Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PREFACE

Dipper had never given much thought to how he would die — though in the last few months he’d certainly had reason enough too — but even if he had, he would have not imagined it like this.

He stared across the long room, breathless, into the dark eyes of the figure above him who returned his gaze, pleasantly.

Surely, it was a good way to die, instead of someone he loved — instead of his sister. It may have even been noble, counting for something.

Dipper knew that if him and his sister never moved to Gravity Falls, he wouldn’t be in this situation — facing death now. But, as scared as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond what you have already dreamt, it’s not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

The figure smiled in a friendly way, meandering closer, on his way to kill him.

Chapter Text

Dipper and Mabel’s mother drove them to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was a cool day in Piedmont, the sky a cloudless, light hue of blue. Dipper was wearing his typical outfit — a red, plaid flannel with a pair of blue jeans and matched with a pair of grey sneakers. Mabel wore one of her thousands of hand-knit sweaters, matched with a mini-skirt. It was their way of a farewell gesture.

Located in the Pacific Northwest of the United States was a small town named Gravity Falls, Oregon. Dipper and Mabel had spent several summers here with their Great Uncle Stan, starting at the age of twelve. The town was relatively unremarkable. They had a single restaurant, Greasy’s Diner, run by a local woman named Susan. Stan ran a tourist trapped named the Mystery Shack, and every few cars one could see a bright yellow bumper sticker mentioning it. It was this small, boring town that the twins’ parents had escaped from when they were a few months old. While the twins had come to enjoy their summers, once they had turned fourteen, it had been put to an end; the past three summers, Great Uncle Stan had come to visit them in California for two weeks instead.

And it was now Gravity Falls that the twins had exiled themselves to — an action that didn’t quite horror them, but did not please them either. Gravity Falls was not the big city that they had become accustomed to; it was not Piedmont.

They loved Piedmont. They loved the sun and the city life — the vigorous, sprawling city.

“Kids,” their mom said to them — the last of several times — before they approached the boarding plane. “You don’t have to do this.”

Mrs. Pines look similar to the twins — especially Mabel — but had short hair and laugh lines. Dipper felt a spasm of panic as he looked into her wide, childlike eyes. How could he leave their mother — their erratic, harebrained mother — to fend for herself? Of course, she still had their father, so the bills would be paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in the car, and someone to call if she needed one, but still…

“We want to go,” Mabel said to her. Dipper had always been a bad liar, something of which Mabel excelled at. He may have been able to sound convincing if he’d spoken something enough times, but didn’t choose to take that chance.

“Tell Stan I said hi.”

“We will.”

“See you soon, kids,” she insisted, ruffling the hair on their heads. “You can come home whenever you want — I’ll come right back as soon as you need me.”

Dipper could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

“Don’t worry about us,” Dipper urged. “It’ll be great. We’ll be great. We love you, Mom.”

Mrs. Pines pulled them into a tight group hug, and then they got on the plane, and she was gone.

It was a short flight from Piedmont to Portland, and another short car-ride back down to Gravity Falls. Flying didn’t bother them, but the time in the car with their Great Uncle Stan worried them. He had severe cataracts that affected his vision, and in turn, his driving.

Stan had been fairly nice about the situation. He seemed genuinely pleased that the twins were coming to stay with him for the first time with a sense of permanence. He’d already gotten the twins registered for high school and planned on helping them find a car — to share.

It was incredibly awkward with Stan. Neither him nor Dipper would be called verbose, though Mabel could find something to fill the silence. Dipper wasn’t sure what there was to say, regardless. Stan was more than a little confused by their decision, as he was greatly aware of the twin’s feelings on the town.

When landing in Portland, Oregon, it was raining. Dipper didn’t find it as a sign or a bad omen — it was simply unavoidable in the Pacific Northwest. They had already said goodbye to a reasonable amount of sun.

Stan was already waiting for the twins with his old, beat-up car. One of the reasons the twins wanted their own car was the fact that they simply did not trust Stan behind the wheel, especially with them in it. Nothing slows down traffic like a man who can’t drive in a straight line.

Stan gave each of the twins an awkward, one-armed hug once they’d exited the plane.

“It’s good to see you, kids,” he said, smiling as he ruffled the hair on their heads. They didn’t mind, considering their mother had already tussled it around. “You two haven’t changed much. How’s your mother?”

“Mom’s fine. It’s good to see you too, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel answered. They technically weren’t allowed to call him Stan to his face, but occasionally it slipped and they did anyways.

Dipper only had a few bags, not having much to his name besides his books and some clothes. Mabel, however, had tried to bring as many of her sweaters as possible.

Mrs. Pines had gotten the twins some winter clothes — mostly for Dipper — but it was still scarce. All of the bags were able to fit into the trunk of Stan’s car.

“I found a good car for you kids. Really cheap,” Stan announced once they’d strapped in.

“What kind of car?” Dipper asked, suspicious of the way he had said “good car for you kids” as opposed to just “good car.”

“It’s a truck, actually, a Chevy.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Do you remember Bud Gleeful from Lake Gravity Falls?” Lake Gravity Falls was a decent-sized lake where locals went to go fishing each season.

“No.”

“He used to go fishing with us,” Stan prompted.

That would explain why the twins didn’t remember him. They tried their best to block unnecessary things from their memory, moreso Dipper than Mabel.

“He’s in a wheelchair now,” Stan continued when neither of them responded, “so he can’t drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap. Or one of his other used cars from the Discount Auto Mart.”

“What year is it?” Mabel asked, noticing Stan’s change in expression. It was the question he hoped the kids didn’t ask.

“Well, Bud’s done a lot of work on the engine — it’s only a few years old, really.”

Dipper wasn’t ready to give up so easily. “When did he buy it?”

“1984, I think.”

“Did he buy it new?” Dipper questioned. Stan sighed, shaking his head.

“Well, no. I think it was new in the sixties… Fifties, earliest,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand, other still on the steering wheel.

“Stan, we don’t know anything about cars,” Dipper said, shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably. “We couldn’t fix it if something went wrong, we can’t afford a mechanic…”

“Really, Dipper, the thing runs great. They don’t build them like that anymore,” Stan insisted. “I mean, look at this ol’ gal. She’s from the 70s and still running just fine.”

Dipper pondered the idea, acknowledging it at least had its possibilities. Mabel was excited to give the car a nickname.

“How cheap is cheap?” It was the part they couldn’t compromise on, considering the two only had so much money to their name.

“Well, kids, I kind of already bought it for you. As a moving gift.” Stan eyed the twins from the rearview mirror, a hopeful expression lacing his features.

Free?

“Did you… buy it? Actually buy it? Or steal it?” Mabel asked, raising her eyebrow. Stan chuckled.

“Does it matter?” he asked, moving his attention back to the road. “I want you kids to be happy here.”

Stan wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions, something that Dipper seemed to almost inherit from him. Mabel had no issues of the sort and had a beaming smile across her face.

“That’s really nice, Grunkle Stan! Thanks!” she grinned.

“You’re welcome,” Stan mumbled, embarrassed by the thanks. He wasn’t used to doing nice gestures, especially ones that involved money, but he would do anything for his family.

A few more comments were exchanged about the weather, which was wet, and that was it for conversation. Dipper stared out the window in silence, hoping the drive would be over sooner than later.

Gravity Falls was a beautiful place; Dipper couldn’t deny that. Everything was green, especially the forests filled with pine trees, the moss at the base of their trunks, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air felt green. It was almost too green.

Eventually, they arrived at the Mystery Shack. It was exactly the same as the twins remembered it — slightly rotted, the sign missing an ’s.’ No matter how many times it had been repaired, it never stayed. Parked on the side of the Shack was a faded red truck with big, rounded fenders. The twins were eager to have a functional vehicle. Dipper was still unsure it would run but he could see himself driving it.

“Once again, thanks, Stan,” Dipper said. Tomorrow would be less dreadful for him now, as he wouldn’t be faced with the choice of walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a reckless ride from Stan.

“Glad you like it,” Stan said gruffly, embarrassed once more.

With each of them grabbing a handful of bags, it only took one trip to get all the twins’ things upstairs. Mabel was staying in the attic that they had once shared as kids, and Dipper got the secondary bedroom that faced out over the front yard.

The wooden floor, wooden panel walls, peaked ceiling, and triangular stained glass windows were part of their childhood. The only changes that Stan had ever made was moving out Dipper’s bed and dresser into the bedroom he could now call his own. The desk in his room held a secondhand computer. It was a stipulation from both Dipper and his mother — she wanted to stay in touch easily, while he wanted something he could easily write and research on. In Mabel’s room was a rocking chair that had been passed down for generations; it had previously belonged to Mr and Mrs Pines.

There was only one small bathroom on the upstairs, which the twins would have to share. Dipper tried not to dwell too much on that fact, considering his sister could take a very long time.

One of the best things about Stan was that he didn’t hover. He left the twins alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that wouldn’t have been possible with their mother.

Dipper was glad to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; it was a relief to stare wonderlessly out the window at the rain and sigh. Dipper wasn’t in much of a mood to feel anything strong. He felt anxious about school the next coming day, but decided he’d worry about that later.

Gravity Falls High School had a very small total of a little over three hundred and fifty students. Back in Piedmont, the twins’ junior class was more than seven hundred people alone. All of the kids in Gravity Falls had grown up together and knew each other; Dipper and Mabel would be the odd ones out.

I would be the new kid from a big city. A freak. Dipper thought. Maybe if I looked like someone from California, that could work to my advantage.

Dipper had never really fit in anywhere — he had always seen himself as needing to be more tan, more sporty, maybe a surfer with blonde hair, maybe a haircut where he wouldn’t have to hide the birthmark on his forehead. All the things that go with living in California, the surfing capital of the country.

Instead, he was pale-skinned, without the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, and did have a large birthmark across his forehead in the shape of the constellation, Big Dipper. He had always been a skinny, lanky kid, but obviously not an athlete. He was uncoordinated and unable to play any sports without harming himself — or anyone who stood too close — or humiliating himself.

Dipper finished unpacking his shirts, jeans, underwear, and socks into the old dresser — made from pine wood — and took his bag of bathroom items to the bathroom.

He studied his face in the mirror, brushing his fingers through his tangled and damp hair. It could’ve been the light, but Dipper felt like he already looked sullen and unhealthy. His skin was very clear of blemishes but it held no lively color.

You’re lying to yourself, Dipper told himself. You won’t fit in here. You didn’t fit in at a school with other three thousand people; how are you going to find a niche here?

He didn’t relate well to people the same age as him — not even necessarily with Mabel. He pondered if the truth was that he just couldn’t relate well to people in the first place. Even his own mother, who he was quite close to, wasn’t ever in harmony with him. Dipper wondered if he was seeing things through his eyes that the rest of the world saw through their own. Maybe there was a glitch in his brain. But it didn’t really matter in the end. Tomorrow was just the beginning.

Dipper didn’t sleep well that night, even after his slight panic attack. The constant pitter-patter of the rain and whooshing of wind across the rickety roof refused to quiet down enough for Dipper to ignore. He pulled his blanket over his head and later added the pillow, too. But he couldn’t fall asleep until way after midnight, when he eventually gave in to exhaustion.

Thick fog was the only thing visible to him outside his window in the morning and he could feel his anxiety in the depths of his stomach, balling in his throat. The sky wasn’t often seen and Dipper wondered if he’d just walked into a cage.

Breakfast with Stan was a quiet event. Even Mabel didn’t seem to have too much to say. He wished the twins a good day and good luck with school. Dipper thanked him, but felt his hope was wasted. Good luck wasn’t really ever on his side. Stan left the table first, walking to the gift shop end of the house, ready to open. It felt like the Shack was his wife and family. After he left, Mabel went to the front of the house to finish getting ready while Dipper stayed sat in the old chair at the old table. He examined the kitchen, studying its small space, with its off-white pine tree wallpaper, the dark wood cabinets, and the beige fridge that had some sticky notes and a strange stain on the door. Dipper never questioned what it was, mostly because he didn’t actually want to know. Nothing had changed.

Eighteen years ago, the twins’ Grandpa had stained the cabinets to their current dark color, in an attempt to modernize the house. It didn’t work as he intended.

Over the small aquarium tank in the living room was a row of pictures. There was a picture of the twins from their first summer in Gravity Falls, then a picture of the twins with their mother in the hospital after they were born, followed by the twins’ school pictures from kindergarten to junior year. Dipper found them embarrassing to look at and wondered if he could convince Stan to put them somewhere else. At least while he was here.

Dipper didn’t want to be early to school, but couldn’t stay in the Shack anymore. Mabel seemed to be on the same page — at least, on leaving. He shrugged on a navy jacket and followed his sister out into the rain.

It was only drizzling, not enough to soak the two through their clothes immediately. Dipper was unsettled by the sloshing from their boots as they walked across the driveway, used to the crunching sound of gravel under his sneakers. To get out of the rain, Dipper unlocked the truck and slid into the driver’s seat, Mabel in the passenger. They’d spoken about it earlier that morning: Mabel hated driving, so Dipper would be the one who got to use the truck more often. They just had to let each other know if they’d be taking it without the other coming along.

Inside the truck was dry. Either Bud or Stan had cleaned it up before the two had gotten their hands on it, but the upholstered seats still had the scent of tobacco laced within.

The engine came to life quickly as Dipper turned the key in the ignition, loudly roaring to life before idling. He knew a truck this old would likely be noisy, but he wasn’t expecting it to be quite like that. Mabel reached over, turning the radio on, which to their surprise still worked.

Finding the school wasn’t difficult —  considering it was the only high school in town — though Dipper hadn’t been there before. It was like most other things in town, just off the main road. It was not obvious that it was a school; it was a large red-bricked building that looked like every other building in town. Had it not been for the sign declaring it Gravity Falls High School, Dipper wouldn’t have stopped. There were so many pine trees and ferns surrounding the buildings, it was hard to recognize the size at first. He wondered where the small-town feel was supposed to be.

He pulled into the lot, parking in the first space he saw near the first building, and noticed a sign in front of the door that read “front office.” There weren’t any other cars in the lot and he figured it was off limits to students, but decided he could get directions from someone inside. He motioned for Mabel to stay inside the truck, stepping out and walking down the stone path. He took in a deep breath before opening the door.

The building was brightly lit with fluorescents, and warmer than he hoped. It was small. There was a small area with folding chairs set up in a straight line against the wall, the ground covered in neon orange carpet, several documents and awards covering the walls. There were several indoor plants lining the corners of the room, and was cut in half by a long counter that was cluttered with baskets and trays of papers and flyers. There were three desks behind the counter, though the only person sitting there was a woman with red hair and glasses. She looked up at Dipper.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Mason Pines. My sister, Mabel, is outside,” he answered. Awareness filled her eyes, clearly expecting the two newcomers. Everyone knew everyone in this town, including those who were new. Dipper realized he was a topic of gossip and hated the idea of the excessive attention.

“Ah, yes,” she said, digging through a stacked pile of papers on her desk. She found the ones she had been looking for. “I have your schedules here, and two maps of the school.”

She went through their classes, highlighting different buildings and pathways and classrooms on each of their respective maps, and finally gave Dipper a slip for each teacher to sign. She gave him a small smile and wished him a nice day, hoping that he’d enjoy his time in Gravity Falls. Dipper returned the smile, though it faltered quickly as he exited the building.

Dipper entered the truck, handing his sister her papers and parroting what the red-haired woman had told him. He noticed that other students were starting to arrive. He started the truck up again and followed the line of traffic.

“I’m glad there’s no flashy cars here,” he said to Mabel, who nodded in agreement. Back in Piedmont, they had lived in one of the lesser neighborhoods that were included in their district. It was a common thing for them to see newer, flashier cars — such as a Mercedes or a Porsche — in the student lot. The only nice car here was a shiny, blue Volvo, and it stuck out like a sore thumb. Dipper pulled into an empty spot and cut off the engine quickly, hoping to draw the least amount of attention to them as possible.

Mabel hopped out of the truck eagerly, babbling nonsense about how she was going to talk to every single person she met that day. Dipper stayed behind, studying the highlighted map in the truck, hoping to memorize it so he wouldn’t have to stare at it the entire day. I can do this, he lied to himself.

He folded the map and stuffed it in his front pocket, slung the strap to his backpack over his shoulder, and took a deep breath. No one is going to bite me.

Dipper exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

He kept his face pulled back into his navy hood as he walked along the sidewalk, which was already starting to crowd with fellow students. He was relieved that his plain navy jacket didn’t stand out.

Arriving at the cafeteria, he spotted the third building easily. There was a large black “3” hung on the side of the red bricks on the east corner. Dipper’s breathing was gradually escalating to the point of hyperventilation as he approached the door, his anxiety rising quickly. He tried to hold his breath as he opened the door and followed two students with translucent raincoats through.

The classroom he arrived at was small. The two students in front of him paused to hang their raincoats on a row of hooks, but Dipper opted to keep his hoodie on. It was a comfort item for him.

The two students in front of him were a pair of girls, one who had bleach-blonde hair and the other with light brown hair, both very pale.

Slipping his hand into his pocket to grab the paper, he walked over towards the desk and handed it to the teacher — a tall man with black hair whose desk identified him as Mr. Strange. He glanced oddly at Dipper, who in turn flushed red. There was an empty desk towards the back of the room that Mr. Strange gestured towards, and Dipper quickly took the hint, not wanting to have to introduce himself to the class. It was more difficult for the fellow students to stare at him from the back, but somehow, they managed to do so anyways.

Dipper’s eyes flickered down to the reading list that Mr. Strange had handed him; it was basic. He’d already read everything on the list, which he found comforting yet boring. He wondered if he could convince his mother to send him his old essays but was concerned about if that was considered cheating or not. While the teacher lectured, Dipper went back and forth in his head.

When the bell rang, a pale boy with acne and blonde hair approached Dipper, leaning across the aisle.

“You’re Mason Pines, aren’t you?” he accused. Dipper found he looked like someone that belonged to the chess club; someone who was very eager to help.

“Dipper,” he corrected. All of the other students still in the classroom spun their heads to look at him.

“Where’s your next class?” he asked. Dipper fished into his pocket to grab his schedule.

“Government. In building four,” he answered, trying to avoid eye contact, but there was nowhere to look without meeting someone’s eyes.

“I’m headed toward building four, I can show you the way.” He was definitely eager to help.

“I’m Lee,” he added. Dipper offered a small smile, thanking him.

He waited by the door as Lee grabbed his jacket from one of the hooks, following him out of the building and into the rain, which had begun to pick up. Dipper felt like he was being followed closely by the other students, looking to eavesdrop or ask him questions. I’m being paranoid.

“So, this is a lot different than California, huh?” Lee asked.

“Somewhat,” Dipper mumbled, hoping the conversation could end as quickly as it started.

“It doesn’t rain much there, does it?”

“No, they’re in a drought.”

“Wonder what that must be like,” he pondered.

“Sunny,” Dipper told him.

“You don’t look very tan.”

“My mother is part albino.”

Lee paused in his steps, turning to face Dipper and studied his face. Dipper sighed. I guess they don’t have humor here.

Lee raised his eyebrow at him but turned back around and continued walking. Dipper followed him around the cafeteria, to the south buildings that were located near a gym. Lee walked him straight to the door, even though it was clearly marked.

“Well, good luck,” he said as Dipper touched the handle. “Maybe I’ll meet your sister today, too.” He sounded hopeful.

Dipper gave him a vague smile and continued inside.

The rest of the morning went by in the same repeated events for Dipper. His trigonometry teacher, Professor Powers, was the only one who forced Dipper to introduce himself. He stumbled over his words, felt his face grow a tint of pink, and stumbled over his own shoes on the way to his seat.

After two classes, Dipper began recognizing many of the faces. In each one, there was always someone who’d come up to him, say their name, and ask him several questions about Gravity Falls. Dipper tried his best to be polite but mostly stated the easiest, fakest lies he could think of. At least I never needed the map.

The same girl sat next to him in Trigonometry and in Spanish, and walked with Dipper to the cafeteria for lunch. She was very short. Dipper couldn’t remember her name for the life of him, so simply smile and nodded as she spoke. He drowned out the talking and kept to his own thoughts.

Dipper noticed Mabel sitting at one of the tables on the other side of the cafeteria to where the no-named girl was taking him to. She noticed him, giving him a small wave, before returning back to her conversations. At least she’s making friends, he thought.

They sat down at one of the circular tables that had seated several of the no-named girl’s friends. She introduced them to Dipper, but he quickly forgot their names after they were spoken. One of the tables near Mabel had Lee seated, who waved at Dipper as well.

Sitting in the lunchroom, failing to make meaningful conversation with the strangers, Dipper noticed them.

There were five of them; they sat in a corner of the cafeteria, as far away as possible from everyone else. They weren’t talking and they weren’t eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren’t goggling at Dipper and Mabel like every other student had been. Dipper felt safe to stare at them without the fear of meeting another’s gaze. This was not what caught Dipper’s attention, though.

They didn’t look anything alike. There were three boys at the table — one who had serious muscles and curly hair, another who was taller and leaner but still muscular with brown hair, and the last one was lanky with untidy, yellow blonde hair that got darker towards the roots. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they belonged elsewhere than a high school.

The girls were much different. There was one who was tall, had an hourglass figure — one that Mabel would be jealous of, even if she already had a lean body — with long, straight, bright pink hair. It reached the middle of her back. The shorter girl was almost like a fairy; she was thin with small features. Her hair was short and full of spikes, colored a deep green.

Yet, they are all exactly alike, Dipper questioned in more of a statement. Each of them had extremely pale skin — paler than Dipper and Mabel and every other student in the school — and had very dark eyes. They had dark shadows under their eyes, like bags, as if none of them had slept very well in many nights. All of their features, especially their noses, were straight, perfect, and angular.

Dipper could not fuel his ability to look away.

He stared because while their faces were so different, so similar, they all were incredibly, inhumanely, insanely beautiful. They were the faces one only expected to see on the cover of a magazine, in a movie, on TV: airbrushed to perfection. It was hard for Dipper to decide on who was the best looking, but his eyes kept gravitating towards the lanky, blonde-haired boy.

None of them were looking at each other or at any of the other students; looking at nothing in particular, from what Dipper could see. As he watched, the small green-haired girl stood with her tray — untouched — and walked away with a graceful pace that was similar to a doe. Dipper watched, amazed at the steps of someone who was likely a dancer, until she dumped her tray in the trash can and exited through the back door, faster than he thought possible.

“Who are they?” Dipper asked at no one in particular, though hoping someone at his table would answer.

The no-named girl looked up and followed Dipper’s gaze, realizing who he had meant — though they seemed to know from his tone alone. Suddenly, the lanky, blonde-haired boy flickered his gaze to her for a fraction of a second before his gaze met Dipper’s.

The boy looked away quickly, faster than Dipper could, and through an extreme flush of embarrassment, he moved his gaze down to stare at his tray. In the milliseconds of shared eye contact, his eyes held no expression. It was almost as if the girl had said his name and he looked up with an involuntary  response. One that he chose not to answer.

The girl next to Dipper giggled in embarrassment, looking down at the table as well.

“That’s Bill Cipher and his family: Pyronica, Xanthar, and Keyhole. The one who left is 8-Ball; they all live together with Dr. Kryptos and his wife,” she explained. Dipper raised his eyebrow at the odd names before glancing once more at the blonde-haired boy, who was now picking at the food on his tray. His mouth was moving quickly, his lips barely opening. The other three still did not look at one another, though Dipper was sure that he was speaking.

Strange names, Dipper thought. The kinds of names that cartoon characters or professional wrestlers had. But maybe they were nicknames, just like his own was. Dipper finally remembered the no-name girl’s name: Wendy. Dipper hadn’t known any Wendy’s back in Piedmont.

“They are… very nice-looking,” Dipper spoke, struggling with the conspicuous statement.

“Yes, they are!” Wendy agreed, continuing to giggle. “They’re all like, together, though — Keyhole and Pyronica, Xanthar and 8-Ball. And they live together.” Her voice held the shock and condemnation one would find when a southerner said to bless someone’s heart. Though, Dipper admitted that this would cause gossip in nearly any town, even in Piedmont.

“Which ones are the Ciphers?” Dipper asked. “They don’t look related.”

“Oh, they’re not,” Wendy responded, shaking her head. “Dr. Kryptos is very young, probably in his twenties or thirties. They’re all adopted. Xanthar and Pyronica are related, though — twins. They’re all foster children.”

Huh, another pair of twins in this town? How odd.

“They look a little old for foster children.”

“They are now,” Wendy shrugged. “Xanthar and Pyronica are both eighteen, but they’ve been with Mrs. Cipher since they were eight. She’s their aunt or something like that.”

“That’s kind of nice, I guess?” Dipper said, confused about the whole ordeal. “For them to take care of all those kids like that, and everything.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she admitted reluctantly, and Dipper got the impression that she didn’t really like the doctor and his wife, for one reason or another. With the glances thrown towards the Ciphers, he assumed it was envy. “I think that Mrs Cipher can’t have any kids, though.”

Throughout the conversation, Dipper’s eyes moved towards the table now-and-again. The strange family continued to look at nothing and not eat.

“Have they always lived in Gravity Falls?” Dipper asked. How could he have not noticed them in one of his many summers here? Had Mabel noticed them?

“No,” Wendy said in a voice that implied it should’ve been the obvious answer. “They moved here two years ago from Alaska.”

A surge of pity and relief ran through Dipper — so he hadn’t failed to notice someone, after all. They were outsiders, like him, and clearly not accepted. He was glad that him and Mabel weren’t the only newcomers, and he was very glad that he was nowhere near the most interesting one.

