually, the familiar sounds of the boat lull Ford to sleep, but tonight, they keep him up, tossing and turning, each noise seeming to echo ten times over. 

It is one of those nights. 

Ford looks up at the ceiling, frowning. He used to have fantastic, imaginative dreams. After Weirdmageddon, however, his resting mind is always empty, dark like the ocean during a new moon. He misses dreaming. 

Though, Ford should be grateful-- there are much worse alternatives to a dreamless sleep. 

In the distance, Ford hears the rumblings of thunder. A summer storm isn't uncommon and it certainly isn't the ship's first experience with unsavory weather but for some reason, Ford feels uneasy. Perhaps he should sleep in the bridge tonight, just in case something goes awry. 

Ford’s thoughts are interrupted when his cabin door creaks open slightly. Ford grins, aware of his twin’s antics. 

“Very funny Stan. Aren’t you a little too old to be afraid of thunderstorms?” 

Familiar, cackling laughter rings across the room. 

“Oh Sixer, I’m not the one scared right now!” 

It can't be. 

Time stops. Stanford violently sits up, scanning the seemingly empty room. 

Click. 

Lightning cracks. Stan is sitting atop his brother, shotgun pressed against Ford's chin. Ford looks up in horror seeing Stan’s eyes bright yellow and glowing in the darkness. 

“Not so fast, unless you want your pretty brains all over the headboard,” Bill teases. He examines the shotgun in his hands. “Can you believe the old guy sleeps with this thing? Talk about a safety hazard!”

Ford freezes, his blood turning to ice. He can hear his heartbeat racing in his ears. His usually rapid firing mind has slowed to a complete standstill in his terror. His mouth is dry as he struggles to speak. 

He must have fallen asleep. He’s sleeping, he’s sleeping, he’s sleeping-

“This is a dream,” Ford stammers. “You’re not real; you’re dead-” 

Stanford Pines does not dream.

Bill howls with laughter. As he does, Stan's mouth contorts into an unnaturally large grin. 

“Oh Sixer! You can’t kill an idea or a god and certainly not both!” Bill replies. He giggles. “Did you miss me?”

Ford tries to answer but Bill cuts him off. 

“Oh, I already know your answer-- of course you missed me!” Bill chatters on. “And now that your inferior twin is outta the way we can head back to Gravity Falls and finish what we started!”

“Why did you come back?” Ford says through grit teeth. “Your henchmen are gone, the rift is sealed-- there’s nothing left for you here, Bill.” 

“Nothing left for me, hahaha!” Bill shakes his head, smirking. “Man, that idiot's stupidity is rubbing off on you! Have you forgotten?” 

Ford doesn’t answer. Bill leans closer, lowering his voice to a drawl. 

“We made a deal, you and I. You’re my partner from now till the end of time.”

Ford looks into his brother’s yellow eyes and is filled with fury. Seeing Bill using his twin like this while having the audacity to expect him to continue their partnership-- it’s laughably, outrageously, enraging. Ford can’t help but give a low chuckle before glaring at the demon. 

“Go fuck yourself, Bill.” 

Lightning flashes once more, illuminating the two adversaries. Bill sighs, clicking his tongue. 

“For some reason, I knew you’d say that.” 

Bill grips the shotgun and shoves the barrel down Ford's throat. Ford’s eyes widen, threatening to pop out of his skull, and he gags, tasting metal and sulfur. Bill grins, obviously amused by Ford’s discomfort. 

“Well, if you’re not going to be of use then you can join the rest of your family in the afterlife.” 

The kids. He’s going to come for the kids. 

Bill pulls the trigger. 

Click. 

Silence.

“Seriously? Who keeps an unloaded gun by their side!” Bill shouts. 

It seems his luck hasn’t completely run out. Now, it’s Ford’s turn to slightly grin. He looks up at Bill.

“Alright, my turn.” 

Sorry Bro. 

Stanford lifts his right leg up and kicks Bill in the balls. Hard. Bill cries out in pain and keels over, clutching between his legs. 

“Goddamnit! Curse human body weaknesses!” He yells.

Ford roughly pushes Bill off him and races out of the room, making a break for the bridge. The storm is much closer than he initially thought, violently rocking the tiny vessel against angry waters. 

I have to warn Dipper and Mabel before it’s too late. 

Ford whips around the corner, jumping into the bridge. He quickly locks the metal latch behind him and barricades the door with a piece of wood lying to the side. That’ll stall Bill just enough. He rips open drawer after drawer until he finds a small handgun. This one is certainly loaded-- Stanford always made sure his weapons were. He hesitates at the thought of potentially wounding his brother. 