Dipper continued to study them, when one of them looked up and met his gaze. There was curiosity in his expression. Dipper looked swiftly away and felt like his glance held some sort of expectation that had been unmet.

“Which one is the boy with the blondish brown hair?” Dipper asked, peeking at him from the corner of his eye. The boy was still staring at him, but not in the same gawking way that the other students had. In fact, he looked frustrated. Dipper looked down at his tray again.

“That’s Bill. He’s gorgeous, like the rest of them, but I wouldn’t waste your time. He doesn’t date.” Dipper felt his face flush at the idea of dating another man, one that seemed like it may have been unwelcome in such a small town. He wasn’t even sure if he was gay — the thought never occurred to him. He’d had small schoolgirl crushes on girls before, sure, but he’d never actually dated anyone before. Especially not a guy.

“Apparently none of the girls are good-looking enough for him,” she sniffed, a clear case of jealousy. Dipper wondered when he’d turned her down.

Are the guys, though? Dipper thought, but shrugged away the thought. Why was he even thinking about this? Because it was suggested to him by a girl he’d known for two hours? This is stupid.

Dipper bit his lip to try to hide his smile, hoping that no-one else would notice his change in expression. What even was he smiling for? That Bill was single? He didn’t even know him, yet.

He glanced over at him again but his face was turned away, though Dipper thought that he may have been smiling too.

A few minutes passed and the four of them left the table together. They were all notably graceful, just like the green-haired girl, and even the muscular one. It was almost unnerving to watch. Bill did not look at Dipper again.

Dipper sat at the table with Wendy and her friends longer than he would have had he’d been sitting alone. He was anxious not to be late for class on his first day. One of the students he’d recently met — her name was Candy — had Biology II with him the next hour. They walked to class together in silence, and it seemed she was shy, too.

Entering the classroom, Candy sat at a black-topped lab exactly like the ones that Dipper had at his previous school. He paused to scan the classroom, noticing that all the tables were filled but one; in the center aisle, the only open seat was next to Bill Cipher.

Dipper walked up to the desk, introducing himself to the teacher and getting his paper signed, sneaking glances at Bill. Just as he passed, he went stiff in his chair. Bill stared at Dipper again, his expression hostile and unfriendly. Dipper looked away quickly, uncomforted by the confrontation, and blushed. Walking down the aisle, he tripped over someone’s bag and caught himself on the edge of the table. The girl sitting there laughed at him.

Bill’s eyes were black — black as coal.

Mr. Trigger had signed Dipper’s paper and handed him a textbook with a lack of introductions, which he appreciated. Dipper felt like he was going to like this class, aside from the elephant in the room: Bill was clearly antagonistic towards him, and he had to sit in the only empty seat in the classroom. Dipper was bewildered by the sentiment.

He didn’t look up as he set his textbook on the table but noticed Bill’s posture change out of the corner of his eye; he leaned away from Dipper, on the edge of his chair, with an expression that said he’d just watched someone’s dog die. Dipper furrowed his eyebrows, adjusting the hat on his head as if to build a wall between the two of them.

The lecture of the day was on cellular anatomy, something that Dipper had already learned back home. He took notes anyways, mainly so he could stare at his notebook and ignore the one next to him.

He wasn’t able to stop himself from sneaking peeks through his peripheral vision to the blonde boy next to him. The entire class, he never strayed from his rigid position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far away from Dipper as possible. The hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, which he never released either. The long sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows and his forearms were surprisingly muscular beneath his porcelain skin. He wasn’t nearly as lanky he’d looked next to his brother.

Dipper felt like this class was dragging on longer than the others, but realized it was likely because he, too, was on-edge. Bill’s aggressive presence was making him incredibly uncomfortable.

Was this his normal behavior? Dipper questioned. Bill was sat so still, it almost looked like he wasn’t breathing. What is wrong with him? It doesn’t have to do with me, does it? He doesn’t even know me.

Dipper looked up at him once more, immediately regretting the decision. Bill was still glaring intensely at him, his black eyes full of repulsion. Dipper flinched away from him, hoping he could shrink into his chair, or maybe a black hole instead. If looks could kill…

The bell rang loudly, startling Dipper, and Bill Cipher was suddenly out of his seat and out the door before anyone else. He’s taller than I thought.

Dipper sat frozen in his seat, staring blankly at the door. Why was he so mean? That wasn’t fair. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before proceeding to collecting his things, trying to block the emotions flooding through him. Whenever he was angry, he had the tendency to cry, and that was something he didn’t want to do in front of his biology class.

“Aren’t you Mason Pines?” someone asked. Dipper looked up to see a short, baby-faced boy with dirty blonde hair gelled in a fell swoop back, smiling at him in a friendly way. At least this guy doesn’t hate me.

“Dipper,” he corrected him, flashing a small smile back.

“I’m Thompson.”

“Hi, Thompson.”

“Do you need any help finding your next class?”

“I’m headed to the gym, actually. I think I know where that is.”

“That’s my next class, too,” he grinned. Dipper considered this awkward, though he reminded himself it wasn’t that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

The two walked to the gym together. Thompson was a talkative person who kept up both sides of the conversation, which Dipper appreciated. He’d lived in California until he was ten, so he understood how Dipper felt about the state. It turned out he was in his English class, too. I think he’s the nicest person I’ve met today.

Entering the gym, Thompson turned his head and looked at Dipper, asking “so, did you stab Bill Cipher with a pencil or something? I’ve never seen him act like that.”

Dipper cringed, hating that others had noticed the uncalled for animosity. And apparently, that was not Bill Cipher’s usual behavior.

“Was that the guy next to me in biology?” Dipper asked, playing dumb.

“Yes,” he nodded. “He looked like he was in pain or something.”

“I’ve never spoken to him,” Dipper responded, shrugging.

“He’s a weird guy.” Thompson opened the door to the locker room, gesturing for Dipper to follow. “If I sat next to you, I would’ve talked to you. I heard your sister is nice, too.”

“Yeah, she is,” he smiled, walking through the door to the boys’ locker room. Thompson was friendly, Dipper thought, but it was not enough to ease his irritation.

The gym teacher handed Dipper an extra uniform, which he appreciated so he wouldn’t have to end up on some skins team, if that’s what they did here. In Piedmont, only one year of physical education was required to graduate, but in Gravity Falls, all four years was mandatory. This is literally my personal hell on Earth.

Dipper attempted to join in on the volleyball game but was quickly asked to sit out after he’d been pelt in the face with the ball. The gym teacher gave him a back of ice, which he reluctantly held to his cheek for the remainder of the hour. He felt slightly nauseated.

The final bell rang. At last! Dipper thought. He walked to the office to return his paperwork, hoping to find Mabel there as well. The rain had finished but the wind remained and it felt colder than it had before. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

Dipper walked into the office but almost turned straight around and back out.

Bill Cipher stood at the front desk, with Dipper recognizing his messy, blonde-brown hair. He didn’t notice his entrance. He pressed himself against the back wall, waiting his turn.

Bill was arguing with the secretary in a low, yet attractive — what? — voice. Dipper quickly picked up the fact that he was trying to trade his biology class to another time: any other time. What the hell did I do to this guy?

Dipper was in disbelief that this was happening. It had to be something else, right? What did he ever do to the guy? He hadn’t even said a single word to him. The look on his face had to have been a different situation entirely, right? Why would a stranger take a sudden hatred to him?

The door opened again, wind gusting through the room, and Dipper noticed his sister entering the office as well. She gave him a look, noticing something was wrong, but Dipper shook his head and she dropped it. She stood next to him, waiting for their turn.

Bill Cipher’s back tensed and he turned slowly around, his glare sending a shiver up Dipper’s spine. His face was absurdly handsome but his eyes were piercing with disgust. Dipper felt genuine fear even though the look lasted less than a second. Bill turned back to the secretary.

“Never mind, then,” he said hastily. “I can see that’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.”

He turned on his heel without another look and disappeared out the door.

“What did you do, bro-bro?” Mabel asked him once the door shut. Dipper shook his head, trying to forget the entirety of his day.

They walked up to the desk and each handed the secretary their signed papers.

“How did your first day go?” the woman asked the twins.

“Fine,” Dipper lied, but she nor Mabel looked convinced.

“Good,” Mabel answered, raising her eyebrow at Dipper.

The two made their way back to the truck, which was nearly the last car in the parking lot. Dipper felt a rush of relief covering himself as he unlocked the door and slipped inside. Mabel followed suit, still glaring at him.

“You’re not going to tell me what happened with you today, are you?” she asked. Dipper looked outside the windshield, blankly.

“Later,” he finally breathed, turning the key in the ignition. He pulled out of the lot and drove them back to the Shack, fighting tears the whole way there.

Chapter Text

The following day was better for Mabel… and worse for Dipper.

While Dipper appreciated that it wasn’t raining yet, he noticed the clouds were plenty and dark in color. He knew what to expect of his day, knowing his classes now and those in them. Thompson sat next to him in English and walked with him to his next class, with Lee coming up to them and saying hello. People weren’t gawking the twins as much as they had the previous day. During lunch, Dipper sat with a big group that consisted of Thompson, Lee, Wendy, and several others whose names and faces he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Mabel was off on her own, making friends with mostly everyone at each of the different tables — excluding the one that housed the Cipher family. Dipper felt like he was beginning to weave through the water instead of drowning.

Dipper was incredibly tired, though, due to the whistling wind around the Shack. Professor Powers had called on him when his hand wasn’t raised during trigonometry and he didn’t have the correct answer. He was forced to play volleyball again in gym and ended up spiking the ball into someone’s head.

The thing he noticed the most was that Bill Cipher wasn’t in school at all.

Dipper had been dreading his lunch hour, scared of how he was going to give him agonizingly painful glares. Part of him wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was, but he was scared. Dipper had spent half the night laying in his bed, imagining scenarios in which he did confront him, and what he would say. But Dipper knew that he didn’t have the balls to actually do anything about it. He’d just continue to wallow in his own self-pity until it passed and Bill Cipher no longer cared about his existence. I make the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator, he bitterly thought to himself.

Walking into the cafeteria with Wendy, forcing himself to keep his gaze forward and to not look for him, he noticed that the rest of the Cipher family was sat at their table. But Bill was not there with them.

Thompson had interrupted to two’s conversation, gesturing towards his table. Wendy seemed fine with the situation and her friends quickly joined the group. Dipper tried to pay attention to the conversation at hand but was uncomfortable, waiting for the impending doom upon his arrival. He hoped that he’d ignore him and prove his suspicions nothing more than paranoia.

Bill never came, and as time passed, Dipper grew more rigid.

Dipper walked to biology with less fear when Bill still hadn’t showed by the end of lunch. Thompson was going on about golden retrievers and how their qualities were immeasurable. Dipper held his breath as he entered the classroom, bracing himself for the same shit he had put up with the day prior, but Bill Cipher wasn’t there, either. He let out his breath and sat down in his seat. Thompson was still talking, something about a beach trip, but he wasn’t paying attention.

The bell rang and Thompson retreated to his seat, next to a girl with braces and a strange haircut. Dipper wondered if he should even continue entertaining Thompson when he wasn’t really interested in being friends with him, but shook off the thought. In a small town where everyone knew each other and their business, it was of importance to be diplomatic. And Dipper didn’t want to cause any unnecessary trouble or bring any more attention to himself than he already had. He wasn’t exactly tactful, either, and had never been good with dealing with others.

Dipper felt some relief, realizing that he had the desk to himself; Bill Cipher was absent. He tried to repeat it to himself, trying to convince himself he had nothing to worry about. But he couldn’t rid himself of the nagging paranoia that he was the reason he wasn’t there. That’s ridiculous and egotistical, Dipper grumbled, how could I think that I affect anyone that strongly?

Yet Dipper could not pull himself from the worry that it was true.

When the school day had finally finished, Dipper trying his hardest to forget the volleyball incident, he changed quickly back into his plain t-shirt and jeans and hurried out of the boys’ locker room. He evaded Thompson, not wanting to hear him drone on about some unrelated topic, and swiftly made his way out to the parking lot, meeting Mabel at the truck. They piled in and Mabel asked Dipper about his day.

“It was better than yesterday, I suppose,” he answered, shrugging, as the ignition rang to life. They had discovered yesterday that Stan had a bad habit of ‘accidentally’ putting his own hair in their food and banned him from the kitchen. While Dipper was no better of a cook — or maybe he was, considering he did follow sanitation standards — they had talked it over and decided him and Mabel would share the kitchen duties. They had ransacked the cabinets, finding nothing except for some peanuts and bread that was probably from before they were born. Mabel constructed a shopping list and they planned to stop at their local grocery store before heading home.

Other students turned their heads to stare at the egregiously loud truck; Dipper ignored them, turning his head around and backing carefully out of the spot, joining a line of cars who were waiting their turn to enter the free-flowing traffic leaving the school. While waiting, his attention was caught by the sound of another engine rumbling; he turned his head to the noise and noticed the Cipher family was filing into the shiny blue Volvo. Of course. Not noticing the way they dressed before — too distracted by their faces — he realized that they were all dressed exceptionally well. Their clothes hinted towards designer fashions and the threads that those of a higher class generally wore. With their beauty and the confidence held in them, Dipper was confident that they could have worn trash bags and pulled it off. He thought it was excessive for them to be full of beauty and have much money, but as far as he knew, that was how life worked. At least it hadn’t bought them acceptance, as well.

No, I don’t believe that, he shook his head, earning an odd glance from Mabel. He believed that isolation must be what they want. Why else would they stray away from everyone else? Did they even live in town? He couldn’t imagine any door that wouldn’t be opened by their looks or their money. Or the fact that their father is a doctor.

Like the rest of the students, they looked towards the noisy truck; Dipper was incredibly relieved the second he was off school property and out of their sight.

The grocery store wasn’t located far from the school, being a few blocks down the street. Dipper was happy to be in the market; it gave him a sense of normalcy. Mabel and him often did the shopping for their parents back home, so they fell into the routine quite easily — though Dipper did have some trouble locating some of the items on the list. The store was large enough that the pitter-patter of the raindrops on the roof wasn’t audible. He was glad to not be reminded of where he was.

Arriving back to the Shack a little while later, they brought in the groceries and placed the bags on the counter. Dipper was aimlessly stuffing them in any available open space, while Mabel was organizing them in a particular fashion. She scolded him on his method, to which he responded that there was a method to his madness. She would fix it later, anyways. They knew Stan wouldn’t mind either way.

Mabel kicked Dipper out of the kitchen, starting up dinner — steak and potatoes. He shrugged, not really being bothered by the action, and hauled his backpack and himself up the stairs. Changing into a dry shirt and some grey sweatpants, Dipper booted up the computer on his desk and checked his e-mail for the first time since he had left Piedmont. He had three messages, all from his mother.

Dipper, write me back when you get settled in. I’ll be expecting a message from Mabel, too. Tell me about your flight. Is it raining? How is your Grunkle Stan? We’re almost finished packing to head to Florida. Dad says hi. Love and miss you, Mom.

Dipper sighed but thought not much of the message before he moved on to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.

Dipper? Why haven’t you messaged yet? Mabel has already gotten back to me. What are you waiting for? Is everything okay? She said your flight was fine but was concerned about Stanley’s driving. Let me know. Mom.

The last one was from earlier that morning.

Mason Pines, if I haven’t heard from you by the evening, I’m calling Stanley.

Dipper rolled his eyes, feeling slight disgust by the use of his actual name. It was something he was not fond of; his mother knew that. Everyone in his family knew that. Even though Dipper wasn’t exactly particularly into his nickname, either, concerning its origin revolved around his interesting birthmark, it still felt more like himself than Mason ever did.

His eyes glanced at the clock on his nightstand, seeing he still had time left, but knowing his mother, she’d be calling right about now if he didn’t first.

Mom, calm down. Everything’s fine, I’m sure Mabel has already told you. School has just been a little overwhelming, everyone’s very intrigued by the new kids. Of course it’s raining, it’s Oregon. School hasn’t been bad, nothing happened, everything’s fine. I met some nice people who I sit with at lunch. Mabel’s made friends with everyone. Grunkle Stan got us a truck to share. It’s pretty old but it’s solid. I miss you too, Mom, and I’ll e-mail you again soon, but I have schoolwork to do too. Love you. Dipper.

Searching through his bookshelf, Dipper decided to read the book he was currently studying in English. He’d already read it once but figured a refresher couldn’t hurt — he had nothing else to do. Losing track of time, he was brought out of his trance when he heard his name.

“Dipper?” Stan called out, making his way up the stairs.

“Oh, hey, Grunkle Stan,” he answered, setting down the book and meeting him in the hallway.

“Hey, kid. Mabel’s calling you.” He gave a soft smile before turning around and jogging back down the stairs. Dipper followed suit.

Entering the foyer, he noticed a shotgun hanging on the wall by the door. He knew that Stan owned several guns — ten, to be exact — but he never kept them out in the open. He supposed that Stan believed the twins were old enough not to shoot themselves by accident nor depressed enough to shoot themselves on purpose. Though, the latter was more directed at Dipper than Mabel.

“What’s for dinner, Mabel?” Stan asked warily, entering the kitchen. As a kid, Mabel had the habit of putting glitter into everything, including food. She once created her own drink, aptly named Mabel Juice, which included several pounds of glitter — and not the edible kind — and plastic dinosaurs. Dipper had hoped that she’d grow out of that phase, but she still loved her fair share of shiny things.

“Steak and potatoes,” Mabel announced, “with no glitter.” Stan and Dipper looked relieved.

Stan retreated back to the living room, sitting on his brown recliner and watching TV as Mabel finished the meal. Dipper stood awkwardly in the kitchen, waiting to see if she had any orders for him to follow. Eventually, she told him to put together a salad while she cooked the steaks and set the table.

They called Stan when dinner was ready and he walked into the kitchen, sniffing the room appreciatively.

“Smells good, Mabes.”

“Thank you,” she grinned pridefully.

The group ate in silence for a few minutes, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Stan and Dipper didn’t mind the quiet; Mabel often liked to fill the silence with talks about her day or some other thing, but she was too busy stuffing her face. In many ways, the kids felt they were well suited to live here.

“So, kids, how is school so far? You two made any friends?” Stan asked, taking seconds onto his plate. Mabel went on and on about the several friends she’s made, the new crush she had already, and her classes.

“Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Wendy,” Dipper said after he was sure that Mabel was finished talking. “I sit with her friends at lunch. There’s a guy named Thompson, he’s pretty friendly. Everyone seems nice, I guess.” Except for the one outstanding exception of Bill Cipher. Dipper did not mention him.

“Oh, I know Thompson! He’s nice,” Mabel chimed, smiling at him, happy that her brother was at least attempting to make friends.

“Yeah, Thompson’s a nice kid,” Stan added, taking another bite of steak. “His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town.”

“Do you know the Cipher family?” Dipper asked hesitantly, regretting the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

“Dr. Kryptos’ family? Yeah. He’s fine.”

“They… the kids… are a little… different. They don’t seem to fit in at school.”

Dipper was surprised at the flash of anger across Stan’s face, though brief before returning back to normal.

“People in this town,” he grumbled. “Dr. Kryptos is a good surgeon and Gravity Falls is lucky to have a doctor like him here. His wife wanted to live in a small town. He’s an asset to this community. The kids here are idiots — they don’t know how to not blow off their fingers during 4^th of July. I was a little weirded out by them at first, yeah, with their adopted teenagers, but they haven’t caused any trouble. Some of the kids here, though… They don’t even support their local businesses! None of ‘em like comin’ here to the Shack. They have a lot of family bonding time, too. They go camping every other weekend. People just like to talk.”

Dipper had no idea Stan could form so many coherent sentences in one go. Usually he was yelling at the TV or telling customers that there weren’t any refunds — and that he put the ‘fun’ in it. He quickly backpedaled, not wanting to upset Stan.

“I mean, they seem nice enough to me,” Dipper lied through his teeth, not wanting to talk about his interactions with a certain one of the family. “They just seem to keep to themselves. They are all… very attractive.”

“You should see Kryptos, then,” Stan laughed. “It’s a good thing he’s happily married because a lot of the nurses at the hospital like to flirt with him.”

The silence returned, Dipper refraining from asking any more questions, as they finished eating. Stan cleared the table and Dipper started on the dishes. Finishing, Stan returned back to the TV and Dipper headed back upstairs to work on his homework.

That night was the first time it was quiet and Dipper fell asleep quickly, passing out from exhaustion.

-x-

The rest of the week was uneventful for Dipper. He memorized the routine of his classes and by Friday, he was able to recognize a majority of the faces of his fellow students. Some he could even name. In gym, the kids learned quickly to not let Dipper get near the ball: never passing it to him and stepping in front of him if the opposite team tried to pass it to him. Dipper was glad to stay out of their way.

Bill Cipher did not come back to school.

As each day passed, Dipper watched anxiously as the rest of the Cipher family entered the cafeteria without him. He could relax and join in on the conversation. The last week it had been centered around a trip to Lake Gravity Falls that Thompson was setting up in two weeks. Dipper had been invited and agreed to go, though more out of not wanting to upset the status quo than actually wanting to go. He’d asked if Mabel wanted to come but she declined, saying she had plans with someone named Grenda.

He at least looked forward to the fact that it should be hot and drier at the beach.

By Friday, Dipper was more comfortable entering his biology class, less worried that Bill would be there. For all he knew, he had dropped out of school. He tried his best not to think about him, paranoid that he was the responsible party for his continued absence. Ridiculous.

The twins’ first weekend in Gravity Falls was uneventful. Stan kept the Mystery Shack open during the weekend, albeit shorter hours, so he was off in the gift shop a majority of the time. Mabel cleaned the house while Dipper worked ahead on his homework, both writing several e-mails to their mother. Dipper’s was bogusly cheerful.

He took the truck to the library on Saturday but it didn’t have anything that peaked his interest, so he chose not to get a card. He figured he’d have to visit Portland to obtain anything of significance. He wondered about the gas milage of the truck and decided it wasn’t worth it. Mabel wouldn’t be too happy if he had used all the gas in the truck to get a book.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, so Dipper had no issues with sleeping. He had a few odd dreams but nothing that stayed in his memory for longer than five minutes after waking up.

Pulling into the school’s parking lot on Monday, several students greeted him and Mabel. He didn’t know all their names but waved back and politely smiled. It was colder that morning but wasn’t raining. In English, Thompson sat once more next to Dipper. They had a pop quiz on their reading book and Dipper had no issues finishing it quickly.

Dipper was feeling a lot more comfortable than he had initially thought he would by now. More than he expected to in general, actually.

Walking out of English, the air was swirling with snowflakes, and he could hear others shouting excitedly to one another.

“Nice, it’s snowing,” Thompson said. Dipper looked at the small piles of white along the sidewalk and frowned.

“Ew.”

“You don’t like snow?” Thompson asked, surprised at the notion.

“No, that means it’s too cold,” he answered, discomfort filling his face.

“Have you ever seen snow fall before?” he questioned incredulously.

“Sure,” Dipper shrugged. “On TV.”

Thompson laughed before a large ball of snow crashed against the back of his head. Turning around, they looked at saw Lee casually walking away from the spot — and in the wrong direction for his next class. Thompson clearly got the idea and quickly bent over, piling a ball in his hands.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Dipper said, continuing to walk without him. “Once people start throwing wet stuff, I’m out.”

He nodded, ignoring Dipper, his eyes focused on Lee’s figure.

As the morning continued, Dipper heard constant excited chatter about the snow. It was the first snowfall of the year. He didn’t say anything, not wanting to have to explain again why he wasn’t fond of the wet mush. Sure, it’s drier than rain… Until it melts in your socks.

Dipper walked to the cafeteria with Wendy with a heightened sense of alarm. Snow balls were flying everywhere and he wanted nothing to do with it. He held a binder in his hands, ready to use as a shield. Wendy thought it was hilarious but something in his eye’s kept her from throwing one herself.

Thompson ran up to the two as they walked in the doors, laughing, dampness causing his hair to falter. Him and Wendy spoke about the snow flight as the three got in line to get a tray of food. Out of habit, Dipper glanced towards the certain table in the corner, then froze. There were five people at the table.

Wendy pulled on his arm.

“Hello? Dipper? You good?”

Dipper looked away, feeling the tips of his ears grow pink. He had no actual reason to feel self-conscious but couldn’t help it. I haven’t done anything wrong.

“What’s up with Dipper?” Thompson asked Wendy. She shrugged.

“Nothing,” Dipper answered defensively, shaking his head slowly. “I’ll just uh, get a soda.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Wendy asked.

“Actually, I feel kind of sick,” he said, his gaze falling to the floor again. He waited for them to get their food and followed them to the table, not once removing his eyes from his sneakers.

He slipped his Pitt soda slowly, feeling incredibly nauseous all of a sudden. Twice, Thompson asked him if he was feeling alright. Dipper told him it was nothing but considered playing it up to escape to the nurse’s office instead of going to biology. Ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to run away.

Dipper kept his head down but snuck a glance from under the tip of his hat. None of them were paying any attention to him, so he relaxed slightly.

They were laughing. Bill, Xanthar, and Keyhole all had their hair entirely covered with melting snow. 8-Ball and Pyronica were leaning away as Keyhole shook his wet hair towards them. They looked like they were enjoying the snow as much as everyone else was — only, they looked like they were in a movie.

Aside from the laughter and childlike wonder they showed, there was something that Dipper felt was off. He couldn’t figure out what it was. He looked at Bill and studied him carefully.

Bill’s skin was less pale — from the snow fight, maybe? — and the circles under his eyes significantly less noticeable. But there was something else.

“Dipper, what are you staring at?” Wendy intruded, her eyes following his gaze. At that exact moment, his eyes flashed over to meet his.

Quickly, Dipper dropped his head and hoped his hat would conceal his burning face. Though, he noticed that his expression wasn’t the same antagonistic, unfriendly one he had the week prior. He just looked… Curious. Unsatisfied.

“Bill Cipher is staring at you,” Wendy giggled, poking Dipper in the shoulder.

“He doesn’t look angry, does he?”

“No,” she said, confused. “Why? Should he be?”

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me,” he said, feeling another wave of nausea overcome him. He rested his chin on his hand.

“The Ciphers don’t like anyone… Or, well, they don’t pay enough attention to. But he’s still staring at you.”

“Stop looking at him!” Dipper hissed. Wendy snickered but looked away. He contemplated choosing violence if she hadn’t.

Thompson interrupted them, talking about an ‘epic battle of the blizzard’ in the parking lot after school, and offered them to join. Wendy agreed enthusiastically while Dipper pleaded the fifth. He decided he’d hide in the gym until the parking lot was clear. Mabel would probably be apart of that battle — she loved anything that involved violence. Just like their Great Uncle Stan.

For the remainder of lunch, Dipper kept his eyes on his own table. Eventually he came to the resolution that he wouldn’t fake sick and would go to biology. He felt even more anxious and nauseous at the idea, but tried to shake away the feeling.

Dipper didn’t really want to walk to class with Thompson, as it seemed he was a popular target for snowball throwers, but once they exited the building, groans from several students could be heard. It had started raining, washing away any sign that it had snowed at all. Dipper flipped his hood up over his hat, pleased that he wouldn’t have to worry about any ‘epic battle of the blizzard’ after all. Thompson continued complaining the entire way to building four.

Filled with relief as he entered the classroom, Dipper saw that his table was empty. Mr. Powers was distributing microscopes around the room, along with a box of slides, to each table. There were a few minutes left before class started, conversation filling the background. Dipper kept his eyes away from the door and stared at his notebook, doodling aimlessly on the cover.

His ears perked up at the sound of the chair next to him sliding across the ground, but remained focused on his doodles nonetheless.

“Hello,” said a quiet, velvety voice, catching Dipper’s attention.

He looked up, shocked that he was speaking to him. He still sat as far away as possible from him but his chair was angled towards him. His blonde hair was damp, dripping from the rain, yet even so, he looked like he’d just finished shooting a commercial for a hair product. His face was friendly, open, and a small smile was present on his lips. But his eyes showed caution.

“My name is Bill Cipher,” he continued. Dipper couldn’t do anything but stare in shock. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Dipper Pines.”

Dipper’s mind was dizzy in confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? Why is he being so nice, now? Dipper felt the need to say something but was unsure of what to say.

“H-how do you know who I am?” he stuttered, feeling his cheeks heat up. Bill let out a soft laugh that was almost music to his ears.

“I think everyone in town knows who you are,” he answered. “The whole town has been waiting for you to arrive.”

Dipper frowned, figuring that of course it was something like that.

“No,” he said. “I mean, how did you know my nickname?”

Bill looked confused. “Do you prefer Mason?”

“No,” he repeated. “Dipper is fine. But Mason is what everyone here seems to know me as.” He felt like an utter moron.

“Oh.” He dropped the topic and Dipper looked away awkwardly, hoping a black hole would come and swallow him up.

Mr. Trigger started class at that moment, much to Dipper’s appreciation. He tried to concentrate as he explained the lab of the day. The slides in the box were out of order; as lab partners, they had to separate the slides into the correct order for the phases of mitosis, labeled accordingly. Mr. Trigger would check on everyone in twenty minutes. He told everyone to get started.

“Would you like to go first, partner?” Bill asked. He held a crooked smile on his lips, Dipper staring at him like an idiot. “Or I could start.” The smile faltered and Dipper thought that he must think he was mentally incompetent.

“No, I’ll go ahead,” he said, blushing.

Dipper had done this lab already back home, so he knew what to look for. He knew it’d be easy. He snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it so it was clear.

“Prophase,” Dipper stated.

“Do you mind if I check?” Bill asked as he began to remove the slide. His hand caught his, to stop him. His fingers were incredulously warm, much warmer than they should have been. But this was not the reason Dipper jerked his hand away so fast; when they touched, it felt as if a shock of electricity had run through his fingertips to his core to his toes.

“I’m sorry,” Bill muttered, pulling his hand back quickly, though continuing for the microscope. Dipper watched him, shock still running through him, as he examined the slide for a very short time.

“Prophase,” he agreed, writing it with neat penmanship on the worksheet. He changed the slides, grabbing the next slide in the box, glancing once more into the microscope.

“Anaphase,” he spoke quietly, writing it down on the second space.

“May I?” Dipper asked, trying hard to keep his voice expressionless. Bill smirked at him and slid the microscope back over to him. He looked through the eyepiece. Damn, he’s right.

“Slide three?” Bill grabbed the slide out of the box and handed it to him, seemingly careful not to touch his skin again.

“Interphase.” Dipper slid the microscope across the table once more before Bill could ask him for it. He took a swift look and wrote it down in the third spot. Dipper could’ve written it but was intimidated by Bill’s penmanship. He didn’t want to ruin the worksheet with his chicken scratch.

They had finished before anyone else in the class was close. Dipper noticed Thompson and his partner comparing two slides over and over again while another group had their textbook open underneath the table.

This left Dipper nothing to do but try to entertain himself without acknowledging Bill’s existence. He was not successful. He had snuck a glance at him, seeing that he was staring at him with the same look of frustration laced across his face. It was then that Dipper realized what was so different about the Ciphers during lunch.

“Did you get contacts?” he blurted out, slapping his hand over his mouth the second the words left. Bill looked confused, raising his eyebrow.

“No.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, darting his eyes back to his notebook. He returned to doodling. “I thought there was something different about your eyes.”

Bill shrugged, directing his attention elsewhere as well. Dipper was fairly confident that something was different. Last week, his eyes were black, almost as if there was no iris, entirely pupil. They were charcoal black with nothing but animosity in them. But today, his eyes were a golden yellow, as if they were glowing. They were more friendly than the black look from before. Dipper didn’t really understand how that was possible, considering one’s eyes don’t change color once they’re born. Unless he was lying about getting contacts. But why would he do that? Or maybe he was starting to fall for his Great Uncle’s lore about Gravity Falls.

He looked down and noticed that Bill’s fists were flenched again.

Mr. Trigger walked over to their table, looking at the completed sheet on the table and checking the answers.

“Bill, did Mason get a chance with the microscope?” Mr. Trigger asked.

“Dipper,” Bill corrected. “And he identified three of the five.”

Mr. Trigger looked at Dipper, his expression skeptical.

“Have you done this lab before?” he asked, knowingly.

“Yes.”

“Were you in advanced placement in Piedmont?” Mr. Trigger asked.

“Yes.”

“Well,” he said after a pregnant pause. “I suppose it’s good you two are lab partners.” He muttered something underneath his breath, Dipper not catching on the words he said. After he left, Dipper brought his attention back to the doodles on his notebook.

“It’s too bad about the snow, no?” Bill asked, breaking the silence. Dipper had a feeling that he was trying to force a conversation into happening. He felt himself grow anxious again, the false confidence from knowing the lab faltering.

“No, not really,” he answered with honesty.

“You don’t like the cold.”

“Or the wet.”

“Gravity Falls must be a difficult place for you to live,” he reflected. Dipper shrugged.

“It’s not terrible.”

Bill looked fascinated by his answer, for a reason that Dipper couldn’t figure out. He broke away from the eye contact, becoming distracted by the blonde boy’s face. He tried not to look at it as much as possible.

“Why did you move here, then?”

No one had asked Dipper that. Mabel hadn’t even asked him that. Nobody really questioned — especially in such a demanding tone — his choices, they just seemed to go along with it.

“It’s complicated,” Dipper answered, hoping the subject would he dropped.

“I can keep up,” he insisted, his golden eyes boring into Dipper’s brown ones. He relented.

“Just needed a change, I guess,” Dipper said after a long pause, unsure of how to word his reasoning. He also wasn’t quite into sharing his deepest darkest secrets with a stranger who treated him badly a week ago.

“That doesn’t sound so complicated,” Bill disagreed. There was a flash of sympathy on his face before it vanished into indifference. “Why?”

“Just… Because.” Dipper’s voice sounded sad, surprising him as he spoke. He wanted to leave the least amount of detail possible and maybe Bill would stop asking him questions.

“You don’t like your old home,” Bill stated.

“No, Piedmont is fine. A little… Busy, I guess. But fine.”

“Why didn’t you stay there, then?”

Dipper was extremely confused by his sudden interest, but Bill continued to stare at him with strong eyes. It was as if this was important to him. Dipper was almost exasperated by the notion.

“My parents go out of town a lot,” he explained, hoping the vague answer would be enough for him, “and my sister is always busy with friends. I didn’t really have anybody, so, I guess I just wanted a change of scenery.” 

“Interesting,” Bill hummed, smiling in response. “You were an outcast.”

“If you want to put it that way,” Dipper mumbled, focusing back on his notebook doodles.

“Your parents sent you here and in turn, your sister, then.”

“No,” Dipper shook his head. “I sent myself here and my sister followed suit. We’ve never been apart. She can make friends with anyone and anything, even a plant. So she didn’t mind coming here with me.”

Bill’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t understand,” he admitted, seemingly frustrated. “If your old home was fine, why did you leave?”

“There were other circumstances,” Dipper added, hoping that the hint to drop the subject was large enough.

“But now you’re unhappy,” he pointed out.

“I was unhappy there, too,” Dipper challenged.

“It doesn’t sound fair,” Bill shrugged, his eyes still intensely locked on Dipper’s. Dipper could only laugh dryly.

“Well, they say life isn’t fair.”

“I believe I have heard that before,” he agreed, unamused. Dipper sighed, unsure why he was even bothering to explain this to him in the first place.

“So that’s it,” Dipper insisted, putting a pin in it. Why is he still staring at me like that?

“You put on a good show,” he said slowly, as if he was thinking about his words as he spoke them. “But I’d be willing to bet you’ve got more going on that you’re letting anyone else know.”

Dipper frowned, feeling exposed, and darted his glance away.

“Am I wrong?” Bill asked, waiting for an answer. Dipper ignored him. “I didn’t think so.”

“Why does it matter to you?” Dipper asked, irritated. He kept his eyes focused on his notebook.

“Good question,” he said quietly. So quietly that Dipper thought he wasn’t supposed to hear that. Eventually, he decided that was the only answer he would get.

“Am I annoying you?” he asked, now amused by the situation. Dipper scowled, glancing back at the blonde boy.

“A little,” he responded. “But more annoyed at myself. I’m easy to read. My sister can always tell what’s going on in my head — and before you ask, no, we don’t have twin ESP.”

“On the contrary, I actually find you very difficult to read,” he disagreed, sounding oddly genuine.

“You must not be a good reader, then,” Dipper replied. Bill scoffed.

“I usually am,” he said, smirking at the brunette. He noticed that his teeth were extraordinarily white, almost sparkling, and straight. It was like he was a flyer in a dentist’s waiting room. They were perfect.

Mr. Trigger called the class to attention and began a lecture. Dipper was relieved that he no longer had to converse with Bill but continued to argue with himself the reasoning behind such a drastic change in mood. He hated him last week, so why was this week any different?

The bell finally rang and Bill exited the classroom with the same swiftness and gracefulness as he had last week. Dipper couldn’t help but stare at the bizarreness.

Thompson appeared next to Dipper, raising his eyebrow in confusion.

“That was awful,” he complained. “They all looked exactly the same. You’re lucky that Cipher was your partner.”

“I didn’t have any trouble with it,” he responded, startled by the tone the words came out in. Quickly, he added, “I’ve done this lab before, though.”

“Cipher seemed friendly today,” he commented as he slid into his raincoat. He seemed confused about it.

“I wonder what was with him last week,” Dipper commented, hoping to sound indifferent.

Thompson chattered away, with Dipper ignoring most of it, as they walked to the gym for physical education. It was volleyball again. Dipper was able to stay away from the ball, except when it was his turn to serve. Everyone ducked out of his way whenever he held the ball.

The rain was incredibly light when he made his way to the parking lot, spotting his sister waiting for him already next to the truck. It had become a routine at this point. They piled into the car, Dipper turning on the heater, hoping it would be enough to dry the two of them off before they made it home.

Looking out the window before backing up, Dipper noticed a still, pale figure. It was Bill Cipher, leaning against the front door of the shiny blue car — three cars away from him — and staring intensely in his direction. Dipper felt his ear tips grow warm, looking away before throwing the truck in reverse.

“Careful, Dip,” Mabel commented, breaking his focus temporarily. She gripped the handle of the door as the truck jerked back, and from the corner of Dipper’s eyes he could’ve sworn he saw Bill laughing.

Chapter Text

When Dipper awoke from his slumber and opened his eyes in the morning, something was different.

He noticed that it was the light. It was clearer. There was no fog hindering the view from his window. Light shown through his window, tinted red from the triangular stained glass.

He jumped out of bed to get a closer look but his eyes widened in horror. There was a fine layer of snow covering the front yard, the top of the truck, and parts of the road that hadn’t been salted. But that wasn’t the worst part — all the rain from the previous day had frozen solid and created icicles hanging sharply from the roof and the branches of each pine tree. The driveway was slick as well and Dipper groaned at the thought of driving through the black ice. Not to mention that he was very likely to slip and fall on his ass (which was likely even without the ice).

Stan had already opened up the gift shop before Dipper made it down the stairs. In some ways, living with his Great Uncle was almost like living on his own — with his sister, too, of course. Though, since she was always busy, he found himself reveling in the aloneness. It wasn’t often back home that he got time to himself.

Throwing down a bowl of cereal and pouring some orange juice into a glass, Dipper almost felt excited to go to school and that scared him. He knew it wasn’t from the stimulation of learning; everything that his classes had gone over he’d already known. It wasn’t his adopted set of friends either. If he was being honest with himself, it was because he wanted to see Bill Cipher. And he knew that was very, very stupid.

He knew he should be avoiding him after the strange and unsettling conversation they shared yesterday. And Dipper was suspicious of him; why would he lie about his eyes? And he was still fearful of the animosity that his aura around him held and felt like he couldn’t speak around him. He reminded himself that him nor Bill were even in the same social hierarchy and that he shouldn’t be anxious to see him.

Mabel was questioning him about his seemingly random anxiety as he pulled out of the driveway, focusing on not hydroplaning the truck. He’d barely made it to the truck without sliding down the driveway like it was a slip n’ slide, which Mabel laughed at him for. He already knew that today was going to be a nightmare.

On the drive to school, Dipper distracted himself from his thoughts about Bill by trying to think about Wendy, Thompson, and Lee and why everyone was so interested in him. He was the least interesting twin. Mabel could handle everyone’s attention and would revel in it. So why couldn’t she be the one that everyone gravitated towards? It’s not like he had much attention brought to himself back home, so why was it different here? Was he an enigma here? Viewed as a novelty? Perhaps his eternal awkwardness and accident-proneness was viewed as endearing rather than pathetic. In Piedmont, he was a loser, and he was kind of fine with that. He wasn’t looking to be popular — he certainly didn’t want to be — nor was he looking for attention. He almost preferred being ignored by everyone.

The truck seemed to have no issues treading through the black ice over the roadways. Dipper still drove slowly, not wanting to cause an accident or injure someone — or himself and his sister.

Arriving at school, the twins went their separate ways; Mabel left to her friends while Dipper hung behind at the truck. He noticed something silver on the truck, realizing it was chains attached to the tires of the truck. Stan must’ve put them on the truck before he left for the gift shop. Stan wasn’t usually one for gifts, but he supposed that he did take care of him and his sister well. He carefully stood up from his kneeling position — gripping the truck’s bed tightly so he wouldn’t slip and fall — when he heard an odd sound.

It was a high-pitched screech and it was becoming increasingly loud… And alarming. Dipper looked up in its direction, startled.

He saw several things happening at once, unable to focus. It wasn’t moving in slow motion, which didn’t surprise him considering that this wasn’t a movie. But things were moving so fast, he almost couldn’t process it fast enough. He felt adrenaline rush through his veins as he realized what was going on.

Bill Cipher was standing across the parking lot, next to his Volvo, staring at Dipper with panic lacing his features. His face stood out from a sea of faces that all held the same amount of horror.

But the thing of most importance was the fact that there was a dark blue van that was skidding its tires across the icy asphalt, brakes squealing loudly, heading directly towards him. It was going to hit the back of his truck and Dipper just also happened to be standing in that exact spot. He didn’t even have time to close his eyes, standing like a deer in headlights, waiting for the impending doom.

Before Dipper could feel the pain and sound of being crushed between two vehicles, something else hit him, hard, and not in the direction he was expecting. His head fell back and cracked against the icy ground, feeling something abnormally warm pinning him to the ground. He recognized he was laying on the ground but couldn’t focus on anything else because the van was still coming. It had to have already hit the truck so it had to have been moving to hit him next, too.

He heard a voice near him, recognizing it immediately, but not naming it right away. There were two hands that shot out into his view, protecting him, and the van screeched to a stop less than a foot from his face. The hands moved swiftly, blurring in Dipper’s vision. One was gripping under the body of the van and the other was held in the small of his back, dragging him and swinging his legs around like he was a rag doll. There was a loud thud, pounding in his ears, with the van pausing its motion. Glass popped from its windows onto the blacktop, right exactly where Dipper had once been.

There was a sudden silence but it only lasted for a moment before screaming began. Dipper could swear he could hear his sister’s voice within the others. There were several people shouting his name but there was only one voice he focused on.

“Pine Tree? Are you alright?” Bill asked frantically.

“I’m fine,” he answered hoarsely. He tried to sit up but was unable to move, realizing that Bill had been holding him against the side of his body with an iron grip.

“Be careful,” he warned as Dipper squirmed. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

Suddenly, he was aware of a throbbing ache in the back of his head.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, surprised. “Ow.”

“That’s what I thought,” Bill said, suppressing his laughter.

“How did you…” Dipper trailed off, trying to process the events that just occurred, failing to focus on anything but the painful sensation in his head. “How did you get over here so fast?”

“I was standing right next to you, Dipper,” he said, his tone serious once more. Dipper furrowed his eyebrows.

Sitting up — with Bill letting go of him — he looked at him, staring at him with a bewildered gaze. Bill’s expression was filled with concern. Dipper was disoriented by the force of his glowing, golden eyes.

What was I asking him?

A crowd gathered around the two; some had tears streaming down their faces while others were shouting at each other and at them.

“Dipper!” he heard from the crowd, recognizing the voice as belonging to Mabel.

“Don’t move!” someone else instructed.

“Get Nate out of the van!” another voice shouted.

There was a flurry of activity around the two. Dipper tried to get up once more but Bill gently pushed him back down.

“Stay put for now,” he commanded.

“I’m cold,” Dipper complained. Bill chuckled under his breath, surprising him. He could tell that he was on edge.

“But wait… You were over there,” he remembered. Bill stopped laughing, his expression turning rigid. “You were by your car.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“I saw you.”

There was chaos surrounding them. Dipper could tell there were finally adults on the scene, voices talking in a concerned manner rather than screaming. But he wasn’t going to give up the argument that easily. If there was one thing that Dipper was, it was stubborn. And especially when he knew he was right.

“Pine Tree,” Bill started, boring his golden eyes into Dipper’s. “I was standing right next to you. I pulled you out of the way.”

Dipper felt like he was trying to gaslight him but wasn’t putting up with the bullshit.

“No,” he said, setting his jaw.

“Please, Dipper.”

“Why?” he demanded, a part of him wanting to back down and out from the strong gaze.

“Just trust me,” he pleaded, his voice softening. There were sirens in the background.

“Promise to explain it to be later, then.”

“Fine,” Bill snapped, exasperated. Dipper found it strange how quickly his moods could change.

“Fine,” he repeated, fueled with the same anger and irritation.

Six EMTs and two teachers helped to shift the van far away enough from the two in order to roll stretchers over. Bill refused his and Dipper tried to do the same, but he’d told them that he had hit his head and probably had a concussion. Dipper was embarrassed by the neck brace they attached to him and was angered by the situation. He didn’t need to be taken to a hospital. He was fine.

It was almost as if the entire school was in the parking lot, watching the ordeal. They watched as the EMTs loaded Dipper in the back of the ambulance, Bill climbing in after him. This is maddening.

To only make matters worse for him, Stan had arrived before the ambulance could depart.

“Dipper!” Stan shouted, panicked, when he saw him in the stretcher.

“I’m fine, Stan!” Dipper shouted back, crossing his arms across his chest.

“No, you’re not!” Mabel yelled over the two of them. She had fought her way through the crowd and approached the slowly forming group near the ambulance. Stan turned his head to silently ask an EMT for a second opinion. Dipper tuned out the small argument and tried to analyze what had just happened. There was a dent in the back of his truck that looked like it could perfectly fit around Bill’s shoulders… As if he had braced himself against it with enough force to bend the metal frame.

His eyes darted across the crowd, landing on the rest of the Cipher family. They were looking at the commotion from a distance, exactly where Dipper had seen Bill before, with expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury but none held concern. Dipper failed to think of a logical solution that could explain what he’d just seen and came to the conclusion that he was going insane.

The ambulance had an escort from the local police — Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland. Dipper felt utterly ridiculous the entire time, especially when they unloaded his stretcher. He felt annoyance at the fact that Bill was able to waltz through the hospital doors with his own legs. Dipper ground his teeth together.

They got Dipper settled in the emergency room, which in the small town was a large room that had several beds separated by pastel green curtains. A nurse attached a blood pressure cuff to his arm and put a thermometer under his tongue. No one had pulled back the curtain to give him privacy so he decided it was fine to remove the neck brace and promptly threw it under the bed.

Hospital personnel gathered around to the bed next to him, recognizing Nate from his government class with bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head. Nate looked much worse than Dipper had felt. He was staring anxiously at him.

“Dipper, I am so sorry—”

“I’m fine, Nate,” Dipper said, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. Are you alright?”

A nurse had approached, beginning to unwind the blood-soaked bandages, exposing a series of shallow cuts across his forehead and left cheek. They must’ve been from the shattered glass, Dipper figured.

Nate ignored him.

“I thought I was going to kill you, man! I was going too fast, I hit the ice wrong…” he trailed off, wincing as the nurse began cleaning his face.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. You missed me.”

“How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there and then you weren’t.”

“Uh…” Dipper mumbled, unsure of how exactly to answer the question when he didn’t even really know the answer himself. “Bill pulled me out of the way.”

“Who?” Nate asked, confused.

“William Cipher — he was standing next to me.” Dipper was very sure he didn’t sound convincing in the slightest. Mabel was always the better liar of the two.

“Wait, Cipher? I didn’t see him at all. Wow. Okay, I guess. Is he okay?”

“Pretty sure. They didn’t make him use a stretcher, he’s here somewhere.”

Seriously, what the hell had happened? There is no way to explain what I saw.

A nurse came then to grab Dipper and take him for an x-ray of his head. He insisted he was fine and that nothing was wrong but had an image taken anyways. They found no concussions and Dipper felt smug knowing he was right. He asked if he could leave but was told he had to speak to a doctor first. Nate continued his rampant apologies, much to Dipper’s dismay, and chose to ignore it. He laid down on the bed, shutting his eyes and hoping to shut out his surroundings as well.

“Is he sleeping?” a smooth-as-butter voice asked. Dipper’s eyes flew open.

Bill was standing at the foot of the bed, smirking. Dipper glared at him, though found the action difficult to do. He felt it would’ve been easier to ogle.

“Hey, Bill, I’m really sorry—” Nate started but Bill lifted a hand to stop him.

“Accidents happen,” Bill shrugged. He sat on the edge of Dipper’s bed, turning to face him.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked.

“There’s nothing wrong with me at all but I’m not allowed to leave,” Dipper complained. “How come you weren’t tied to a gurney like the rest of us?”

“It’s about who you know,” he smirked. “But don’t worry, I came to get you.”

A doctor approached from around the corner and Dipper’s face filled with shock. He was very young and had raven black hair. He had pale skin and the same tired-looking bags under his eyes that the rest of them had. He was incredibly handsome and Dipper knew that this had to be Bill’s father.

“So, Mr. Pines,” Dr. Kryptos said in a remarkable voice, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Dipper repeated, hoping that was the last time he had to say that. At least for the day.

Dr. Kryptos moved towards the wall, turning on a light board behind the bed.

“Your x-rays look good,” he commented, rubbing his chin with his pale fingers. “Does your heard hurt? Bill said you hit your head pretty hard.”

“I’m fine,” Dipper said again with a sigh, quickly glaring at Bill.

Dr. Kryptos held his hand up and glided his fingers lightly across Dipper’s head. He winced.

“Tender?” he questioned. Dipper shook his head.

“Not really.” He had felt worse. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Bill chuckled and flashed a patronizing smile. His eyes narrowed.

“Well, your Great Uncle and sister are in the waiting room. You can go home with them. But if you start to feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight, please come back immediately.”

“Can I go back to school?” Dipper asked.

“You should take it easy today.” He glanced at Bill.

“Does he get to go to school?”

“Well someone has to let everyone know that we survived,” he answered smugly, smirking.