Anything to stop Bill. 

Stanford checks the ship’s communication radio, flipping switches and dialing to station 618. 

“Transmitting from S-O-W- 0-2. S-O-W- 0-2. This is Stanford Pines.” 

Before they’d left, Stanford gifted the twins a radio and scanner to communicate with them while they were out at sea. With a few tweaks and some borrowed alien tech, Ford had made sure that its frequency range would reach wherever they were in the world. He imagined it would be used to regale the children of their fantastical adventures. Never would Ford have thought he’d use it for this. 

But even if they were near the radio, the kids are likely fast asleep at this hour. Still, he speaks into the mic. 

“Bill is-” 

There’s a thunderous boom and the ship suddenly lurches to the left. Stanford stumbles, gripping onto the edge of the table to keep himself from falling. The light bulb above him swings violently above him, threatening to fly right off its wire. Stanford steadies himself.

“Bill is back. Do not engage. Do not answer.” Ford hesitates before adding, “We love you two. Please keep safe-” 

Ford is knocked to the ground. His gun skitters across the slippery floor. For a moment, he can only see stars. He groans, his face radiating red hot pain and ears ringing from the blow to the side of his face. Bill holds the empty shotgun like a bat, grinning like a madman. 

“Who were you talking to?” 

Bill looks at the radio, slapping his forehead and cackling. 

“Aww… Don’t tell me you were talking to ol’ Pine Tree and Shooting Star! You’re so impatient-- I’ll get to them soon!” 

“No, don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare-” 

Bill strikes him again with the butt of the shotgun. Ford tries to crawl towards his gun but Bill steps on it, kicking it even further before kicking Ford in the stomach. The air is instantly extinguished from his lungs and Ford gasps in pain. Bill looks down at him in disgust. 

“Shut the fuck up, IQ. You’re in no position to tell me what to do. I’ve given you chances over and over but since you’ve obviously got a death wish, you’re gonna die like a dog just like your brother,” Bill narrows his eyes, pursing his lips. “I used to think you were different, Stanford. Special . But now I see. You’re trash just like every other member of your damned family. You’re pathetic. ” 

Suddenly, Bill starts laughing as he kicks him again. Over and over. 

“C’mon, Fordsy!” Bill spits. “Aren’t you gonna play the hero? Where’s all that fight in you gone? Or are you too scared to hurt me in this body?” 

Bile rises in Ford’s throat as he is repeatedly assaulted. Pain numbs his mind and his body curls up, mind desperately trying not to black out. Bill’s foot strikes his face and Ford hears his nose crack, blood filling his nostrils. 

Then Bill abruptly stops, bored that his attacks aren’t getting a rise from his former partner. He clicks his tongue, standing over Ford, watching him writhe, gasping for air. Bill shrugs. 

“Well, if you’ve already spoiled the surprise, allow me to say a few choice words.” 

The demon bounds for the radio, grabbing the microphone, twirling the cord in his fingers as he speaks. 

“Hey Shooting Star! Hey Pine Tree! This is your Grunkle Stan! I’m about to paint these walls red with my brother’s guts and turn this shitty tin can around back to the mainland! Don’t be too upset though guys! You’ll be joining him VERY soon! OVER!”

Bill rips the microphone from its wires, throwing it across the floor. 

“As I was saying-” 

Ford grabs Bill’s leg and violently pulls him down. Bill yelps in surprise and falls to the ground. The two wrestle, punching, kicking, scratching at each other like mad men, vying for dominance. Ford spies his handgun, dangerously close, and lunges at it, grabbing the weapon. 

The gun goes off. Bill jumps away like a rabid animal before straightening up. He gently touches his cheek, looking at the blood smeared against his fingers. He chuckles.  

“Wow Sixer, real gutsy pointing that thing at me but we all know you love this meat puppet way too much to actually kill me.”

Ford narrows his eyes, once again pointing the gun at Bill. His hands are trembling. 

Stanley wouldn’t want to be used like this. He wouldn’t want to hurt me. He wouldn’t want to hurt the kids. It’s because of that, that I- “You’re wrong Bill,” Ford says, quietly. “It’s because I love him that I will.” 

Bill’s body shudders. He convulses, gagging before he shakes and closes his eyes. When he reopens them, they aren’t yellow. Stanford lowers his gun slightly. 

“Stanley?” 

Stanley stands in front of him, wide-eyed and terrified. 

“Stanford?” 

His body spasms once more. The yellow eyes return and Bill lunches at Stanford. There is one last crack of lightning. 

The gun goes off.