“Actually, most of the school seems to be in the waiting room.”

“Oh no,” Dipper groaned, burying his face in his hands. Dr. Kryptos raised his eyebrows.

“Do you want to stay?”

“No, no!” Dipper insisted, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and hopping down swiftly. A little too fast, though, as he stumbled over his own feet. Dr. Kryptos caught his arm, looking concerned.

“I’m fine!” he assured. He couldn’t walk straight on a normal day. This was nothing new.

“Take some ibuprofen as necessary,” he suggested, steadying him.

“It really isn’t that bad,” Dipper insisted once more.

“It sounds like you were extremely lucky,” Dr. Kryptos smiled, signing a paper on his clipboard.

“Lucky that Bill was standing next to me,” Dipper shrugged, sending another hardened glance towards the blonde boy.

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Kryptos agreed, finding much interest on his clipboard. He then looked away, at Nate, and walked over to the next bed. Dipper was suspicious but let it go for now.

The doctor told Nate that he couldn’t leave quite yet.

Dipper turned back to Bill, gritting his teeth.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he hissed under his breath. Bill clenched his jaw, taking a step back.

“Your family is waiting for you,” he said through his teeth.

“I’d like to speak with you. Alone. Please,” Dipper insisted, pressing emphasis on his words. Bill glared but turned his back and strod down the room. Dipper almost had to run to keep up. As soon as they turned a corner and into a short hallway, he spun around.

“What do you want?” he asked, annoyed. His eyes were hard and cold. Dipper felt instantly uncomfortable, intimidated by the sudden unfriendliness.

“You owe me an explanation,” Dipper reminded, his words coming out less harsh than he had hoped.

“I saved your life — I don’t owe you anything.” Dipper flinched at the resentment in his voice.

“You said—”

“Pine Tree, you hit your head. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His tone was cutting. Dipper’s anger rose and glared defiantly at him.

“There’s nothing wrong with my head.”

Bill glared back.

“What do you want from me, Dipper?”

“I want to know what happened,” he said. “I want to know why I’m lying for you.”

“What do you think happened?” Bill snapped.

“You weren’t anywhere near me — even Nate didn’t see you. That van was going to crush me and it didn’t. Your hands left dents in the side, you left a dent in my car, and you’re not hurt at all. The van should have killed me but you were holding it up!” Dipper almost felt crazy for saying the words but it was exactly what happened. He was so angry he could feel himself wanting to cry. He ground his teeth together.

Bill stared at him incredulously, but his face was tense and defensive.

“You think I lifted a van off you?” he questioned, his tone making Dipper feel insane but even more suspicious. He merely nodded.

“Nobody will believe that, you know,” he spat, his voice holding an edge now.

“I wasn’t going to tell anybody,” Dipper said, trying hardest to control his anger. Surprise flashed across his face.

“Then why does it matter?”

“Because I want to know,” Dipper answered matter-of-factly. “I’m not good at lying and I don’t like doing it. So there’d better be a good reason that I’m doing it.”

“Can’t you just thank me and get over it?”

“Thank you,” Dipper gritted, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“No.”

“In that case… I hope you enjoy disappointment.”

There was a moment of silence as they scowled at each other. Dipper felt himself slipping, wanting to break the silence. It was like he was staring down at a fallen angel.

“Why’d you even bother?” Dipper asked hastily. Bill paused for a moment and for a brief moment even looked vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” he said softly.

Bill turned on his heel and swiftly walked away. Dipper was so angry that he had to take a few moments to himself before he could move. Eventually, he slowly made his way to the exit at the end of the hallway.

The waiting room was more unpleasant than Dipper had thought. It was as if every single person in town was there, staring at him. Mabel rushed up to his side and he put up his hands in defense.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he said sullenly, still aggravated from the previous conversation. Mabel ignored his tone and pulled him into a tight hug.

“What did the doctor say?” Stan asked, approaching the two.

“I saw Dr. Kryptos and he said I was fine and could go home,” he sighed. Through his peripheral vision, he saw Wendy, Lee, and Thompson beginning to converge on them. “Please, let’s just go.”

Mabel wrapped an arm around Dipper’s shoulder — which was easy for her to do, since they were still the same height — and led him through the front doors. Stan followed behind. Dipper waved sheepishly at his friends, hoping that they got the message that he was fine and didn’t need to worry about him. It was a huge relief off his back once he got into the convertible.

Aside from Mabel constantly asking Dipper if he was okay, the ride back to the Shack was quiet. Dipper was so wrapped up in his thoughts he barely knew anyone else was in the car with him. He was positive that Bill’s defensive behavior was a confirmation of his suspicions — whatever that was.

“Um… You need to call your mother, by the way,” Stan said as he pulled into the Shack’s driveway.

“You told Mom?!” Dipper was appalled.

“Sorry,” Stan shrugged.

Dipper slammed the convertible’s door shut unintentionally. Mabel gave him a look but he was too consumed to even recognize it.

Their parents were in hysterics, as one would be if they were told their child might’ve almost been crushed to death by a vehicle. Dipper had to tell his mother that he was fine at least thirty times before Mabel stepped in, calming her down. Their mother begged them to come home but Dipper had no qualms with telling her no. He was rather intrigued by the mysteries of Gravity Falls — notably ones involving Bill Cipher. If Mabel had known, she would’ve called him obsessed. It was stupid of him but he couldn’t help it. He loved mysteries and one he couldn’t solve right away was something that was just tempting. He wasn’t very eager to bite at the idea of going back home. Mabel considered the idea but if Dipper didn’t want to leave then she didn’t either. Besides, she had already made plenty of new friends.

Dipper decided he’d go to bed early that night, if only to escape the anxious and watchful stares from his family. It was getting on his nerves. He was fine.

On the way to his bedroom, he stopped by the communal bathroom and took three ibuprofen tablets. They helped ease his headache and helped him drift to sleep.

That was the first night Dipper dreamt of William Cipher.

Chapter Text

In Dipper’s dream, it was very dark, and what dim light was there seemed to be emanating from Bill’s skin. He couldn’t see his face, just his back, as he walked away from him, leaving him in the blackness. No matter how fast he ran, he was unable to catch up with him; no matter how loud he shouted, he never turned. Troubled, Dipper woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall asleep again for a very long time. From that day, Bill Cipher was in his dreams nearly every night, but always on edge and never within reach.

The month that followed the incident was apprehensive and tense. And at first, embarrassing.

To Dipper’s disappointment, he was the center of attention for the rest of that week. Nate was almost impossible, trying to do anything possible to “make it up” to Dipper, to the point of obsession. He tried his hardest to convince him that all he wanted was to forget it ever happened, but Nate remained insistent. He now sat at their lunch table. Wendy was less friendly towards him than she was to others, which made him worry he’d gained another fan.

Nobody was concerned about Bill, though Dipper explained to anyone who asked the fake story that was given to him; he was standing next to him, he pulled him out of the way, he was the hero who was nearly killed, too. Wendy, Lee, and Thompson commented how they hadn’t even seen him there until the van was moved away. But no one really seemed to question the integrity of it.

Dipper wondered to himself why nobody else had seen him standing literally across the parking lot, so far away, before he was suddenly saving his life. It was impossible. Through his analysis, he realized that nobody else was quite as aware of Bill as he was. Nobody else watched him the way he did. Paid attention the way he did.

Bill was never surrounded by crowds of curious people eager for his account of the events. People continued avoiding him as per usual. The Ciphers sat at the same table as always, not eating, talking only to each other. None of them — especially Bill — glanced towards him any more.

When he sat next to Dipper in class, he sat as far away as the table allowed, seemingly completely unaware of his presence. Only now and again when his fists balled up did he wonder if Bill wasn’t quite as oblivious as he appeared.

Dipper figured that he wished he hadn’t pulled him from the path of the van — there was no other conclusion he could come up with.

He wanted to talk to him and the day after the accident he tried. While the last time they had spoken, in the hospital, they’d both been furious at one another. Dipper was still angry that he supposedly wasn’t trustworthy enough to hear the truth, even though he’d continued telling the lie. Though, he had saved my life. No matter how he did it.

Overnight, the heat of his fury had faded into a warped sense of gratitude.

When Dipper arrived to biology, Bill was already sat down in his seat. He said hi to him. Bill acknowledged his presence with a nod, not turning his head towards him, and looked the other way. That was the last contact that they’d had with each other.

Bill still sat next to him, every single day, a foot away. Dipper sometimes watched him from the corner of his eye, unable to stop himself — but always from a distance, whether in the cafeteria, biology, or the parking lot. It was as if his glowing golden eyes grew darker each and every day. But Dipper decided to give him no more notice that he existed than he showed towards him. He was growing miserable, and his dreams continued.

Despite his cheerful e-mails, his mother caught on to the fact that he was not happy and had fallen into a depression. She called several times, trying to convince him that he didn’t have to live in Gravity Falls, but he had convinced her that it was just the weather. Something seasonal. It’d be gone by the spring.

Thompson was almost pleased by the obvious animosity between Dipper and Bill, though he wasn’t sure why. He had guessed that Thompson didn’t have many friends outside of their group and felt unkindly towards the possibility of Bill having a friendship with one of them. After all, the entire school felt a type of way about the Ciphers. Who’s to say that didn’t include Bill, too? Thompson would stand near their table, holding conversation with Dipper before class started, ignoring Bill completely as he ignored them.

The snow had washed away for good after the dangerous day. Thompson was disappointed he never got to stage his snowball fight but pleased that the trip to Lake Gravity Falls would be possible soon. The rain continued throughout the days, heavily, and the weeks passed by.

Wendy made Dipper aware of another event approaching. She had called him in early March, telling him that she was inviting someone named Robbie to the girls’ choice spring dance in two weeks.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she had asked him when he said he didn’t mind.

“Not at all, Wendy,” Dipper assured her. “I’m not going.” Dancing was something that was not in his skillset.

“It’ll be really fun, though, dude!” she tried to reason, though her attempt at convincing him felt somewhat halfhearted. He suspected that Wendy enjoyed his odd popularity than his presence but quickly shook away the thought. Why am I being so selfish all of a sudden?

“You have fun with Robbie,” he encouraged.

The next day, a boy with black hair and bad acne approached him.

“Hey, Dipper,” he said, falling in step with the brunette. Dipper raised his eyebrows at him, having not interacted with him directly before. “So, uh, Wendy asked me to the spring dance.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Dipper answered, keeping his eyes in front of him. “I think you’d have fun with her.”

“Yeah. Are you planning on going with someone?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “I’m not going at all.”

“Why not?” Robbie asked. Dipper did not want to have this conversation.

“I’m uh… Going to Portland… uh, that Saturday,” Dipper lied, wincing at how badly it sounded. Mabel would kill him for not going to the dance but that was something he could worry about later. He was sure she already had a date lined up.

Approaching the biology classroom, Dipper paused outside the door, waiting for the conversation to finish. Robbie and him did not share this class together. He wasn’t actually sure if they had shared any classes together.

“I’m surprised no one has asked you,” Robbie said, pausing in his steps as well. He flicked his eyes elsewhere, Dipper following his gaze to see they landed on Bill. He felt himself flush a tint of pink.

“Nope,” Dipper said, pushing down the embarrassment and hoping his voice wouldn’t waver. He noticed movement in the corner of his eyes and realized that Bill’s head had tilted in his direction.

“You can’t go to Portland some other weekend?”

“Nope,” he repeated, hoping the topic would be dropped. He didn’t even really know Robbie, why was he having this conversation with him?

“Alright, then,” Robbie mumbled, getting the hint. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

He turned around, continuing his walk to whatever class he had next. Dipper entered the classroom, sitting down in his usual seat next to Bill, and closed his eyes while rubbing his fingers into his temples. Mr. Trigger began talking, much to the relief of Dipper, and he opened his eyes, sighing.

To his surprise, he found that Bill was staring curiously at him, though the familiar amount of frustration was clear in his now-black eyes. Dipper stared back in shock, expecting Bill to break the gaze, but he didn’t. Instead, he continued to bore into Dipper’s brown orbs. He felt like he couldn’t look away.

“Mr. Cipher?” Mr. Trigger called, asking for the answer of a question that Dipper hadn’t heard.

“The Krebs cycle,” Bill answered, reluctantly turning his head towards the teacher.

As soon as the eye contact broke, Dipper turned his head and pretended to study his textbook.

Like a coward, Dipper adjusted his hat so the brim of it slightly hid his face. He couldn’t believe the rush of emotions running through him, especially because it was over the fact that Bill had simply looked at him for the first time in several weeks. How does he have this level of influence over me? This is pathetic. More than pathetic, actually. This is unhealthy.

Dipper tried to not be aware of his presence for the rest of class, though found it impossible; in turn, he tried to at least not let Bill now he was aware of him. Eventually, the bell rang, and he started gathering his things. He expected that Bill would be out of the classroom immediately, as per usual.

“Pine Tree?” Dipper hated that he knew the voice so clearly, as if it was something he’d heard all his life rather than the last couple of months.

He turned slowly — unwillingly — towards Bill, his expression wary. He tried to read Bill’s face but there was nothing on it for him to read. He didn’t say anything.

“What? Done pretending I don’t exist?” Dipper asked, unintentionally snappy in his tone. Bill smirked.

“No, not really,” he answered. Dipper closed his eyes and inhaled slowly in frustration, beginning to grit his teeth. Bill waited.

“Then what do you want, Bill?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding surprisingly sincere. “I’m aware I’m being rude, but it’s better this way.”

Dipper glanced at him, Bill’s face very serious.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“It’s better if we’re not friends,” Bill explained. “Trust me.”

Dipper’s eyes narrowed. I’d heard that before.

“Hmm, too bad you didn’t figure that out earlier,” Dipper hissed. “You could’ve saved yourself a lot of regret.”

“Regret?” The tone of his voice clearly caught him off guard. “Regret for what?”

“For not letting that stupid van kill me.” Bill stared at him in disbelief, astonished.

“You think I regret saving your life?” he asked after a long pause. He almost sounded mad.

“I know you do,” Dipper snapped. Bill scoffed.

“You don’t know anything.” He was definitely mad.

Dipper turned his head sharply away from him, clenching his jaw tightly so he wouldn’t start making several accusations that held no worth at him. He gathered his books together and quickly ran out the door. His intention was to make a dramatic exit but his plans were foiled as he caught the tip of his boot in the door frame, tripping onto the ground and losing his books. He sighed, stumbling back to his feet. He stared at his books and considered leaving them there before he kneeled over to pick them up. That is, until he realized that Bill was already there, holding his books stacked in a neat pile. He handed them to Dipper, his face rigid.

“Thank you,” Dipper grumbled. Bill’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re welcome,” he retorted, turning and walking away.

Dipper straightened swiftly and stalked off to the gym without looking back.

Gym was brutal for Dipper. They’d moved on to basketball. His team refused to pass him the ball — which was fine by him — but he stumbled around on the court, occasionally taking someone down with him. Today was worse than his usual because he couldn’t get his thoughts of Bill out of his head. He tried to concentrate on his feet but Bill continued to creep into his thoughts at the worst of times, notably, when he needed his balance.

As always, it was a relief for him to leave, once the final bell of the day rang. He almost ran out to the truck, wanting to avoid anyone and everyone, get in, and go home. The truck had only suffered minimal damage from the accident, though the taillights had to be replaced. Stan was able to do so with little to no issue — though at Dipper’s cost.

Nate’s parents had to sell their van for parts.

Dipper almost had a stroke when he saw a tall figure leaning against the side of his truck. Then he realized it was simply someone named Pacifica.

“Hi, Pacifica,” he called out bitterly. He was not a fan of her, and she was not a fan of him, so he was curious as to why she was suddenly at his truck.

“Hi, Dipper,” she replied with the same bitter tone.

“What do you want?” he asked, unlocking the door, so he could wait inside the truck for Mabel. Today he’d reached the truck before she did.

“I’m waiting for your sister,” she answered. “To ask her something.”

“You’re asking Mabel to the dance?” he questioned with surprise in his voice. He had no idea that Pacifica was gay. Or that his sister was, either.

“Well, yeah,” she admitted, shame lacing her features. Dipper raised an eyebrow at her. “Has she asked anyone yet?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but I don’t really pay attention to her love life,” he shrugged, still caught off guard. “I still haven’t told her I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“I’m planning on being in Portland that day.”

“Hmm. Alright, then,” she murmured. Her attention was caught by someone else and she pushed herself off the truck. “Well, I got to go. Can you ask her for me, I guess?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he said. He just wanted her out of there and away from him as soon as possible. And to go home.

Pacifica thanked him and walked off to one of the other cars in the lot — a black one, but Dipper wasn’t sure of the model. He heard a low chuckle from behind him.

Bill was walking past the front of the truck, looking straight forward with his lips pressed tightly in a thin line. Dipper grunted, yanking the door to the truck open and jumping side. Mabel appeared almost out of thin air, sliding into the truck as well. She questioned him what was wrong but he ignored her, throwing the truck in reverse and trying to speed out the parking lot. Bill was already in his car — two spaces down — and smoothly backed out in front of him, before stopping the car. The rest of his family wasn’t with him; they were still walking towards the lot, near the cafeteria. Dipper considered talking out the rear of his Volvo, but there were too many witnesses. He peered into his rearview mirror, seeing a line begin to form. Nate was waiting behind him in a newly acquired used economy car, waving. Dipper ignored him, too aggravated to engage.

“Seriously, what crawled up your ass and died?” Mabel asked him.

“Nothing,” Dipper muttered. “Oh, uh, Pacifica stopped by before you got here. She wanted to ask you—”

“Oh my god, really?!” she squealed, pumping her fists. “Yes, I knew it!”

“You— Jesus Christ, Mabel,” he groaned, slamming his head on the steering wheel. “Why didn’t you tell me you were gay?”

“Oh, no, Dipdot, we’re going as friends,” she giggled but Dipper didn’t believe her. He dropped the topic.

He pulled his head up from the wheel in time to see 8-Ball, Xanthar, Keyhole, and Pyronica sliding into the Volvo. In the rearview mirror, Dipper noticed that Bill’s eyes were on him. He was shaking with laughter, as if he could hear the thoughts going through his mind. Dipper’s foot inched towards the gas pedal. One little bump wouldn’t hurt any of them. Just that stupid paint job.

The engine revved but then they were all in the car and Bill was speeding away. Dipper drove home slowly and carefully, muttering under his breath the whole way. Mabel kept questioning him but he ignored her.

When they got home, Mabel decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. Dipper knew it’d be a long process but it would keep them busy, so he didn’t mind. He was helping her simmer some onions and chilies when the phone range.

Dipper left the kitchen and picked it up. It was Wendy, calling to try and convince him to go to the dance once more, but he declined and gave her the Portland excuse. She bought it eventually and he hung up, going back to concentrate on dinner.

Mabel had already started cutting the chicken but soon delegated the task to him. He tried to focus so he wouldn’t end up with another trip to the emergency room but his head was spinning; everything that Bill had spoken him today was almost like a code he had to solve. What did it all mean? What did “it’s better if we’re not friends” mean?

Dipper’s stomach filled with nausea as he realized what Bill must’ve meant. He could probably see straight through his facade… how much he actually was obsessed with him. We can’t be friends because he’s not interested in me at all. Well, of course he’s not!

Dipper’s eyes threatened to spill tears and when Mabel commented on it, he blamed it on a delayed reaction from the onions. It only makes sense. I’m not interesting and he.. He was interesting. And brilliant… And mysterious… and perfect… and beautiful… and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with a single hand.

Well, Dipper decided that was fine. He could leave him alone. He would leave him alone. He’d get through his self-imposed sentence in purgatory and then attend some prestigious college in the southwest and maybe even get a scholarship.

Stan was suspicious when he closed down the gift shop and entered the kitchen. Mabel was slightly offended by the notion but realized that the closest edible Mexican food was probably in California. But even so, Stan was hungry and didn’t turn down free food, so he was quick to take the first plate. He mostly trusted Mabel in the kitchen; it was more Dipper that he was concerned with.

“Stan?” Dipper asked as Stan finished off the enchiladas.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Just wanted to let you know that I’m gonna, uh, go to Portland for the day, uh, next week.” Dipper felt like he was too old to ask for permission but didn’t want to just disappear for the whole day, especially without Mabel accompanying him.

“Wait, why?” Mabel asked, sounding surprised. Stan raised his eyebrow, asking the same question.

“Well, I want to get a few books — the library here kind of sucks — and maybe, uh, get some new clothes?” Dipper was unsure of what he actually wanted to do there, but figured he’d at least live up to his lie. Then it wouldn’t be a lie.

“That truck probably doesn’t have good gas mileage,” Stan stated.

“Yeah, I know,” Dipper shrugged. “But it’s fine, I’ll stop if I have to.”

“Are you going by yourself?” he asked. He almost seemed suspicious but Dipper chalked it up to him being paranoid. That’s all he really seemed to be since arriving in Gravity Falls.

“Yes. On Saturday.”

“Wait— Dipper! That’s the day of the dance!” Mabel yelled.

“Portland is a big city, kid, you should probably go another day when Mabel can come with you. You could get lost,” Stan fretted.

“I’m not gonna get lost,” Dipper mumbled. “And Mabel, I’m not going to the dance.”

“You shut your mouth!” Mabel shouted, astonished.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Stan asked. Dipper cringed.

“Nope,” he stated. “Stan, Piedmont is probably bigger than Portland. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, kid.”

“Thanks.”

Mabel dropped the topic — for now.

The next morning, when Dipper pulled into the parking lot, he parked as far as possible away from the Volvo. He was alone this morning, as Mabel had hitched a ride from Pacifica, so he could take all the time he wanted without pissing off his sister. He didn’t want himself to be put into the temptation of actually going through with destroying the Ciphers’ car.

Slipping out of the truck less than gracefully, he fumbled with the key and it fell into a puddle underneath his feet. As he knelt down to grab it, a pale hand flashed out and grabbed it. Dipper jerked upward, realizing that William Cipher was right next to him, leaning casually against the truck.

“Seriously, how do you do that?” Dipper asked in amazed irritation.

“Do what?” he asked innocently, holding out the key as he spoke. Dipper reached for it, Bill yanking it away at the last second. He scowled.

“Appear out of thin air,” Dipper grunted, snatching the key out of Bill’s hand and locking his truck.

“Pine Tree, it’s not my fault if you’re exceptionally unobservant,” he smirked. His voice was quiet as usual, but still sounded like velvet.

Dipper glared at him, noticing that his eyes had once more returned to their golden glow.

“Why the traffic jam last night?” he demanded, looking back at the truck as he pulled the key out of the lock. “I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don’t exist, not irritating me to death.”

“It was funny,” Bill snickered.

“You sonnva bitch,” Dipper muttered. He couldn’t think of a bad enough sentence to convey the annoyance in his body. Bill just looked more amused.

“And I’m not pretending you don’t exist,” he continued.

“So you are trying to irritate me to death.” When Bill didn’t say anything, he continued. “Since Nate’s van didn’t do the job?”

Anger flashed through his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line. He was no longer amused.

“Dipper, you’re utterly absurd,” he said, his voice running cold. Dipper’s palms tingled; he wanted so badly to punch something. He turned his back on Bill, beginning to walk away.

“Wait!” he called. Dipper ignored him, continuing his walk, but Bill had no issue catching up to him and keeping in line.

“I’m sorry, that was rude,” Bill said as they walked. “I’m not saying it isn’t true, but it was rude to say anyways.”

“What do you want, Bill?” Dipper grumbled.

“I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me,” he chuckled. His amusement was back in full force

“Do you have a multiple personality disorder?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Fine then, what do you want?” Dipper sighed, rubbing his fingers on the bridge of his nose.

“I was wondering if, a week from Saturday, you know, the day of the spring dance—”

“Are you trying to be funny?” Dipper interrupted, snapping his head in the blonde boy’s direction. His golden eyes were filled with wicked amusement.

“Will you let me finish?”

Dipper bit his lip and gestured for him to continue.

“I heard you say you were going to Portland that day, and I was wondering if you needed a ride.”

That was unexpected.

“What?” Dipper asked, astonished. He wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at.

“Do you need a ride to Portland?”

“With who?”

“Well, me, duh,” he scoffed. He looked at Dipper as if he was mentally handicapped and Dipper had never felt so stupid.

“Why?”

“Well, I was planning on going to Portland in the somewhat near future and, to be honest, I don’t think your truck would make it there.”

“My truck functions just fine, but thank you for your concern,” Dipper muttered, trying to walk faster but Bill matched his pace with no issue.

“But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?”

“I don’t see how any of this is your problem,” Dipper said. Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.

“The wasting of finite resources and polluting the Earth is everyone’s problem.”

“Honestly, Bill,” Dipper rolled his eyes. He hated that he felt a thrill surge through him as he spoke his name. “I can’t keep up with you. I thought you didn’t want to be my friend.”

“I said it would be better if we weren’t friends, not that I didn’t want to be,” he clarified. Dipper scowled.

“Oh thanks, now that that’s all cleared up.”

Dipper paused his steps, looking at Bill’s face. They were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof, allowing Dipper to view his face clearer than before. It didn’t help his clarity of thought.

“It would be more… vigilant… if you weren’t my friend,” he explained, taking caution in the words he chose. “But I’m tired of trying to stay away from you, Pine Tree.”

Bill’s eyes flashed intensely as he spoke and Dipper felt his insides burn. He almost forgot how to breathe.

“So… Portland?” he asked, smirking.

Dipper couldn’t find himself able to speak so he simply nodded.

“You really should stay away from me, though,” he warned. “See you in class.”

He turned abruptly and walked back the way they’d came.

Chapter Text

Dipper made his way to English class in a daze. He didn’t even realize that class had already begun when he first walked in.

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Pines,” Mr. Strange said in an unfavorable tone.

Dipper subconsciously hid his face under the brim of his hat and quickly made his way to his seat.

At the end of class, Thompson and Lee met up with him at the door as per usual. Thompson was going on about the weather report for the weekend, the rain supposedly taking a break, and allowing for the Lake Gravity Falls trip to happen. Dipper tried his best to sound eager, considering that even without the rain, it was still going to be utterly cold. The highest in the forties, if they were lucky.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. He was still convinced that Bill’s eyes were changing each time he looked at him and confused by what he had said. He pondered the fact that he could just be in a lucid dream that he’d confused with reality. It seemed like the more probable theory rather than Bill actually being interested in him on any level.

He was both patient and frightened as Wendy and him entered the cafeteria. He almost wanted to see his face, just to see if he’d returned to the cold, unfriendly person he’d known for the past several weeks. Or if he really had heard what he thought he did this morning.

Wendy was talking about her dance plans, Dipper barely acknowledging the conversation. Candy and Grenda had asked some other boys and they were all going together. None of them were aware of his inattention.

Realizing that only four of the Ciphers were at their table, disappointment flooded through him. Had Bill gone home? He followed Wendy into the line, almost crushed. He’d lost his appetite and bought nothing more than a Pitt soda. He just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

“Bill Cipher is staring at you again,” Wendy said, breaking through Dipper’s thoughts with his name. His head snapped up, following her gaze to find Bill sat at an empty table across the cafeteria. “I wonder why he’s sitting alone today.”

Their gazes met and Bill raised a hand, motioning with his index finger for Dipper to join him. He stared in disbelief. Bill smirked and winked.

“Does he mean you?” Wendy asked with astonishment in her voice.

“Uh… Maybe he needs help with his biology homework,” Dipper muttered, unsure of what to think of the situation. “I’ll go uh, see what he wants.”

He could feel her boring eyes in his back as he walked away.

Reaching his table, Dipper stood behind the chair across from him, uneasy.

“Sit with me today,” Bill said, smiling. Dipper sat down automatically but watched him with caution. He was still smiling and Dipper found it hard to believe that someone so graceful was entertaining his existence. He was afraid that it was some kind of sick joke or that it really was a dream and he’d poof away and he’d wake up.

Bill was waiting for him to say something.

“This is different,” he said.

“Well…” he trailed off before saying the rest of his sentence in a rush, “I decided that as long as I was going to hell, I may as well make the most of it.”

Dipper stared at him in confusion, waiting for him to clarify what the hell he meant or say something that made sense.

“I have no idea what that means,” Dipper eventually said, breaking the silence. Bill shrugged.

“I know,” he smiled again. He glanced towards the usual table that Dipper sat at before looking back at the brunette. “I think your friends are angry with me for taking you away.”

“They’ll live,” Dipper shrugged. He could feel their stares. He doubted that Wendy ever looked away.

“I may not give you back, though,” he smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Dipper gulped.

“You look worried,” he laughed.

“Well… No… Just more… Surprised, actually. Why the sudden interest?”

“I told you this morning,” he answered nonchalantly, still smiling. “I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I gave up.”

“Gave up?” Dipper repeated in confusion.

“Yes. Giving up trying to be good. I’m just going to do what I want now and whatever happens is what happens,” he explained, shrugging again.

“You lost me again.”

“I always say too much when I’m talking to you. That’s one of the problems.”

“Don’t worry, I have zero idea what you’re talking about half the time.”

“I’m counting on that.”

“So… In plain English… Are we friends, then?”

“Friends…” he mused, rubbing his chin with his fingers as if he was thinking incredibly hard.

“Or not,” Dipper muttered, rolling his eyes. Bill grinned.

“Sure, why not,” he said. “But I’m warning you now, I’m not a good friend for you.”

He was still smiling but the underlying tone of threat was there.

“You say that a lot,” Dipper pointed out, pushing away the suspicion and sudden wave of nausea through his stomach.

“Yes, because you’re not listening to me. I’m still waiting for you to get it. If you’re smart, you’ll avoid me.”

“I think you’ve made your opinion on my intellect pretty clear, too.”

His eyes narrowed. Bill smiled apologetically.

“So…. While I’m being… ‘Not smart,’ we’ll be friends.” Dipper was still confused.

“Yeah, sure.”

Dipper looked down at his hands wrapped around the unopened soda can.

“What are you thinking?” Bill asked curiously.

“Trying to figure out what you are.”

His jaw clenched, clearly on edge.

“Having any luck with that?” he asked in an off-hand tone.

“Not exactly,” Dipper admitted. Bill laughed.

“What are your theories?”

He paused, running through the various thoughts in his mind. There was no way that Bill was some superhero like Bruce Wayne or Peter Parker. But some things just didn’t add up: how could he move so quickly, talk to others as if he could read their thoughts, insert himself into dreams that Dipper was pretty confident he wasn’t having naturally? None of it made any sense. He’d consulted the internet but it wasn’t much help. A majority of it was nonsensical fiction stories about witches, vampires, werewolves, zombies, and whatever else.

“You’re not gonna tell me?” Bill questioned, tilting his head to the side as if he was a golden retriever asking for another treat. His smile was tempting.

“Nope,” Dipper answered, shaking his head. “Most definitely not.”

“That’s lame,” he complained. “Kind of frustrating, actually.”

“I can’t imagine why that’d be frustrating, you know, someone refusing to tell you what they’re thinking while making cryptic remarks designed to keep you up at night, wondering… Why would that be frustrating?”

Bill grimaced.

“Or better yet!” Dipper continued, irritated. “Say that person also did some bewildering things that made no sense — like saving your life under impossible circumstances, then treating you like you’re the plague next, then being suddenly friendly another time. With no explanation. Nope. None of that would be frustrating.”

“You seem irritated.”

“I don’t like double standards.”

They stared at each other, neither smiling.

Bill looked over the brunette’s shoulder and snickered, catching Dipper by surprise.

“What?”

“Your girlfriend seems to think I’m being unpleasant to you and is debating on whether or not to come break up our conversation.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Dipper muttered. “But go off, I guess.”

“I told you, most people are easy to read.”

“Except for me.”

“Yes. Except for you. I wonder why that is.”

Dipper looked away from Bill’s intense stare, his attention moving to his soda. He popped the tab and took a swig.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Bill asked.

“No.” He didn’t need to know the swirling anxiety inside the pit of Dipper’s stomach. “You?”

“No,” he mocked. Dipper didn’t understand what was so funny.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“That depends… On what you want,” Bill answered warily.

“It’s not much,” Dipper assured him.

Bill waited, guarded but curious.

“Just, like… Next time you plan to ignore me ‘for my own good,’ could you warn me beforehand? So I’m prepared,” he said, staring down into his Pitt cola can, tracing the rim with his pinkie finger.

“Hmm… Yeah, sounds fair,” Bill shrugged, pressing his lips together to suppress his laughter.

“Uh. Thanks.”

“Can I have one answer in return?” he demanded. Dipper furrowed his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes.

“One.”

“Tell me one theory.”

“Ooh, not that one.”

“You didn’t specify,” Bill suggested, smirking.

“You’ve broken promises yourself,” Dipper murmured, darting his eyes again.

“Just one theory. Promise I won’t laugh.”

“Yeah, like hell you won’t.” He was positive about that.

Bill looked down before glancing back at him, staring deeply into Dipper’s brown eyes.

“C’mon, please?” he asked, leaning towards him. Dipper blinked, his mind going blank.

“Er— what?” Dipper mumbled, feeling suddenly dazed.

“C’mon,” he repeated, batting his eyes playfully. “One itty bitty theory.”

“Okay… Uh… Vampire?” Jesus Christ, I am such a hopeless pushover.

“What, you’ve been reading Twilight?” he scoffed.

“Werewolf?”

“That’s not very creative.”

“It’s all I got,” Dipper said, miffed.

“Not even close,” Bill teased.

“No radioactivity?”

“Nope.”

“No mysterious meteor?”

“Nada.”

“I’m out of ideas,” Dipper sighed. Bill tried to stifle his laughter but failed.

“Kryptonite doesn’t bother me, either,” he chuckled.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to laugh.”

Bill struggled to compose himself.

“I’ll figure it out eventually,” Dipper hissed.

“I wish you wouldn’t try,” Bill said, his face losing all hints of amusement and turning serious.

“I’m not talked out of things that easily.”

“Okay… but what if I’m not a superhero? What if I’m the bad guy?” Bill grinned, as if he was mocking him once more.

“Oh,” Dipper paused, considering the turn of events. It could make sense. “I see.”

“Do you, now?”

His face contorted, as if he had said too much.

“So you’re dangerous,” Dipper commented. Gee. It wasn’t as if he was trying to tell me that all along.

Bill just stared at him. He couldn’t comprehend the emotion on his face.

“Hmm…” he continued thinking. “If you’re so bad, why’d you save my life? That’s not necessarily a bad thing to do.”

“Fair point,” Bill mused but shook his head. “Out of my general scope of behavior, I suppose.”

A silence grew between the two but it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. The bell caught Dipper off guard and he jumped to his feet, realizing the cafeteria was nearly empty.

“We’re going to be late.”

“Maybe you are,” Bill said, grabbing the tab from the soda can and twirling it in his fingers. “I’m not going to class today.”

“Why not?”

“It’s healthy to ditch now and then,” he smirked.

“For you, maybe,” Dipper mocked, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “But I’m going.” He felt like school was important. And he was also afraid of being caught.

Bill shrugged.

“See you later, then.”

Dipper hesitated, feeling peer pressure getting the best of him, but shook away the thought and hurried out the door before he could change his mind. He glanced back through the window, seeing Bill still sitting in the chair, unmoved.

He half-ran to class, hoping he wouldn’t be late. His thoughts were racing faster than the soda can tab through Bill’s fingers. He had so many questions — and so many new ones! — that now had to be answered. He was just glad that the rain had stopped.

When he arrived to the classroom, Mr. Trigger wasn’t in the room yet. He settled quickly into his seat, realizing that there were two sets of eyes on him: Thompson’s and Candy’s. They probably had just as many questions as he did about the situation.

The final bell rang and Mr. Trigger entered the room with a large cardboard box in tow. He dropped it on Thompson’s desk and asked him to pass around the items inside to each table. Seeing a small card on his desk, along with an applicator and a lancet… Dipper gulped knowing exactly what they were doing this period.

“There’s a blood drive happening in Boring next weekend, so I thought it would be prudent for you all to know your blood type,” Mr. Trigger explained, gesturing for Thompson to come up to the front. He proceeded to use the lancet to prick his finger and gave it a gentle squeeze, dabbing some of the blood onto the card. Dipper felt like he was going to throw up and pass out at the same time. Sweat beaded across his forehead and he breathed shakily, trying to distract himself from the shit happening in front of him.

“Mr. Pines, are you alright?” Mr. Trigger asked as he buried his face in his hands. He was paler than a ghost.

“I, uh… Blood…” Dipper muttered.

“Are you feeling faint?”

“Yes, sir,” Dipper croaked out. He supposed he could understand why Bill was ditching now, but at the same time, Bill didn’t seem like the type of person who got panicked around the sight of blood.

“Can someone take Mason down to the nurse, please?” he called out. Dipper shook his head, declining the offer.

“I can make it on my own,” Dipper said, slowly standing from his chair and gathering his things. Mr. Trigger went to argue about it but before he could, Dipper was out the door and in the hallway. The fresh air never felt so freeing.

He wandered down the hallway, out the building, and paused for a moment to sit on a bench. He was seriously going to hurl.

“Pine Tree?” a voice called from the distance. Oh, for fuck sake, not right now.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, his voice closer than before, sounding upset. Dipper shut his eyes tightly, hoping he was imagining things. Or at the very least, hoping to not throw up.

“Dipper?” Bill’s voice was now right next to him. “Are you hurt?”

“Go away,” Dipper groaned, swatting the approaching hand away. “‘M fine, just gonna vomit, is all.”

“You should’ve ditched,” Bill commented, chuckling. He sat down next to him on the bench, placing his hand gently on his shoulder.

“Shut up,” Dipper mumbled, rubbing his temples, waiting for the nausea to subside.

Suddenly, he felt himself lifted off the bench. His eyes flew open in shock. Bill had scooped him up in his arms, incredibly easily, as if he weighed ten pounds instead of a hundred and twenty.

“Hey, wait! Put me down!” Dipper contested but Bill was already walking. Please, please let me not vomit on him.

Bill ignored him.

“You look awful,” he told him, grinning.

“Put me down,” Dipper repeated, moaning. The rocking motion from Bill’s strides was not helping his nausea subside. None of this seemed to bother him, though.

“So… You faint at the sight of blood?” he asked, holding back laughter. He seemed greatly entertained by the ordeal. Dipper muttered something under his breath, closing his eyes and using all his strength to fight the urge to give the ground everything in his stomach.

“And not even with your own blood,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself.

Eventually, the surroundings became warm, and Dipper knew they’d gone inside. How Bill managed to open the door while carrying him, he had no idea.

A female voice gasped.

“He fainted in biology,” Bill explained.

Dipper opened his eyes, realizing he was in the front office. Bill swiftly moved past the front counter and to a room in the back, aptly titled “Nurse’s Office.” The front office secretary held the door open and Bill entered, setting Dipper down on the dark blue cot that was covered in thin, crinkly paper. He moved to stand against the opposite wall.

“He’s a little faint,” Bill repeated to the nurse, who had been reading a novel but looked up at the commotion. “There’s blood typing in biology.”

“There’s always one,” the nurse commented, nodding.

Bill bit down on his lip to suppress another snicker.

“Just lie down for a minute, honey,” she said to Dipper, who ignored her. “It’ll pass.”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, his eyes shut closed. He could feel his cheeks burning in humiliation. He really should’ve taken that chance to skip.

“You can go back to class, now,” the nurse told Bill.

“I’m supposed to stay with him,” he said with such authority that the nurse shrugged and didn’t argue further. That, or she wasn’t paid enough to care. Dipper wasn’t really sure which. “I’ll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear.”

“You were right,” Dipper grunted, sitting up slowly and rubbing his fingers into his temples.

“I usually am — but what are you referring to?”

“Ditching is healthy,” he muttered, practicing his breathing. The nausea was starting to subside.

“You know, you scared me for a minute,” he admitted after a moment of silence. His tone sounded like he was embarrassed by the fact. “I thought you were a zombie for a second.”

“Funny.”

“I was starting to plan to avenge your murder.”

“How did you even see me? I thought you were ditching.”

“I was in my car, listening to a CD.” It was such a normal response that it startled Dipper.

The door opened, revealing the nurse who had returned with a cold compress in her hand.

“Here you go,” she said, handing it to him. He put it down on the bed beside him.

“I think I’m fine,” he responded. The spinning and nausea was just about gone. The nurse opened her mouth to say something — likely to tell Dipper to lay back down — but the receptionist stuck her head through the door.

“We got another one,” she warned.

Dipper hopped off the cot, freeing it for the next victim, just in time for Thompson to stagger through the door with another classmate — someone named Mermando. Bill and Dipper moved out of the way, backs against the wall.

“Oh no,” Bill muttered. “You’re gonna wanna get out of here, Pine Tree.”

Dipper looked at him, bewildered.

“Trust me — go.”

Smelling something familiarly rusty, salty, and like copper, he spun around on his heel and was out the door before it even had a chance to close. Bill was right behind him.

“I can’t believe you actually listened to me,” he said, astonished.

“I smelled the blood,” Dipper answered, a look of disgust filling his face.

“What? People can’t smell blood,” he contradicted.

“Well, guess what, buttercup, I can. That’s what makes me sick. It’s… So… Rusty…” he said, shuddering at the thought. Bill continued to stare at him with an unfathomable expression.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Thompson exited through the nurse’s door, glancing at Dipper then to Bill. The look he gave Bill showed that he seriously loathed him.

“You look better,” Thompson said.

“Keep your hand in your pocket,” Dipper demanded.

“It’s not even bleeding anymore!” he protested but kept it in his pocket anyways. “Are you going back to class?”

“Hell no. I’d just have to turn around and come straight back.”

“Fair enough. So… Are you coming this weekend? To the lake?” He shot another hateful glance at Bill, who was leaning against the counter and staring off into space.

“I mean, yeah, sure, I guess,” Dipper shrugged, trying to sound as friendly and eager as possible. He wasn’t sure if he was convincing, though.

“Okay. Meet at my dad’s store beforehand, at ten.”

There was another glare at Bill, calculating if he was giving too much information. It wasn’t an open invitation.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“See you in gym, then,” he said, heading out the door. Dipper furrowed his eyebrows, wondering why Thompson hated Bill so much.

“Ugh, gym,” he groaned after the door shut.

“Hmm, I can fix that,” Bill said. Dipper hadn’t noticed that he’d started paying attention again nor the fact that he was now standing by his side. “Go sit down and look pale.”

Like that’s a challenge. Dipper scoffed under his breath. He moved to one of the chairs in the waiting area and sat down, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes, listening in on Bill’s voice.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?” the receptionist said. Dipper wasn’t even aware that she’d returned to her desk.

“Dip— er, Mason has gym next class, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to go,” Bill said. He internally cringed at the use of his actual name but he knew that not every faculty member knew him by his nickname. “I think I should actually help him home. Do you think you could excuse him?”

His voice was like melting, liquid velvet and Dipper could only imagine how his eyes looked.

“Do you need to be excused, too, William?” she asked, her voice fluttering. It was almost as if she was trying to flirt with him and it grossed him out.

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“Okay, it’s all taken care of. Feel better, Mason. I’ll have someone let your sister know,” she called out.

Bill walked back over, tapping gently on Dipper’s shoulder. His eyes shot open and quickly he noticed the sarcastic expression on his face.

“Do you need me to carry you?” he asked, smirking.

“I can walk,” Dipper groaned. He pushed himself up off the chair, still hamming it up for the show, but he felt fine. Bill held open the door, his eyes mocking as he walked past and out into the cold. It had started drizzling sometime in the last hour. He actually didn’t mind — it almost felt nice, for once.

“Thanks,” he muttered as Bill followed him swiftly out the door.

“Anytime.”

“So… Are you going? On Saturday?” Dipper asked, trying to make conversation to alleviate the slight discomfort he felt. He appreciated the effort Bill made to get him out of gym, but still was greatly confused by his hot and cold behaviors.

“Where are you all going, exactly?” he asked, looking forward, expressionless.

“Lake Gravity Falls,” he answered. He looked closer at his face, trying to study the expression, but was unable to read it. Though his eyes narrowed at the mention of the lake.

“Hmm… I don’t think I was invited,” Bill smiled wryly, looking down at Dipper from the corner of his eye.

“I just invited you.”

“Maybe let’s you and I not irritate Thompson and Wendy any further this week. We don’t want them to snap.”

“Way to dance around the topic,” Dipper muttered, caught on the fact that he’d said “you and I.” He yelled at himself for feeling a type of way about it.

Entering the parking lot, Dipper started his trek to his truck — Mabel was catching rides so it was fine if he took it — but his hoodie was quickly yanked back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bill asked angrily. A fist full of navy blue fabric was balled in his hand.

“Uh… Home?” Dipper answered, confused.

“I’m sorry, did you miss the part of the conversation when I said I was taking you home? Safely? I’m not letting you drive!”

“What the fuck are you on about?” he complained, jerking away from the grasp. Bill glared at him.

“Your sister can take it home,” he said, grabbing his shoulder and dragging him towards the Volvo. Dipper stopped resisting and let himself be dragged. He figured he was going to be dragged along anyways.

“Can you let go?” he insisted but was ignored. Bill only let go once they’d reached the passenger door of the Volvo. “You are so pushy!”

“It’s open.” He got in the driver’s side.

“I am perfectly capable of driving myself home,” Dipper maintained, fuming. He could almost feel the steam coming out of his ears.

The rain started to come down harder, drenching his hat and his hair underneath. The window rolled down and Bill leaned across the seat.

“Get in, Pine Tree.”

Dipper turned his head towards his truck, trying to decide if it was worth it to run over and get in before he was caught. The chances weren’t good.

“I’ll just drag you back,” he threatened, as if he could read his mind. Though, the thought was silly, considering Dipper was aware of how obvious his intentions were.

“This is not in any way shape or form necessary,” he complained, opening the door and sliding into the passenger’s seat.

Bill didn’t answer, instead tweaking the heater’s settings and turning the music volume down. Satisfied, he turned his head and backed out of the parking lot. Dipper planned on giving him the silent treatment but his plans foiled by the recognizment of the quiet music in the background.

“Poison?” he asked, surprised.

“You know this song?” He sounded surprised, too.

“Yeah. It’s one of my favorites,” Dipper admitted, scratching the back of his neck. Bill laughed.

“Mine, too.”

The song continued, both of them staring out the windows, lost in thought. The rain was pouring now and it blurred everyone outside the window into desaturated smudges. Dipper realized that Bill was driving very fast yet the car was moving so smoothly and evenly. The town flashing by was the only thing that gave it away.

“What is your mother like?” Bill asked suddenly. He glanced over at him, seeing that he was being studied with curious eyes.

“Focus on the road,” Dipper demanded. Bill rolled his eyes but followed suit. “She looks a lot like my sister, but not quite as outgoing as Mabel. She’s kind of irresponsible but incredibly eccentric. Not to be trusted at all in the kitchen.”

“How old are you, Pine Tree?”

Dipper was confused by the sudden game of Twenty-One Questions, but answered nonetheless. The car stopped and he recognized the watercolored outline of the Shack. The rain was so heavy it drew a large, watery curtain over the building. It didn’t even look like reality anymore. It was like he was in a painting.

“I’m seventeen,” he answered.

“You don’t seem seventeen.”

Dipper laughed.

“What?” Bill asked, almost offended.

“My mom always said I was born as a middle-aged man and got more middle-aged every year,” he chuckled. “Mabel was always the actual child — and I don’t mean that in a bad way. She was just always more free-spirited than I was. Liked doing more things than I did. She always got along quite well with our mom.” He paused for a second. “I guess someone has to be the adult.”

Bill furrowed his eyebrows but continued his question game.

“So… Do you think your mother would approve you with anyone? As long as you were happy?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Would she?” he pressed. Dipper pursed his lips.

“I… I think so,” he shrugged. “I don’t see why she wouldn’t? But I mean… I don’t know. I never really thought about it. Never had a reason to.”

“Even someone scary?” he teased.

“What do you mean by scary? A serial killer? Someone with two heads? A bunch of gnomes stacked on top of each other pretending to be a man?” Dipper laughed.

“Those are options.”

“What’s your option?”

Bill ignored him and asked another question.

“Do you think I could be scary?” There was a faint trace of a smirk on his lips.

Dipper thought it over for a moment, considering the possibilities.

“I guess you could be. If you wanted to.”

“Are you scared of me now?” Suddenly, the amusement disappeared and was replaced by a serious face.

“Not really,” Dipper answered honestly.

The smirk returned.

“So what about you, then? Can I ask you several thousand questions?” Dipper prodded. “How about your parents?”

“What do you want to know?” Bill asked cautiously.

“So you were adopted.”

“Yes.”

“What happened to your birth parents?” Dipper questioned after a moment of hesitation. It was probably going too far but he thought it’d only be fair he could ask too.

“They have been dead for a long time,” he said in a matter-of-fact, nonchalant tone.

“Oh,” Dipper said, caught off guard by the casual answer. “I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it is what it is,” Bill shrugged. “Kryptos and Amorphous Shape have been my family for a very, long time.”

“And you love them.” It wasn’t a question.

“In a way, I suppose,” he said. “Family is who you choose, after all.”

“Okay… then.”

“Yep.”

“What about your brother and sister?”

Bill’s gaze flickered to the clock on the dashboard.

“8-Ball and Keyhole… and Xanthar and Pyronica, for that matter, are going to be pretty upset with me if I make them wait, standing in the rain, for my ass to bring the car back.”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Dipper apologized, not realizing the time. “I guess I should get out now.” He didn’t want to get out.

“I’m sure you want to get inside before Stanley questions you about your day.”

“Oh, I’m sure he already knows,” he groaned. “There are no secrets in Gravity Falls.”

“That’s what you think,” Bill murmured, probably not meaning for him to hear. Continuing with a normal volume, “Have fun at the lake.”

“I’m not gonna see you tomorrow?”

“No. Keyhole and I are starting the weekend early.”

“What have you got planned?” That’s something that friends ask each other, right? Dipper hoped the disappointment didn’t sound in his voice.

“Nothing much.” he answered.

“Okay… Well, have fun,” Dipper said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Bill didn’t seem fooled.

“Will you do something for me this weekend?” Bill asked, looking Dipper straight in the face. His golden eyes bore into brown ones. All he could do in response was nod.

“You seem like one of those people who attracts accidents like a magnet,” he said, pausing to snicker at Dipper’s offended expression, “so please try not to fall in the ocean or get hit by a car or eaten by a bear or literally anything.”

“Yeah, I’ll try my best,” Dipper muttered sarcastically. He jumped out into the rain and slammed the door with as much force he could muster — which was not quite enough to do anything to the Volvo.

Bill was still smiling as he drove away.

Chapter Text

Dipper sat in his room, trying to concentrate on the latest book he was reading about supernatural entities, but was mainly listening for the roar of the truck to indicate his sister was home. He could’ve sworn that even through the deafening pounding from the rain he would’ve heard it, but when he went to look outside the window, it was suddenly there. He hadn’t even heard Mabel come upstairs. Maybe she didn’t.

He wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow.

Throughout the day, there were several rumors spread about his fainting spell in biology. Wendy thought it was hilarious. Thompson didn’t say anything about it, though, and Dipper was glad that nobody had to know Bill’s involvement.

“So what did Bill Cipher want yesterday?” Wendy asked him in trig.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “He never really got to the point.”

“You looked annoyed.”

“Did I?” He kept his expression blank and voice indifferent.

“You know, I’ve never seen him sit with anyone but his family before. That was weird.”

“Weird, indeed,” Dipper agreed. She seemed annoyed. He just assumed that she didn’t get the answers she wanted and didn’t blame her — he didn’t get any answers either.

The worst part about Friday was that even though Dipper knew he wouldn’t be there, he still hoped. When he walked into the cafeteria with Wendy and Thompson, he couldn’t help but look over at his table, where 8-Ball, Pyronica, and Xanthar sat talking, heads close together. He couldn’t stop the sudden gloom that came over him as he realized that he wouldn’t know when he’d see him next.

At the usual table, everyone was in full talk of the plan for the next day. Thompson was animated, putting a concerning amount of trust in the local weatherman who promised that there’d be sun.

Dipper had to see it to believe it. There wasn’t a single day it wasn’t raining or overcast since he’d arrived. But it was warmer today — roughly sixty degrees. He considered that maybe tomorrow would be alright.

There were a few glances shot from Grenda to Dipper, which he was confused by until they’d walked out of the cafeteria together. He walked right behind her, catching on the part of the sentence that spoke his name.

“…don’t know why Dipper doesn’t just sit with the Cullens from now on.” She sneered his name.

She started muttering more jealously-fueled rage to Thompson; he was surprised by the amount of malice in it. He didn’t know her well at all — she was more Mabel’s friend than his — but he figured it wasn’t enough for her to dislike him so strongly.

“He’s my friend so he sits with us,” Thompson had whispered to her but loud enough for him to hear.

Dipper paused in his steps, letting Wendy and Candy pass him, not wanting to hear anymore.

That night at dinner, Stan was enthusiastic about the twins’ trip to Lake Gravity Falls in the morning. Stan had spent many summers leaving the kids to their own devices and occasionally felt bad about it. He’d tried to take them out on the lake for fishing but the kids were more interested in hanging out with the Shack’s handyman, Soos. Stan was a little annoyed about it but resolved that the kids weren’t into family time; at least, not after they’d landed in the county jail for embezzlement.

Stan also knew the names of all the kids going, their parents, their grandparents, and probably their great-grandparents, too. He seemed to approve. At the very least, he was glad that the twins — mostly Dipper — were getting out of the house and making friends. Dipper briefly wondered if he’d approve of his plan to go to Portland with Bill, but decided that he wasn’t going to share that detail. Mabel would ask him too many questions that he didn’t want to answer.

Saturday morning, Dipper awoke early to an unusual brightness shining through his window. He had planned to sleep in but the tiredness dulled as his disbelief for the sun grew. He ran to the window, and sure enough, there was indeed sun. He paused for a moment to take it in, concerned that the second he looked away, it would disappear.

Thompson’s dad’s store was just north of the town. Dipper had seen the store before but never stepped inside, never having a need for sports equipment or outdoorsy things. Not outside of what was already at the Shack, at least. In the parking lot, he recognized Thompson’s car and Nate’s. He pulled into a spot nearby and exited the truck, Mabel behind him. They approached the group standing on the sidewalk near a large white mini-van; Lee and Robbie were there, along with one other boy that Dipper didn’t know the name of but recognized from his classes. Wendy was there, talking with Candy and Grenda. There were three other girls as well, one of which he remembered falling over in gym the previous day. She gave him a dirty look before turning her head to whisper something to Grenda, who shook her head and eyed him with scorn.

So it’s going to be one of those days.

At least Thompson and Wendy were happy to see him.

“Hey, you came!” Wendy cheered. Thompson was right behind her.

“See, I told you it’d be sunny,” he said, delighted.

“I told you guys I was coming,” Dipper reminded them. He turned his head to look for Mabel but saw that she’d run over to Candy and Grenda to talk to them.

“We’re just waiting on Tambry and Justin… unless you invited someone,” Thompson said, ignoring the comment.

“Nope,” he lied, hoping that it sounded convincing. Deep down, he had hoped that a miracle would occur and Bill would come out of nowhere.

Wendy looked satisfied.

Soon, the last two arrived and they piled into the mini-van. Thompson was driving, Robbie riding shot-gun, and Dipper and Mabel ended up shoved in the back.

It was a short ride to Lake Gravity Falls — only fifteen minutes — with dense green forests edging the road most of the way. Dipper was staring out the window while Mabel was scribbling nonsense onto the walls. The red marker blended in with the numerous other graffiti in the van.

Dipper had been down to Lake Gravity Falls before during his summers with Grunkle Stan, so the beach had become familiar to him. With the mountains in view, past the lake, it was a breathtaking sight. The water was a dark gray, even in the sunlight, with a rocky shore.

There was a brisk, cool wind coming off the lake. Clouds were now visible in the sky’s horizon, threatening to ruin the day with a storm, but for now the sun was shining brightly in the blue sky.

Thompson pulled into one of the few empty parking spaces in the lot and everyone quickly jumped out. The group made their way down the shoreline, coming across a pile of driftwood logs that were used as bonfire fuel. Lee and Nate gathered some more wood and built it up in the shape of a teepee above the cinderblocks that were laid in a circle.

“You ever seen a driftwood fire?” Thompson asked Dipper. He was sat on one of the benches surrounding the pit while the girls were clustered and gossiping on the other side. He figured that Thompson was just trying to make conversation so he didn’t feel so left out.

“No,” he answered as Thompson pulled a cigarette lighter out of his pocket, lighting a stick ablaze. He carefully leaned the twig against the teepee.

“They’re cool,” Thompson said, lighting another branch and throwing it into the pit. “Watch the colors.”

“It’s blue,” Dipper stated in surprise.

“Yeah. The salt causes it.” He lit one more stick, watching as the fire began to pick up steam. He moved to sit on one of the other empty benches, next to Wendy. She caught his attention, roping him into the conversation she was having with Robbie and Tambry.

After half an hour of conversation, some of the boys planned to hike to nearby tidal pools. Dipper loved tidal pools; they were one of the things that had interested him as a child and looked forward to during his time in Gravity Falls. The issue was that he happened to fall into them quite often, with his lack of balance and all. It wasn’t a big deal when he was younger and with Stan (or, honestly, Mabel). It reminded him of Bill’s request — not to endanger himself.

Grenda didn’t want to hike and wasn’t wearing the correct shoes for it anyways. Most of the other girls decided to stay on the beach as well, save for Tambry and Wendy. Lee and Nate decided to stay with them as well. He waited until he saw Mabel join the hiking group before he did, too. She gave him a huge smile when she saw that he was coming. He flashed back a small smile — at least if he fell, she’d be there to save him.

The hike wasn’t too long, though Dipper was disappointed to lose view of the sky in the woods. The green hue of the forest made up for it. It felt juxtaposed, a serene scene that was filled with adolescent laughter. He had to watch each step he made carefully, avoiding the roots and branches of the trees, along with the various ferns and bushes that covered the ground. Eventually, his cautiousness caused him to fall behind. Sometime later he broke through the forest walls and found the shore with its tidal river flowing past.

Dipper was very careful not to lean too far over the small ponds whereas everyone else was fearlessly traversing through them, leaping over the rocks and perching on the edges. He found himself a stable rock to take a seat on and watched the tidal pool in front of him carefully. He was almost in a trance, watching the swirling motions, but a small part of his mind wondered what Bill was up to right now and was trying to imagine what he’d say if he was with him right now.

An hour passed and the boys decided they were hungry, so Dipper stood up to follow them back. He tried to follow more closely but tripped over a few times, cutting up the palms of his hands and tearing a whole in the knee of his jeans. Mabel had to pull him along to prevent any further accidents.

When they returned to the lake, the group left behind had grown. There were several other teenagers — ones who lived on or by the lake — sat at the benches, conversing with one another.

Food was being passed around. Lee started introducing them to the newcomers as Dipper and Candy sat down, the last names to be said. Dipper and Mabel recognized one of the younger boys sat across from them. He was pale, short, and had white hair that was stood up in a unique yet almost royal fashion. Thompson brought the twins some sandwiches and two cans of soda before sitting next to one of the new boys. That boy started naming off their new counterparts but the only thing that caught his attention was that the boy he recognized was named Gideon.

Dipper found himself relaxed sitting next to Mabel. She wasn’t questioning him or droning on about nonsense and he found himself able to eat in peace.

During their lunch, the clouds started to form in the sky, crossing past the sunlight and casting shadows onto the lake. As they finished eating, people started to drift off into their own groups of two or three. Some were by the lake, trying to skip rocks across the surface but failing miserably. Others were gathering a second trip to the tidal pools. Wendy, Robbie, and Thompson had left to make their way to a local shop, with some of the other kids with them. By the time everyone had scattered, Dipper was left alone on the bench, unmoved. Mabel, Candy, and Grenda were occupying themselves by the CD player someone had brought, along with the boy named Gideon and someone else Dipper didn’t know the name of.

A few minutes later, Mabel returned back to her spot next to Dipper, bringing Gideon with her. He looked like he was fourteen — fifteen, the most — and still had a childlike roundness left to his face; he had freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose.

“You’re Mason Pines?” Gideon asked as he approached. “Mabel’s brother?”

“Dipper,” he corrected, sighing. It was the first day of school all over again.

“I’m Gideon Gleeful.” He held his hand out in a friendly gesture. Mabel reached out to shake it eagerly. “You guys bought a truck from my dad.”

“Oh!” Mabel said. “You’re Bud’s son. We should remember you.”

“No, I’m the youngest of the family,” he shook his head. “I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

Dipper and Mabel shared a look, shrugging. They don’t recall ever meeting him but Mabel was sure they had to have at least once.

“So how do y’all like the truck?” he asked. Dipper furrowed his eyebrows at the odd southern drawl but made no comment.

“It runs great!” Mabel grinned. “Dipper’s really the only one who drives it, though.”

“Why?” Gideon prodded. “It’s not that bad. Though, it is kind of slow.”

“It’s not that slow,” Dipper objected.

“Have you tried to go over sixty?”

“No.”

“Good. Don’t.”

“It does good in a collision,” Dipper pointed out. Mabel jabbed him in the side, not wanting to remember his near-death experience.

“I don’t think a nuclear bomb could take out that old thing,” Gideon laughed. He flashed a smile at the two, though it seemed more directed at Mabel. Dipper felt discomfort at the fact that someone was flirting with his sister. More than the discomfort he felt when Pacifica had mentioned she was taking her to the dance.

“You know the Pines twins, Gideon?” Grenda asked from across the fire.

“We’ve known each other since I was born,” he laughed again, smiling again at Mabel. Dipper unintentionally started to crush the soda can in his hand.

“How nice,” she grumbled.

She didn’t sound like she thought it was nice. Her eyes narrowed.

“So Dipper,” she called out, watching his face carefully. “I was just saying to Nate that it was too bad none of the Ciphers could come out today. Didn’t anyone think to invite them?”

Her expression of concern was not convincing.

“You mean Dr. Kryptos’ family?” one of the taller, older boys asked before he could respond. He seems like more of a man than a boy.

“Yes, do you know them?” she asked condescendingly, redirecting her attention to him.

“The Ciphers don’t come here,” he said in a tone that was final, ending the conversation.

Nate distracted her by asking her opinion on the CD held in his hand. She dropped the conversation.

Dipper stared at the deep-voiced man, confused and taken aback by the firmness in his tone. The man’s head was turned away and paying attention to something else. He said that the Ciphers didn’t come there but Dipper felt like his tone implied something else — that they weren’t allowed to. The man’s manner left a strange impression on him and he tried to ignore it but couldn’t shake it. Mabel seemed to notice, raising her eyebrow at him, but dropped it when realizing he wasn’t interested in talking about it.

“So is Gravity Falls driving y’all fellers insane yet?” Gideon asked, breaking Dipper’s flow of thoughts.

“Oh, I’d say that’s an understatement,” Dipper grunted. Mabel gave him another weird look before gushing about the fun times she’s had since they’d arrived. Gideon looked engrossed by the conversation, which he was fine with, and found himself lost in his thoughts again.

Dipper shoved his hands in his pockets, tuning in and out of the conversation his sister and Gideon were sharing.

“So, how old are you, Gideon? Sixteen?” she asked him.

“I just turned fifteen,” he admitted, his pale cheeks growing rosy.

“Huh,” she hummed. “You’re kind of short.”

“Heh, yeah…” he grimaced, scratching the back of his head. “I make up for it with my hair, I guess.”

“Do you come out to town often?” she asked.

“No, not too much,” he frowned. “Maybe when I get my license I can come and visit you!”

Dipper’s eyes shot up to glare at him.

“Er— and your brother!” Gideon added quickly. Sweat was beading on his forehead.

“Who was that other boy that Grenda was talking to? He looks a little old to be hanging out with us,” Mabel asked.

“That’s Marius — he’s nineteen.”

“What was that he was saying about the doctor’s family?” Dipper asked, cutting into the conversation. He hoped he sounded innocent enough.

“The Ciphers?” Gideon asked, looking away from Dipper’s hardened gaze. “They’re not really supposed to come out onto the lake.”

“Why not?”

“Oops,” he said, pursing his lip before biting it. “I’m not really supposed to say anything about that.”

“I’m just curious,” Dipper shrugged. “I don’t really have anybody to tell, anyways.”

“Yeah, tell us!” Mabel grinned.

Gideon smiled back, looking allured, before lifting an eyebrow.

“Do y’all like scary stories?” he asked ominously.

“Yes!” Mabel yelled. Dipper shrugged once more, waiting for him to get to the point.

Gideon strolled to the bench next to the twins, sitting down, a smile hovering on the edges of his lips.

“Do you know any of the old stories in the Bible about Lucifer and how he was once an angel?”

“Kind of,” Dipper answered. Mabel shook her head no. They’d both been raised nonreligious and neither of them particularly had an interest in them. Sure, he’d heard of some of the stories about angels and demons but they seemed more like old folklore than anything that was amounted to anything. He’d taken some interest in demons in high school but didn’t know much about them outside of the fact that the seven deadly sins supposedly were actual demonic figures in Hell. He’d heard of the accusation that Lucifer was a fallen angel but never took it to heart.

“Legend has it that Heaven was ruled by angels, one of which was Lucifer,” Gideon started. “Lucifer had a lot of idealistic, creative ideas, including that of free will. The elders of Heaven created the universe, as well as Earth, with the intention of being good. Of course, we know the first two humans on Earth were Adam and Eve. Lucifer wanted to give them and humanity the gift of free will but had unintended consequences. It invited the bad and evil into the world, creating Hell. He was cast out of Heaven and into the depths of the underworld.”

“The underworld?” Mabel interrupted.

“Hell,” Gideon clarified.

He had Dipper’s attention now.

“In Hell, Lucifer ruled,” he said. “The creation of the Seven Deadly Sins occurred, with legend stating that each of them was a demon, to rule alongside him. Lucifer is the sin of pride, Mammon the sin of greed, Asmodeus the sin of lust, Leviathan the sin of envy, Beelzebub the sin of gluttony, Satan the sin of wrath, and Belphegor the sin of sloth.”

“What’s this have to do with the Ciphers?” Dipper asked.

“There are stories of demons procreating, creating subclasses of demons, along with the hierarchy of Hell,” he explained. “There are dream demons — which fall under chaos monsters — underworld deities, like Hades, tricksters, like Loki, occultists like the Goetia, and probably more that we don’t even know about.”

“...and?”

“They say that demons are able to possess any living soul; they can make deals with them, too. Some have rumored for them to have the ability to appear humanlike, though no one has ever seen a demon in a human form,” he continued. “Those in Heaven are said to have the same power — to appear on Earth in a human form. There are stories of those from Heaven coming down the mortal realm to help the living — cherubs. Human souls aren’t able to return to our dimension once they pass, though. Only those Heaven- or Hell-born are able to travel between them. It’s supposed in legend that my great-grandfather knew of humanlike demons and was the one who asked them stay away from the lake.”

“Your great-grandfather?” Mabel asked, wide-eyed. Gideon nodded.

“The stories say that he was one of the elders of Heaven who travelled to the Earth before meeting a human and falling in love with her; he opted to revoke his duties and stay on Earth with her. He lost his immortality and angelic powers.”

“Why couldn’t he bring her to Heaven?”

“I’m not really sure about that,” Gideon shrugged. “All I know is that he didn’t want to live without her and chose to give up immortality because for whatever reason she wasn’t able to gain it. Ironically, my great-grandfather was named Adam.”

“Funny,” Dipper hummed, though he wasn’t really amused by it. Coincidences happened often and combined with legends, it was bound to be one.

“Anyways… My great-grandfather told the demons that if they’d stayed away from him and his family, he wouldn’t reveal their existence to the humans. The demons argued that they weren’t out for blood. They were of the chaos type and that all they wanted was to live in peace, doing their jobs of messing with dreams. They said they weren’t harming the fabric of reality.”

“If they weren’t dangerous to humans, then why…?” Dipper was failing to grasp the issue, as well as struggling to show that he wasn’t taking the ghost story seriously.

“There’s always a risk for humans to be around demons,” Gideon said as if it was obvious. “They’re demons. But they said they were a civilized clan, and my great-grandfather believed them as he always saw the good in everyone. I guess it would be hard for an angel not to.”

“How does this fit in with the Cipher family?” Dipper questioned. “Are they like the demons your great-grandfather met?”

“No,” he shook his head, pausing dramatically. “They are the same ones.”

Mabel looked fearful. Gideon looked proud, having scared her. Dipper wasn’t so convinced.

“In my great-grandfather’s time, he’d already met Kryptos,” he continued, fighting a smile. “He’d been here and gone before your people had even arrived.”

“So what are they, then?” Dipper prodded. “What kind of demon are they?”

“Dream demons,” Gideon answered with a chilling voice. He twisted his fingers in the air as if he was trying to create suspense. “They come from the chaos gods.”

Mabel moved her gaze to the rough movements of the water against the shore.

“You have goosebumps,” Gideon laughed delightedly, watching Mabel wistfully. Dipper was unfazed by the story, simply figuring he just had more research to do. He supposed it could be plausible.

“You’re a good story teller!” Mabel yelled, complimenting the white-haired boy.

“Pretty crazy stuff, though, no?” he chuckled. “No wonder we’re not supposed to talk about it. Doesn’t sound real at all.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep the secret,” Mabel smiled.

“Yeah, sure,” Dipper said. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

“Seriously, though. Don’t say anything to Stanley. He’ll probably use it for some attraction at the gift shop.”

“We won’t!” Mabel moved over fingers over her mouth, as if she was zipping it up, then flicking her fingers as if she was throwing away the key.

The sound of the rocks clattering against each other on the store broke the conversation. Dipper’s head snapped up to see Wendy and Thompson about fifty yards away, walking towards them.

“There you are, Dipper!” Wendy called in relief, waving her arm over her head. Thompson waved as well.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Gideon asked. Dipper’s eyes widened.

“No,” he answered, feeling his cheeks flushed. He never really thought about Wendy in that way. He found her attractive but that was about it.

“So when I get my license…” he trailed off, eyes darting between the twins.

“You should come visit us in town!” Mabel cheered. “We could hang out sometime.”

Dipper would have to point out Gideon’s obvious crush to her when they got home.

Wendy and Thompson had reached them and Dipper could see Robbie following them, a few steps back.

“Where have you been?” Thompson asked, even though the answer was obvious.

“Gideon was telling us some spooky stories,” Mabel answered for him.

“Well, we’re packing up,” Wendy said. “Looks like it’s going to rain soon.”

Dipper looked up at the sky. It certainly did look like rain.

“Okay, we’re coming.” The twins jumped up from the bench.

“It was nice to see you—” Gideon paused before receiving another glare from Dipper, “both of you.”

“It really was,” Mabel smiled.

“Yeah, uh, thanks for the story,” Dipper added awkwardly.

He pulled his hood up over his head as a few drops began to fall from the sky. When they reached the mini-van, the others were already finishing loading everything back up. Him and Mabel crawled to the backseat once more, Robbie taking his shot-gun spot and Thompson in the driver’s seat. Candy and Nate were sat in the middle row, Grenda between them in the middle seat. Wendy sat on the console in the front and Lee was sat in the trunk.

Dipper returned his focus to out the window, trying very hard not to think.

Chapter Text

Dipper told Stan and Mabel that he had a lot of homework to do and that he didn’t want anything to eat. Stan had no questions but Mabel certainly did. After pestering him for a few minutes before realizing she wasn’t going to get an answer, she left him alone and went to make dinner on her own.

There was a new episode of Duck-tective that Stan was excited a bout, which may have been the reason that he didn’t care to notice the unusual tone. Mabel was into the show as well, and gave up rather quickly because she didn’t want to miss the episode. She could always ask Dipper about it later, anyways.

Once he was in his room, he locked the door. He dug around his desk, finding a pair of old headphones, and plugged them into a small, portable mp3 player. He scrolled through his various playlists, not having updated them in quite some time. Eventually, he settled on one that he knew was the one. He pressed play, turning on the shuffle feature, and laid back down on his bed. Closing his eyes as the music started to play, the beginning song was apt. He shifted the volume up until it started to hurt his ears. He closed his eyes, focusing on the music.

He focused on the lyrics, the pattern to the guitars and the drums, concentrated on the meaning of the songs. By the third time the playlist ran through, he was sure that he knew every song by heart. He listened to the playlist again and again until he was humming along to the songs and until he finally fell asleep.

-x-

Dipper’s eyes opened to a familiar place. Aware in some distant space of his consciousness that he was dreaming, he recognized the greenness of the dense forest. He could hear waves crashing against a rocky shore and decided that if he found the water source, he could find the sun. He moved to follow the sound but was stopped by someone tugging on his hand, pulling him back into the darkest part of the forest. It was Mabel.

“Mabel?” he asked, noticing her expression was full of fear as she continued to yank him into the blackness. He didn’t want to go into the dark. “What’s wrong?”

“Run, Dipper, you have to run!” she whispered, petrified.

“This way, Dipper!” He recognized Wendy’s voice calling out of the glum trees but he couldn’t see her.

“Why?” he asked, pulling against Mabel’s grasp, desperate to find the sky.

Mabel let go of his hand and yelped, suddenly shaking and falling to the dim forest floor. She twitched on the ground as he watched in horror.

“Mabel!” Dipper screamed. But she was gone. In her place was a holy figure, a bright beam of white light in the silhouette of a human but with wings. He couldn’t tell if it was facing him or not, as there was nothing but the outline of the shape. Pale yellow flames began to engulf the silhouette.

“Dipper, run!” Wendy cried out from behind him but was still unseen. He didn’t turn, his gaze caught on the white light. A bright red light walked through the trees, coming toward him from the shore.

Bill Cipher stepped out of the trees, engulfed in the red hue with pale blue flames engulfing his body. His eyes were black and dangerous. He held up one hand, gesturing Dipper to come closer. The holy figure’s flames grew in protest.

Dipper took a step forward, heading towards Bill. He smiled with his sharp, pointy teeth flashing.

“Trust me,” Bill whispered in almost a cat-like purr.

Dipper took another step.

The holy figure launched itself across the clearing between him and the bright red of the demon, a spear appearing out of nowhere in the angel’s hands.

“No!” Dipper screamed, wrenching upright out and off his bed.

His sudden movements caused the headphones to pull the mp3 player off the side of the bed and it clattered onto the wooden floor.

The light was still on and he was sitting fully dressed on his bed. He glanced, disoriented, to the clock on his nightstand. It was five-thirty in the morning.

He groaned, fell back on the bed, and rolled over onto his face. But he was too uncomfortable to get anywhere near sleep. He rolled back over and unbuttoned his jeans, awkwardly peeling them off his legs as he tried to stay horizontal. His hat was still on his head and it slid around as he moved. Annoyed, he ripped it off and threw it somewhere on the floor. He pulled the pillow back of his eyes.

It was all of no use, though. His subconscious had pulled up the exact images he’d been trying with all of his might to avoid. But he supposed he’d have to face them now.

He sat up, head dizzy for a moment as the blood flowed downward. First things first, he thought to himself as he tried to put it off as long as possible, shower.

The shower didn’t last nearly as long as he had hoped it would. Even with taking the time to scrub everything twice and blow-dry his hair with Mabel’s hairdryer, he was soon out of things to do in the bathroom. He hoped that he wasn’t waking anyone up with his antics. Wrapped in a towel, he exited the bathroom and back to his room. He looked out the window and saw that Stan’s car was gone; he had gone fishing.

Dipper dressed slowly in a pair of grey sweatpants and made his bed, something he never did. He supposed he couldn’t put it off any longer and went to his desk, switching on the old computer.

He wasn’t a fan of using the Internet here. Stan still used an outdated modem with whatever Internet service provider was still offering lackluster free service. The process of turning on the computer and getting it to connect took so long that he went to get himself a bowl of cereal while he waited.

He ate slowly — as he had with everything else he’d done that morning — and chewed each bite with care. When he was done, he washed the bowl and spoon, dried them, and put them away. Mabel would’ve been upset had he left them in the sink. His feet dragged as he climbed the stairs. He went to his mp3 player first, picking it up off the floor and putting it in the center of the table. He pulled out the headphones, putting them in the desk drawer he’d found them in, and turned the mp3 player back on, turning the volume down to where it was meaningless white noise.

With another sigh, he turned to his computer. He sat down in the folding chair at his desk and opened the Internet browser. He inserted the link for a search engine and waiting for it to load. Clicking on the search bar, he moved to his keyboard and typed in one word.

Demon.

It took him an infuriatingly long time to sift through the results — everything from movies and TV shows to role-playing games, underground metal, and halloween costumes.

Eventually, he came across a promising site — Dummy’s Guide to Demons. He waited impatiently for it to load, clicking each ad that opened closed. It finally loaded — a simple, parchment colored background with thick black text. It almost looked like a digital version of the Bible. There were three quotes that greeted him on the home page:

A demon is a malevolent supernatural entity. Historically, belief in demons occurs in folklore, mythology, religion, and literature; these beliefs are reflected in media including comics, fiction, film, television, and video games. Belief in demons goes back to the Paleolithic age, supposedly, stemming from humanity’s fear of the unknown, the strange, and the horrific.

Demons may or may not also be considered to be devils: minions of The Devil. In many traditions, demons are independent operators, with different demons causing d different types of evils. As lesser spirits doing the Devil’s work, they have additional duties — causing humans to have sinful thoughts and tempting humans to commit sinful actions.

Belief in demons remains an important part of many modern religions and occult traditions. Demons are still largely feared due to their alleged power to possess living creatures.

The rest of the site had several articles about the different types of demons, thoughts of demons held by different religions, and any applicable myths, in an alphabetized listing. The first that Dipper clicked on was titled Classification of Demons. Most of the information in the article was stuff he already knew, thanks to the conversation he had with Gideon.

The article talked more in-depth about five of the types of demons that Gideon had told him about: fallen angels, chaos monsters, underworld deities, natural evils, tricksters. It also spoke of those Gideon hadn’t mentioned, such as Hellhounds, Imps, Succubi, and more.

At the end of the article, listed were different demons that were the most common among each religion and geographical location. The first one that Dipper clicked on was about the demon referred to as Alastor. Alastor was a tormenting spirit. It was written by Percy Bysshe Shelly that if one was always searching for an ideal love, the world would be their tormentor, and they will die a lonely death. Alastor was known as the executioner and the spirit of solitude.

Jesus Christ, Dipper thought to himself, but continued opening various links and before he knew it, he had over twenty tabs open. The next one he read was about Asmodeus, one of the most notorious demons in the history of demonology. Often seen as a monstrous creature with three heads, a serpent tail, webbed feet, and fiery breath, he is associated with the sins of lust and wrath, as well as destruction and temptation. The rest of the article detailed the appearance of Asmodeus in several different religious texts.

Next was Beelzebub, who was known as the “prince of demons,” and the “lord of flies.” In the Testament of Solomon, he was known as one of the fallen angels who destroys by the means of tyrants, causes demons to be worshiped, arouses desires in priests, brings about jealousies and murders, and instigates wars. Several other texts called him the most powerful after Satan.

He briefly read about Belphegor, but was uninterested in the small bits of information the website had to provide about the supposed sin of sloth.

He skimmed the article about Cerberus, a three-headed hellhound that guarded the entrance to the underworld, where Hades reigned. In Dante’s Inferno, it was written that Cerberus tormented the souls of the Third Circle of Hell, where the gluttonous resided.

An article about Incubi/Succubi was next, detailing how these demons were angels who fell from Heaven because of their lust. Their beings appear to women and men (respectively) often in the form of a sexual dream or nightmare. Dipper shuddered at the thought before quickly closing the tab and moving on to the next one.

Leviathan was the next tab to open but he found himself uninterested once more. None of this seemingly had to do with Bill.

There was another article about Lilith, who the Hebrews believed to be Adam’s first wife before Eve. He continued clicking through the tabs, skimming over the articles for Mammon, Lucifer, and Satan.

Beginning to grow uninspired, Dipper was about to give up and turn off the computer before he came across an article for Mares — also known as Night-Mares, or Dream Demons. This is what he had been looking for.

The article began with a series of definitions and translations; the most notable to him was how in High German, the demon who causes bad dreams is most often referred to as an Alp, and how a mare-induced bad dream was called a nightmare. He continued reading:

The alp is a demonic being which presses upon sleeping people so that they cannot utter a sound. These attacks are called nightmares. It is also believed that the alp crushes animals to death. In German mythology, a nightmare can be prevented by crossing one’s arms and legs before falling asleep. It is also said that some pine trees—

“Sonnva bitch, pine trees?” Dipper groaned. He sighed before continuing reading.

…some pine trees have twigs that grow together in curls until they look almost like nests. During a rain storm, one must be careful to not stand beneath such a twig, because if rain drops fall on a person from such a nest, the dream demon will surely sit on him at night.

He clicked through the article, finding another nested link that lead to information about something called the Nightmare Realm.

The Nightmare Realm, also known as Dimension 0, is a seething and intergalactic foam between dimensions. Dream demons are known to reside here. There is a lack of constant physics, creating pure chaos, of which chaos monsters thrive in.

Attached to the article was a painting, the caption stating that it was what was believed the dimension looked like. It was surreal and unstable, with swirling shades of dark purple, red, and yellow, almost like a lava lamp, with pictures of asteroids littered across the canvas.

“Yeah, right,” Dipper muttered. Sure, some of it was believable, but the picture broke any sense of suspended beliefs he held. There was nothing that spoke of the ability — or desire — to give up one’s immortality, like how Gideon spoke in his story. Nothing that spoke of good demons, either. Though, it seemed silly to him now that he thought about it. How could a demon be good when they were inherently evil?

Aggravated, he snapped off the computer’s main power switch, not bothering to shut it down properly. Breaking through his irritation, he felt overwhelming embarrassment. It was all so stupid. He was in his room, spending the day alone, researching demons and angels. What was wrong with me? He decided most of the blame belonged to Gravity Falls. Or the entire Pacific Northwest, for that matter.

Dipper felt the intense need to get out of the house but was unsure of where to go. Bill was right — the truck probably wouldn’t make it to Portland. Not to mention, he didn’t want to take it without letting Mabel know, and it was still early in the morning. He also didn’t want to be bombarded with a game of twenty-one questions about what he was doing up so early, what was his deal with Bill, and why was he looking so anxious, by Mabel.

He shoved his feet into his boots anyway and shrugged on a hoodie, not bothering to check the weather. He made his way down the stairs, trying to be quiet, and briskly left the house through the back door.

It was overcast but not raining. Yet. He ignored the truck and started across the yard, heading into the ever-encroaching forest. It didn’t take long until he was deep enough in the trees for the view of the Shack and the main road to disappear. The only sound audible was the squishing of the damp soil underneath his feet and the random squawks of the crows.

There was a thin, barely visible, path of a trail that led through the forest. Dipper almost didn’t notice it himself; once he noticed it, he decided it would be best to stick to the path. He didn’t want to get lost wandering on his own in the unknown. His sense of direction was hopeless and could easily get lost when there were more helpful surroundings. The trail lead deeper and deeper into the forest, snaking across various bushes, trees, and ferns. Most of the trees that surrounded him were pine. How ironic.

He continued down the trail, his anger fueling him. As he began to calm down, his steps began to slow. A few droplets of water fell from the branches above him and he wasn’t sure if it had started to rain or if it was leftover from before.

There was a recently fallen tree — Dipper only knew because it wasn’t yet completely covered in moss — rested against the trunk of another. It created a natural bench a few feet from the trail. He made his way over, trudging through the greenery, before sitting down and leaning his hooded head back against the stood-tall tree.

This was the wrong place to have come. I should have known but where else was there to go? The forest was a deep sage and far too much like the scene in his dream to allow him any peace of mind. Without the sound of his soggy footsteps, the silence was deafening. The birds were even quiet and the droplets were increasing in their frequency. Bushes stood higher than his head and now that he was seated, someone could walk by on the path, a yard away, and not see him.

Here in the trees, it was much easier for him to believe the nonsense that plagued his embarrassment in the Shack. Nothing had changed in the forest for probably thousands of years, and all of the myths and legends and stories of a hundred different lands seemed more likely in the foggy haze than in his bedroom.

He had to focus on the two most vital questions, though forcefully. He had to answer them but he did so unwillingly.

Was what Gideon had told him about the Ciphers even possibly true?

Immediately, his mind was responding with a negative feeling. It was silly and morbid to entertain such stories. But then what? There was no rational explanation for how he was alive at that moment. He listed the things he’d observed and come to know: the impossible speed and strength, almost knowing what he was thinking at all times, the eye colors shifting from black to gold — and he could’ve sworn he’d seen red in them — and the inhuman beauty, and the pale and incredibly warm skin. The smaller things seemed to only now register in his head: they never seemed to eat, the disturbing grace in which they moved. The way he sometimes spoke, with unfamiliar cadences and phrases that better fit the style of someone who had lived for decades, maybe centuries, before him, rather than that of someone in a twenty-first century classroom. He had skipped class the day they’d done blood typing — what did that mean? Did he want to drink the blood like a vampire? Did demons eat humans? He hadn’t said no to the weekend outing until he’d heard where they were going. He told Dipper he was the villain and dangerous.

Could the Ciphers be demons?

Well, they were something. Something outside the possibility of rational justification. It could’ve been Gideon’s angels and demons or one of Dipper’s own theories but there was one thing he knew for certain: Bill Cipher was not human.

So then… Maybe. That would have to be his answer for now.

And then the most important question of all: what was Dipper going to do if it was true?

If Bill was a demon — he could barely think of the words — then what should he do? Involving someone else, especially his sister, was definitely out. He could barely believe himself. Anyone else would have him committed. And if it was true, he didn’t want Mabel involved. This was something he had to figure out on his own.

Only two options seemed practical: take his advice, be smart and avoid him as much as possible. To cancel their plans, go back to ignoring him as much as he was able. To pretend there was a bulletproof glass wall between them in the one class they shared. Together. To tell him to to leave him alone — and mean it.

Dipper felt a tightening in his chest, a sudden agony of despair, as he considered that alternative. He quickly rejected the idea and moved to the next option.

He could do nothing different. If he was something so sinister, he’d done nothing to hurt him so far. In fact, he would be a dent in Nate’s van if he hadn’t acted so quickly. Or at all.

So quickly, Dipper argued, that maybe it was only a sheer reflex. But if it was a reflex to save lives, then how bad could he be? His head spun in answerless circles.

There was one thing he was sure of, if he was confident about anything. The blinding red Bill in his dream was a reflection only of the fear that Gideon had spoken and not Bill himself. It wasn’t the fear of the sight of angels and demons that startled him and had him screaming out in terror; it was the fear that Bill would be harmed, even if he called to him with sharp, dangerous teeth. He feared for him.

And he knew that he had his answer. If there was ever a choice. He was already in too deep. Now that he knew — if he knew — he could do nothing about his secret. When he thought about him: his voice, his glowing eyes, the charisma of his personality… He wanted nothing more than to be with him right now.

Even if… Dipper couldn’t think it. Not here, not alone in the forest. Not while the rain made the daylight dim under the canopy of pine trees. He shivered and rose quickly from his place on the make-shift bench, hoping the path didn’t disappear from the rain.

It was still there, safe and clear, winding its way out of the sameness of the rest of the forest. He followed it hastily, his hood pulled close around his face. He was surprise at how far he really had gone, nearly running through the trees. He almost wondered if he was just landing himself as lost when the glimpse of the Shack came into view through the rain drops and woven branches. Eventually, he heard a car passing on the main road, and he came out of the confines of the forest and into the lawn of the Shack.

It was slightly past noon when he got back inside. He went upstairs and got dressed for the day, planning on staying indoors. Mabel wasn’t home — she’d probably gone out with her friends. It didn’t take too much effort for him to concentrate on his task of the day: a paper for English that was due on Wednesday. He settled into outlining a rough draft and suddenly felt more serene than he’d felt since… Thursday afternoon, if he was being honest.

That had always been how he’d been; making decisions was painful for him, the part he dwelled over. But once the decision was made, he simply followed through — usually with the relief that the choice was already made. Sometimes the relief was tainted with despair. But it was still better than wrestling with alternatives.

This decision was incredibly easy for him to live with. Almost dangerously easy.

And so the day was quiet and productive. His paper was finished before eight. Stan had come home with a huge catch and Dipper made a mental note to pick up a book of fish recipes for Mabel while he was in Portland next week. The chills that flashed up his spine whenever he thought of that trip were no different than the ones he’d felt before he had his conversation with Gideon Gleeful. They should be different, he thought. I should be afraid. He knew he should be but couldn’t feel the right kind of fear.

He slept dreamlessly that night, exhausted from being awake so early and sleeping so poorly the night before. He woke up to sunlight through his window, the second time since he’d arrived in Gravity Falls. He stared out the window in disbelief; there was hardly a cloud in the sky and those that were there were simple little white puffs that couldn’t have had any rain. He lifted the stained glass window — surprised at how easy it opened considering it had to have been years since it had been — and breathed in relatively dry air. It was almost warm and there was barely any wind. Dipper felt satisfied.

Mabel was finishing breakfast when he came downstairs, Stan sitting at the table reading a newspaper. He picked up on his mood quickly.

“Nice day out,” Stan commented.

“Yes,” Dipper agreed with a smile. Stan grinned back and looked like less of the grouchy old man the town knew him to be. He wondered if it was all the time he’d been spending with Mabel. He knew it wasn’t him because he’d all but locked himself in his room nearly the entirety of their stay.

Mabel and him ate breakfast cheerily while Stan called out a goodbye as he left to open the gift shop. Dipper hesitated on his way out, unsure if he needed his jacket or not. He didn’t want to tempt fate, so he brought it along anyways. Stepping outside was the brightest light he’d seen since he was in Piedmont.

Mabel struggled to roll down the passenger side window as Dipper drove them to school. They ended up one of the first ones there; he hadn’t even checked the time in his hurry to get outside. He parked and headed toward one of the picnic benches on the south side of the cafeteria while Mabel skipped towards her group of friends. While his homework was finished, there were some trigonometry questions he was unsure of. He sat down and pulled his book out, planning to go through the questions, but halfway through rechecking the first one, he was daydreaming. He doodled along the margins of his homework. A few minutes passed and he realized he’d drawn five pairs of dark eyes staring out of the page at him. He quickly scrubbed them out of existence with the eraser.

“Dipper!” he heard someone call and it sounded like Thompson.

His head swung around and he realized that the school had become populated while he’d been sitting there, absentminded. Everyone was in t-shirts and some wore shorts, even though the temperature couldn’t be over sixty. Thompson was coming straight towards him, wearing cargo shorts and a baseball shirt, waving.

“Hey, Thompson,” he called, waving back. It was hard for him to be pessimistic on a day like this.

Thompson came over and sat next to him, his hair shining in the light. He was grinning widely.

“I never noticed before — your hair has bits of red in it,” he commented.

“Only in the sun,” Dipper said.

“Great day, isn’t it?”

“My kind of day.”

“So what did you do yesterday?”

“Mostly worked on my essay.” He didn’t want to add that he’d finished it. He didn’t need to be known as a teacher’s pet plus the new kid. There was only so many titles he could take on at once, none of which he wanted.

“Oh, yeah!” Thompson said, hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand. “That’s due… Thursday, right?”

“Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?” he frowned. “That’s… not good. What are you writing yours on?”

“Whether Shakespeare’s treatment of the female characters in Macbeth is misogynistic.”

Thompson stared at him like he’d just spoken in a foreign language.

“I guess I’ll have to get to work on that tonight,” he said, deflated. “I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out.”

“Oh,” Dipper responded, taken off guard.

“Well, I could work on it later,” he smiled hopefully. “I was going to see if you wanted to come with the group to the diner later.”

“Thompson… I’m, I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

“Why?” His face fell. Dipper’s thoughts flickered to Bill.

“I just… I’m not really a people person?” he said in more of a question than a statement. “Maybe another time.”

“Oh, sure,” Thompson sighed. Dipper could tell that he was just looking for friends to spend time with, but he already had plenty. Dipper didn’t really need to be part of it.

“It’s time for class and I can’t be late again,” Dipper said, using the moment for his escape. He gathered his books and stuffed them back into his bag.

They walked in silence to building three, Thompson’s expression distracted.

When he saw Wendy in trig, she was elated and full of enthusiasm. She, Candy, and Grenda were going to one of the nearby towns  to go dress shopping for the dance and wanted him to come for support. She figured that since he wasn’t anyones date, he could give them opinions on their outfits. He was indecisive. On the one hand, it would be nice to get out of town… even if it included Grenda. And who knew what else he could be doing that night. But he didn’t want his mind to wander down that path. Eventually, he told her maybe, telling her he’d have to talk with his sister and Stan.

Wendy talked nothing but of the dance on the way to Spanish, continuing as if without an interruption when class had ended five minutes late, and on the way to lunch. Dipper was far too lost in his own frenzy of thoughts to comprehend what she had said.

He was painfully eager not to just see him, but all of the Ciphers — to compare them with the new suspicions that plagued his mind. As they crossed into the threshold of the cafeteria, he felt the first true tingle of terror slither d own his spine and settle in the pit of his stomach. Would they know what he was thinking? He was sure of it. And then a different feeling ran through his veins — would Bill want to sit with him again?

As per his routine, he glanced towards the Ciphers’ table, a shiver of panic trembling through his stomach as he realized it was empty. The place was nearly filled — Spanish had made them late — but there was no sign of Bill or any of his family.

Dipper dragged his feet along behind Wendy, not even bothering to pretend to listen anymore.

Everyone was already at their table. He sat down next to Candy and Wendy took her seat next to Robbie, who had held the chair out politely for her and her face lit up in response.

Candy asked a few quiet questions about the English paper, which he answered as naturally as he could while spiraling downward in misery. She, too, invited him to go out with her, Wendy, and Grenda tonight. He sighed, agreeing, grasping at anything to distract himself.

He realized he’d been holding on to a last shred of hope when he entered biology, saw his empty seat, and felt a new wave of disappointment.

The rest of the day passed slowly and dismally. In gym, he had a lecture on the rules of badminton, the next game of torture lined up for him. He appreciated that at least, for today, he got to sit down and listen instead of stumbling around like an idiot across the court. The best part was that the coach didn’t finish, so he had another ‘free’ day tomorrow.

He was glad to leave campus and be on his lonesome in the truck. Mabel had texted him that she was going dress shopping with Pacifica. He was free to pout and mope before he had to leave the house later that night. But after entering the Shack, Wendy called him to cancel their plans. Robbie had asked her out to dinner. Why he couldn’t take her another night, he had no idea, but tried to sound happy for her. She rescheduled their trip for tomorrow night.

It left him with little option for distractions. He had finished marinating the fish they were going to have for dinner. There was a salad and bread left over from the night before, so he had little to take care of — which eased Mabel’s concerns about letting him fend for himself in the kitchen.

He spent the next half hour on homework but finished it quickly. He relented and checked his e-mail, reading the backlog of messages from his mother, which got more and more irritated as they progressed to the present. Dipper sighed and typed a quick response.

Hi Mom, sorry. I’ve been out. I went to the lake with some friends and I had to write a paper.

His excuses were fairly pathetic so he stopped while he was in his tracks.

It’s sunny outside today, so I’m going to go outside and get some vitamin D before I get vitamin deficiency. Love you, Dipper.

He decided to kill an hour with non-school-related reading. He had a small collection of books that he’d brought with him to Gravity Falls. He browsed through the novels, selecting a mystery book about a caper. He headed outside and sat on the back porch, laying comfortably on the old, ragged couch.

Chapter Text

Wendy drove faster than the Chief, so the group made it to Portland by four. It had been a while since Dipper had a night out with friends, and while he was used to being around girls more than boys — thanks to Mabel’s extrovert nature — the estrogen was almost overwhelming. They listened to whiny rock songs while Wendy jabbered on about the boys they hung out with. Wendy’s dinner with Robbie had gone very well and she was hoping that by Saturday night they would have progressed to the first-kiss stage. Dipper smiled to himself, pleased. Candy was passively happy to be going to the dance, but not really interested in Lee. Wendy tried to get her to confess who her type was, but Dipper interrupted with a question about dresses after a bit, to spare her. Candy threw a grateful glance his way.

Portland was a beautiful little — well, not so little — tourist trap, much more polished and quaint than Gravity Falls. But Wendy, Candy, and Grenda knew it well, so they didn’t waste time on the picturesque boardwalk by the bay. Wendy drove straight to one of the big department stores in town, which was a few streets in from the bay area’s visitor-friendly face.

The dance was billed as semiformal, and the group wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. The three girls seemed surprise and almost disbelieving when Dipper told them he’d never been to a dance in Piedmont.

“Didn’t you ever go with a girlfriend or something?” Wendy asked dubiously as the four of them walked through the front doors of the store.

“Really,” Dipper tried to convince her, not wanting to confess his ineptitude for dancing. “I’ve never had a girlfriend or anything close. Mabel, on the other hand, has a new boyfriend every week.”

“Why not?” Wendy demanded.

“No one asked me,” Dipper answered honestly.

She looked skeptical. “People ask you out here,” she accused him, “and you tell them no.” They were in the juniors’ section now, scanning the racks for dress-up clothes.

“Well, except for Nate,” Candy pointed out quietly.

“Excuse me?” Dipper gasped, looking at her with wide eyes. “What did you say?”

“Nate told everyone he’s taking you to prom,” Grenda informed him with suspicious eyes.

“He said what?” Dipper sounded like he was choking.

“I told you it wasn’t true,” Candy murmured.

Dipper was silent, still lost in shock that was quickly turning to irritation. But they had found the dress racks, and the girls now had work to do.

“That’s why Laurie doesn’t like you,” Wendy giggled while they pawed through the clothes. Dipper just hung back awkwardly, waiting for them to question him on their dress choices.

“Do you think that if I ran him over with my truck, he would stop feeling guilty about the accident? That he might stop bothering me and call it even?”

“Maybe,” Wendy snickered. “If that’s why he’s doing this.”

The dress selection wasn’t large, but the three girls had found a few things to try on. Dipper sat on a low chair just inside the dressing room, by a three-way mirror, trying to control his annoyance.

Wendy was torn between two — one a long, strapless, basic black dress, and the other a knee-length electric blue with spaghetti straps. Dipper encouraged her to go with the blue; why not play up the eyes? Candy chose a pale pink dress that draped around her stature nicely and brought out the honey tints in her dark black hair. Grenda chose a matching one. Dipper complimented the three of them generously, hoping he wasn’t laying it out too thick and being weird about it, and helped them return the rejects to the rack. The whole process was much shorter and easier than similar trips he’d taken with Mabel at home.

They headed over to the shoes and accessories. While they tried things on, Dipper merely watched and critiqued. It’s not like he was going to wear a dress or high heels. The girls’-night high was wearing off, leaving room for the gloom to move back in.

“Candy?” Dipper began, hesitant, while she was trying on a pair of pink strappy heels — she was overjoyed to have an excuse to wear frilly high heels. Wendy and Grenda had drifted to the jewelry counter and the two were alone.

“Yes?” She held her leg out, twisting her ankle to get a better view of the shoe.

Dipper chickened out. “I like those.”

“I think I’ll get them — though they’ll never match anything but the one dress,” she mused.

“Oh, well, um, they’re on sale,” Dipper encouraged. “So, why not?” Candy smiled, putting the lid back on a box that contained more practical-looking off-white shoes.

Dipper tried again. “Um, Candy…” She looked up curiously.

“Is it normal for the Ciphers” — he kept his eyes on the shoes — “to be out of school a lot?” He failed miserably in his attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Yes, when the weather is good they go backpacking — even the doctor. They’re all real outdoorsy,” Candy told him quietly, examining her shoes too. She didn’t ask one question, let alone the hundreds that Wendy would have unleashed. Dipper was beginning to really appreciate Candy.

“Oh.” He let the subject drop as Wendy and Grenda returned to show them the rhinestone jewelry they’d found to match their respective dresses.

They planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn’t taken as long as they expected. The girls were taking their clothes back to the car and planned to walk down to the bay afterwards. Dipper told them he’d meet them at the restaurant in an hour — he wanted to look for a bookstore. They were willing to go with him but he encouraged them to go have fun — they would probably get irritated with how preoccupied he got when surrounded by books; it was something he preferred to do alone. They walked off to the car chattering happily and he headed in the direction Wendy pointed out.

Dipper had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it wasn’t what he was looking for. The windows were full of crystals, dream-catchers, and books about spiritual healing. He didn’t even go inside. Through the glass, he could see a fifty-year-old woman with long, gray hair worn straight down her back, in a dress that screamed the sixties. He decided that was one conversation he could skip. There had to be a normal bookstore in town — it was Portland, for Christ sake.

He meandered through the streets, which were filling up with end-of-the-workday traffic, hoping he was headed toward downtown. He wasn’t paying as much attention as he should to where he was going; he was wrestling with despair. He was trying so hard not to think about him, and what Candy had said… and more than anything trying to beat down his hopes for Saturday, fearing a disappointment more painful than the rest, when he looked up to see someone’s silver Volvo parked along the street and it came all crashing down on him.

Stupid, unreliable demon, he thought to himself.

He stomped along in a southerly direction, toward some glass-fronted shops that looked promising. But when he got to them, they were just a repair shop and a vacant space. He still had too much time to go looking for Wendy, Candy, and Grenda yet, and he definitely needed to get his mood in hand before he met back up with them. He ran his fingers through his hair a couple of times and took some deep breaths before he continued around the corner.

He started to realize, as he crossed another road, that he was going the wrong direction. The little foot traffic he’d seen was going north, and it looked like the buildings here were mostly warehouses. He decided to turn east at the next corner and then loop around after a few blocks to try his luck on a different street on his way back to the boardwalk.

A group of four men turned around the corner Dipper was heading for, dressed too casually to be heading home from the office, but too grimy to be tourists.

As they approached him, he realized they weren’t too much older than he was. They were joking loudly among themselves, laughing rambunctiously and punching each other’s arms. He scooted as far to the inside of the sidewalk as he could to give them room, walking swiftly, looking past them to the corner.

“Hey, there!” one of them called as they passed, and he had to be talking to Dipper since no one else was around. He glanced up automatically. Two of them had paused, the other two slowing. The closest, a heavyset, dark-haired man in his early to mid-twenties, seemed to be the one who had spoken. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a dirty t-shirt, cut-off jeans, and sandals. He took a half-step closer to Dipper.

“Hello,” Dipper mumbled, a knee-jerk reaction. Then he quickly looked away and walked faster toward the corner. He could hear them laughing at full volume behind him.

“Hey, wait!” another one called out to him, but he kept his head down and rounded the corner with a sigh of relief. He could still hear them chortling behind him.

Dipper found himself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several somber-colored warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks, padlocked for the night. The south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. Dipper’d wandered far past the part of Portland that he, as a guest, was intended to see. It was getting dark, he realized, the clouds finally returning, piling up on the western horizon, creating an early sunset. The eastern sky was still clear, but graying, shot through with streaks of pink and orange and yellow. He’d left his jacket in the car, and a sudden shiver made him cross his arms tightly across his chest. A single van passed him, and then the road was empty.

The sky suddenly darkened further, and, as he looked over his shoulder to glare at the offending cloud, Dipper realized with a shock that two men were walking quietly twenty feet behind him.

They were from the same group he’d passed at the corner, though neither was the dark-haired one who’d spoken to him. He turned his head forward at once, quickening his pace. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather made him shiver again. His backpack was slung awkwardly on his shoulder. He knew exactly where his pepper spray was — still in a duffle bag under the bed, never unpacked. He didn’t have much money on him, just a twenty and some ones, and he thought about “accidentally” dropping his bag and walking away. But a small, frightened voice in the back of his head warned him that that might not be what they were looking for.

Dipper listened intently to their quiet footsteps, which were much too quiet compared to the inane noise they’d been making earlier, and it didn’t sound like they were speeding up or getting any closer to him. Breathe, he had to remind himself. You don’t know they’re following you.

He continued to walk as quickly as he could without actually running, focusing on the right-hand turn that was only a few yards away from me now. He could hear them, staying as far back as they’d been before. A blue car turned onto the street from the south and drove quickly past him. Dipper thought of jumping out in front of it, but he hesitated, unsure he was really being pursued, and then it was too late.

He reached the corner but a swift glance revealed that it was only a blind drive to the back of another building. He was half-turned in anticipation; he had to hurriedly correct and dash across the narrow drive, back to the sidewalk. The street ended at the next corner, where there was a stop sign. He concentrated on the faint footsteps behind him, deciding whether or not to run. They sounded farther back, though, and Dipper knew they could outrun him in any case. He was sure to trip and go sprawling if he tried to go any faster. The footfalls were definitely farther back. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder, and they were maybe forty feet back now. But they were both staring at him.

It seemed to take forever for Dipper to get to the corner. He kept his pace steady, the men behind him falling ever so slightly farther behind with every step. Maybe they realized they had scared him and were sorry. He saw two cars going north pass the intersection he was heading for, and exhaled in relief. There would be more people around once he got off this deserted street. He skipped around the corner with a grateful sigh.

Then skidded to a stop.

The street was lined on both sides by blank, doorless, windowless walls. He could see in the distance, two intersections down, streetlamp, cars, and more pedestrians, but they were all too far away. Because lounging against the west-most building, midway down the street, were the other two men from the group, both watching with excited smiles as Dipper froze dead on the sidewalk. He realized then he wasn’t being followed.

I’m being herded.

Dipper paused for only a second, but it felt like a very long time. He turned then darted to the other side of the road. He had a sinking feeling that it was a wasted attempt. The footsteps behind him were louder now.

“There you are!” the booming voice of the stocky, dark-haired man shattered the deafening silence and made him jump. In the growing darkness, it seemed almost like he was looking past him.

“Yeah,” a voice called loudly from behind him, making him jump again as he tried to hurry down the street. “We just took a little detour.”

Dipper’s steps had to slow now. He was closing the distance between himself and the lounging pair too quickly. He had a good loud scream, and he sucked in air, preparing to use it, but his throat was so dry he wasn’t sure how much volume he could manage. With a quick movement, he slipped his bag off of his shoulder, ready to surrender it or use it as a weapon as needed.

The heavy man shrugged away from the wall as Dipper warily came to a stop and walked slowly into the street.

“Stay away from me,” Dipper warned in a voice that was supposed to sound strong and fearless. But it was anything but.

“Don’t be like that, sugar,” he called, and the rambunctious laughter started again.

Dipper braced himself, feet apart, trying to remember through his panic what little self-defense knowledge he had. Heel of the hand thrust upward, hopefully breaking the nose. Finger through the eye socket. And the standard knee to the groin, of course.

The same pessimistic voice in his head spoke up then, reminding him he wouldn’t stand a chance against one of them, and there were four.

Headlights suddenly flew around the corner, the car almost hitting the stocky one, forcing him to jump back toward the sidewalk. Dipper dove into the road — this car was going to stop, or have to hit him. But the silver car unexpectedly fishtailed around, skidding to a stop with the passenger door open just a few feet from him.

“Get in,” a furious voice commanded.

It was amazing how instantaneously the suffocating panic vanished, amazing how suddenly the feeling of security washed over him — even before he was off the street — as soon as he heard his voice. Dipper jumped into the seat, slamming the door shut behind him.

It was dark in the car, no light had come on with the opening of the door, and Dipper could barely see his face in the glow from the dashboard. The tires squealed as he spun around to face north, accelerating too quickly, swerving toward the stunned men on the street. Dipper caught a glimpse of them diving for the sidewalk as they straightened out and sped toward the harbor.

“Put on your seat belt,” Bill commanded and Dipper realized he was clutching the seat with both hands. He quickly obeyed; the snap as the belt connected was loud in the darkness. Bill took a sharp left, racing forward, blowing through several stop signs without a pause.

But he felt utterly safe and, for the moment, totally unconcerned with where they were going. Dipper stared at his face in profound relief, relief that went beyond his sudden deliverance. He studied his flawless features in the limited light, waiting for his breathing to even out, until it occurred to him that his expression was murderously angry.

“Are you okay?” Dipper asked, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded.

“No,” Bill answered curtly, and his tone was livid.

Dipper sat in silence, watching his face while his blazing eyes stared straight ahead, until the car came to a sudden stop. He glanced around, but it was too dark to see anything beside the vague outline of dark trees crowding the roadside. They weren’t in town anymore.

“Dipper?” he asked, his voice tight, controlled.

“Yes?” His voice was still rough. He tried to clear his throat quietly.

“Are you all right?” He still didn’t look at him, but the fury was plain on his face.

“Yes,” Dipper croaked softly.

“Distract me, please,” he ordered.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Bill exhaled sharply.

“Just prattle about something unimportant until I calm down,” he clarified, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his noise with his thumb and forefinger.

“Um.” Dipper wracked his brain for something trivial. “I’m going to run over Nate tomorrow before school?”

“Why?”

“He’s telling everyone that he’s taking me to prom — either he’s insane or he’s still trying to make up for almost killing me last… well, you remember it, and he thinks prom is somehow the correct way to do this. So I figure if I endanger his life, then we’re even, and he can’t keep trying to make amends. I don’t need enemies and maybe Laurie would back off if he left me alone. I might have to total his Sentra, though. If he doesn’t have a read he can’t take anyone to prom…” Dipper babbled on.

“I heard about that.” He sounded a bit more composed.

“You did?” Dipper asked in disbelief, his previous irritation flaring. “If he’s paralyzed from the neck down, he can’t go to prom, either,” he muttered, refining his plan.

Bill sighed and finally opened his eyes.

“Better?”

“No, not really.”

Dipper waited, but he didn’t speak again. He leaned his head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling of the car. His face was rigid.

“What’s wrong?” Dipper’s voice came out in a whisper.

“Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Dipper.” He was whispering too, and as he stared out the window, his eyes narrowed into slits. “But it wouldn’t be helpful for me to turn around and hunt down those…” He didn’t finish his sentence, looking away, struggling for a moment to control his anger again. “At least,” he continued, “that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.”

“Oh.” The word seemed inadequate, but Dipper couldn’t think of a better response.

They sat in silence again. Dipper glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was past six-thirty.

“Oh, shit. Wendy, Candy, and Grenda are going to kill me,” he murmured. “I was supposed to meet them.”

Bill started the engine without another word, turning around smoothly and speeding back toward town. We were under the streetlights in no time at all, still going too fast, weaving with ease through the cars slowly cruising the boardwalk. He parallel-parked against the curb in a space I would have thought was much too small for the Volvo, but he slid in effortlessly in one try. Dipper looked out the window to see the lights of Ristorante Italiano, and the girls just leaving, pacing anxiously away from them.

“How did you know where…?” Dipper began, but then he just shook his head. He heard the door open and turned to see Bill getting out.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m taking you to dinner.” Bill smiled slightly, but his eyes were hard. He stepped out of the car and slammed the door. Dipper fumbled with his seat belt, then hurried to get out of the car as well. He was waiting for him on the sidewalk. “Go stop your friends before I have to track them down, too. I don’t think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friends again.”

Dipper nodded awkwardly, shivering at the threat in his voice.

“Wendy! Candy! Grenda!” he yelled after them, waving when they turned. They rushed back to him, the pronounced relief on their faces simultaneously changing to surprise as they saw who he was standing next to. They hesitated a few feet from him.

“Where have you been?” Grenda’s voice was suspicious.

“I got lost,” he admitted sheepishly. “And then I ran into Bill.”

“Would it be alright if I join you?” Bill asked in his silken, irresistible voice. Dipper could see from their staggered expressions that he had never unleashed his talents on them before.

“Er… sure,” Grenda breathed.

“Um, actually, Dipper, we already ate while we were waiting — sorry,” Candy confessed.

“That’s fine— I’m not hungry.”

“I think you should eat something.” Bill’s voice was low, but full of authority. He looked up at Wendy and spoke slightly louder. “Do you mind if I drive Dipper home tonight? That way you won’t have to wait while he eats.”

“Uh, no problem, I guess…” she bit her lip, trying to figure out from his expression whether that was what he wanted. Dipper subtly nodded; he had so many questions that he wanted to bombard Bill with and he needed them to be alone to do that.

“Okay.” Candy was quicker than Wendy or Grenda. “See you tomorrow, Dipper… Bill.” She grabbed the other two girls’ hands and pulled her towards the car, which Dipper could see was parked a little ways away. As they got in, Wendy turned and waved, her face eager with curiosity. Dipper waved and watched as they drove away before turning to face the blonde.

“Honestly, I’m not hungry,” he insisted, looking up to scrutinize his face. His expression was unreadable.

“Humor me.”

Bill walked to the door of the restaurant and held it open with an expression that left no room for argument.

Obviously, there would be no further discussion. Dipper walked past him into the restaurant with a resigned sigh.

The restaurant wasn’t crowded — it was the off-season in Portland. The host was female, and the brunette understood the look in her eyes as she assessed Bill. She welcomed him a little more warmly than necessary. Dipper was surprised by how much that bothered him. She was shorter than him and unnaturally blonde.

“A table for two?” Bill’s voice was alluring, whether he was aiming for that or not. Dipper saw her eyes flicker to him, and then away, satisfied by his obvious ordinariness, and by the cautious, no-contact space Bill left between them. She must have assumed they were just friends or that Bill wasn’t gay. She led them to a table big enough for four in the center of the most crowded area of the dining floor.

Dipper was about to sit, but Bill shook his head at him.

“Perhaps something more private?” he insisted quietly to the host. Dipper was shocked as he watched the blonde smoothly hand her a tip. He’d never seen anyone refuse a table except in old movies.

“Sure.” She sounded as surprised as he was. She turned and led them around a partition to a small ring of booths — all of them empty. “How about here?”

“Perfect.” He flashed his gleaming smile, dazing her momentarily.

“Um” — she shook her head, blinking — “your server will be right out.” She walked away unsteadily.

“You really shouldn’t do that to people,” Dipper criticized. “It’s hardly fair.”

“Do what?”

“Dazzle them like that — she’s probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now.”

He seemed confused.

“Oh, come on,” the brunette grunted. “You have to know the effect you have on people.”

Bill tilted his head to one side, his eyes curious. “I dazzle people?”

“There’s no way you haven’t noticed. Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?”

Bill ignored his questions. “Do I dazzle you?”

“Frequently,” he admitted.

And then their server arrived, her face expectant. The hostess had definitely dished behind the scenes and this new girl didn’t look disappointed. She flipped a strand of short brown hair behind one ear and smiled with unnecessary warmth.

“Hello. My name is Tambry and I’ll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?” Dipper didn’t miss that she was speaking only to Bill.

Bill looked at Dipper.

“I’ll have a coke.” It sounded like a question.

“Two cokes,” Bill said.

“I’ll be right back with that,” she assured him with another unnecessary smile, but he didn’t see it. He was watching the brunette.

“What?” Dipper asked when she left.

Bill’s eyes stayed fixed on his face. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, surprised by his intensity.

“You don’t feel dizzy, sick, cold…?”

“Should I?”

“Well, I’m actually waiting for you to go into shock.”

“I don’t think that will happen,” Dipper said softly, watching as Bill flashed him a cheeky grin. “I’ve always been very good at repressing unpleasant things.”

“Just the same, I’ll feel better when you have some sugar and food in you.”

Right on cue, the waitress appeared with their drinks and a basket of breadsticks. She stood with her back to Dipper as she placed them on the table.

“Are you ready to order?”

“Dipper?” Bill asked. The hostess unwillingly turned towards him.

“Um… I’ll have the mushroom ravioli,” he answered, picking the first thing he saw on the menu.

“And you?” she turned back to him with a smile.

“Nothing for me.” Of course not.

“Let me know if you change your mind.” The coy smile was still in place, but he wasn’t looking at her, and she left dissatisfied.

“Drink,” he ordered.

Dipper sipped at his soda obediently, and then drank more deeply, surprised by how thirsty he was. He realized he’d finished the whole thing when he pushed his glass towards him.

“Thanks,” he muttered, still thirsty. The cold from the icy soda was radiating through his chest, and he shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“It’s just the coke.”

“Don’t you have a jacket?” His voice was disapproving.

“Yes.” Dipper looked at the empty bench next to him. “Oh, god, I’m an idiot. I left it in Wendy’s car.”

Bill was shrugging out of his jacket. Dipper suddenly realized that he had never once noticed what he was wearing — not just tonight, but ever. He couldn’t seem to look away from his face. He made himself look now, focusing. Bill was removing a dark brown leather jacket now; underneath he wore an ivory sweater. It fit him snugly, emphasizing how muscular his chest was.

Bill handed him the jacket, interrupting his ogling.

“Thanks,” Dipper muttered, sliding his arms into his jacket. It was cold — the way his jacket felt when he first picked it up in the morning, hanging in the drafty hallway. He shivered again. It smelled amazing. He inhaled, trying to identify the scent. It didn’t smell like cologne. The sleeves were much too long; he shoved them back so he could free his hands.

“That color blue looks lovely with your skin,” he said, watching the brunette intently. He was surprised, looking down, flushing.

Bill pushed the basket toward him.

“Really, I’m not going into shock,” Dipper protested.

“You should be — a normal person would be. You don’t even look shaken.” He seemed unsettled. He stared into his eyes and Dipper noticed how light his eyes were, lighter than he’d ever seen them; a golden butterscotch.

“I feel very safe with you,” Dipper confessed, mesmerized into telling the truth again.

That displeased him, his brow furrowed. He shook his head, frowning.

“This is more complicated than I’d planned,” he muttered to himself.

Dipper picked up a breadstick, nibbling on the end, measuring his expression.

“Usually you’re in a better mood when your eyes are so light,” he commented, trying to distract him from whatever thought had left the blonde frowning and somber.

“What?”

“You’re always crabbier when your eyes are black — I expect it then,” Dipper clarified. “I have a theory about that.”

“More theories?”

“Mhm.” Dipper chewed on a small bite of the bread.

“I hope you were more creative this time… or are you still stealing from comic books?”

Bill’s faint smile was mocking; his eyes were still tight.

“Well, no, I didn’t get it from a comic book, but I didn’t come up with it on my own either,” he confessed.

“And?”

But then the waitress strode around the partition with the brunette’s food. He realized they’d been unconsciously leaning toward each other across the table, because they both straightened up as she approached. She set the dish in front of him — he realized it looked pretty good — and turned quickly to Bill.

“Did you change your mind? Isn’t there anything I can get you?” Dipper might’ve been imagining the double entendre in her words.

“No, thank you, but some more soda would be nice.”

“Sure.” She removed the empty glasses and walked away.

“You were saying?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you about it in the car. If…” he paused.

“There are conditions?”

“I do have a few questions.”

“Of course you do.”

The waitress was back with two more cokes. She set them down without a word this time before leaving again.

Dipper took a sip.

“Well, go ahead,” Bill pushed, his voice still hard.

Dipper started with the most undemanding, or so he thought. “Why are you in Portland?”

The blonde looked down, folding his large hands together slowly on the table. His eyes flickered up to the brunette from under his lashes, a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Next.”

“But that’s the easiest one!”

“Next,” he repeated.

Dipper looked down, frustrated. He unrolled his silverware, picking up his fork and speared a ravioli. He put it into his mouth slowly, still looking down, chewing while he thought. He swallowed and took another sip of coke before he looked up.

“Okay, fine.” He glared at him before continuing slowly. “Let’s say, hypothetically of course, that someone…. Could... know what people are thinking. Read minds, you know — with exceptions.”

“Just one exception,” Bill corrected, “hypothetically.”

“Alright, with one exception, then.” Dipper was thrilled he was playing along, but tried his best to seem casual. “How does that work? What are the limitations? How would… that someone… find someone else at exactly the right time? How would he know he was in trouble?” Dipper wondered if his convoluted questions even made sense.

“Hypothetically?”

“Sure.”

“Well, if.. that someone…”

“Let’s call him ‘Steve,’” Dipper suggested.

Bill smiled wryly. “Steve, then. If Steve had been paying attention, the timing wouldn’t have needed to be quite so exact.” He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Only you could get into trouble in a town this small. You would have devastated the crime rate statistics for Gravity Falls for a decade, you know.”

“We were speaking of a hypothetical case,” Dipper reminded him frostily. Bill just laughed, his eyes warm.

“Yes, we were,” he agreed. “Shall we call you ‘Joe?’”

“How did you know?”

Bill seemed to be wavering, torn by some internal dilemma. His eyes locked with Dipper’s, and he guessed he was making the decision right then whether or not to simply tell him the truth.

“You can trust me, you know,” Dipper murmured. He reached forward, without thinking, to touch his folded hands, but he slid them away quickly.

“I don’t know if I have a choice anymore.” His voice was almost a whisper. “I was wrong — you’re much more observant than I gave you credit for.”

“I thought you were always right.”

“I used to be.” He shook his head again. “I was wrong about you on one other thing as well. You’re not a magnet for accidents — that’s not a broad enough classification. You’re a magnet for trouble. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you.”

“And you put yourself in that category?”

Bill’s face turned cold, expressionless. “Unequivocally.”

Dipper stretched his hand across the table again — ignoring Bill when he pulled back slightly once more — to touch the back of his hand shyly with his fingertips. His skin was incredibly hot, like a burning coal.

“Thank you.” Dipper’s voice was fervent with gratitude. “That’s twice now.”

“Let’s not try for three, okay?”

Dipper scowled but nodded. Bill moved his hand out from underneath his, placing both of them under the table.

“I followed you to Portland,” Bill admitted, speaking in a rush. “I’ve never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it’s much more troublesome than I would have believed. But that’s probably just because it’s you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes.” He paused. Dipper wondered if it should bother him that he was following him; instead, he felt a strange surge of pleasure. He stared, maybe wondering why his lips were curving into an involuntary smile.

“Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van, and that you’ve been interfering with fate?” Dipper speculated.

“That wasn’t the first time,” Bill said. “Your number was up the first time I met you.”

Dipper quirked an eyebrow, a spasm of fear running through him at his words.

“You remember?”

“Yes.” Dipper was calm.

“And yet, here you sit.” There was a trace of disbelief in his voice.

“Yes, here I sit… because of you.” The brunette paused. “Because somehow you knew how to find me today…?” He prompted.

Bill pressed his lips together, staring through narrowed eyes, deciding again. His eyes flashed down to his full plate, then back to him.

“You eat, I’ll talk,” he bargained.

Dipper quickly scooped up another ravioli and popped it in his mouth.

“It’s harder than it should be — keeping track of you. Usually I can find someone very easily, once I’ve heard their mind before.” He looked at Dipper anxiously, and he realized he’d frozen. He made himself swallow before stabbing another ravioli and tossing it in his mouth.

“I was keeping tabs on Wendy, not carefully — like I said, only you could find trouble in Portland — and at first I didn’t notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren’t with her anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell that you hadn’t gone in, and that you’d gone south… and I knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street — to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried… but I was strangely anxious.” Bill looked lost in thought, staring past the brunette, seeing things he couldn’t imagine.

“I started to drive in circles, still… listening. The sun was setting and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then—” he stopped, clenching his teeth together in sudden fury. He made an effort to calm himself.

“Then what?”

“I heard what they were thinking,” he growled, his upper lip curling slightly back over his teeth. “I saw your face in his mind.” He suddenly leaned forward, one elbow appearing on the table, his hand covering his eyes. The movement was so swift, it startled Dipper.

“It was very… hard — you can’t even imagine how hard — for me to simply take you away, and leave them… alive.” His voice was muffled by his arm. “I could have let you go with Wendy, Candy, and Grenda, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them,” he admitted in a whisper.

Dipper sat quietly, dazed, his thoughts incoherent. His hands were folded in his lip and leaning weakly against the back of the seat. Bill still had his face in his hand, and he was as still as if he’d been carved from the stone his skin resembled.

Finally, he looked up at the brunette, his eyes seeking, full of his own questions.

“Are you ready to go home?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess I’m ready.” Dipper was grateful they had a couple hour — well, with the way Bill drove, more like one hour — ride home together. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet.

The waitress appeared as if she’d been summoned. Or watching.

“How are we doing?” She asked Bill.

“We’re ready for the check, thank you.” His voice was quiet, rougher, still reflecting the strain of their conversation. It seemed to muddle her.

“S-sure,” she stuttered. “Here you go.” She pulled a small leather folder from the front pocket of her black apron and handed it to him.

There was a bill in his hand already. He slipped it into the folder and handed it right back to her.

“No change.” He smiled. Then he stood up and Dipper scrambled awkwardly to his feet. She smiled invitingly at him again.

“You have a nice evening.”

He didn’t look away from Dipper as he thanked her.

Bill walked close beside him to the door, still careful not to touch me. Dipper remembered what Wendy had said about her relationship with Robbie, how they were almost to the first-kiss stage. He sighed. Bill seemed to hear him and looked down curiously.

The blonde opened the passenger door, holding it for Dipper as he stepped in, shutting it softly behind him. He watched as he walked in front of the car, amazed, yet again, by how graceful he was. He probably should’ve been used to that by now — but he wasn’t. He had a feeling Bill wasn’t the kind of person anyone got used to.

Once inside the car, he started the engine and turned the heater on high. It had gotten very cold and Dipper guessed the good weather was at an end. He was warm in Bill’s jacket, though, breathing in the scent of it when he thought he couldn’t see.

Bill pulled out through the traffic, apparently without a glance, flipping around to head toward the free-way.

“Now,” he said significantly, “it’s your turn.”

Chapter Text

“Can I ask just one more?” Dipper pleaded as Bill accelerated much too quickly down the quiet street. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the road.

He sighed.

“One,” he agreed, his lips pressed together into a cautious line.

“Well… you said you knew I hadn’t gone into the bookstore and I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that.”

He looked away, deliberating.

“I thought we were past all the evasiveness,” Dipper grumbled. Bill almost smiled.

“Fine, then. I followed your scent.” He looked at the road, giving Dipper time to compose his face. He couldn’t think of an acceptable response to that, but he filed it carefully away in his mind for future study. He tried to refocus, not ready to let him be finished, now that he was finally explaining things.

“And then you didn’t answer one of my first questions…” he stalled.

Bill looked at him with disapproval. “Which one?”

“How does it work — the mind-reading thing? Can you read anybody’s mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family…?” Dipper felt silly, asking for clarification on something that was supposed to be make-believe.

“That’s more than one,” Bill pointed out. Dipper simply intertwined his fingers and gazed at him, waiting. Bill rolled his eyes. “No, it’s just me. And I can’t hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone’s… ‘voice’ is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles.” He paused momentarily. “It’s a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It’s just a hum — a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they’re thinking is clear.”

“Most of the time I tune it all out — it can be very distracting. And then it’s easier to seem normal” — he frowned as he said the word — “when I’m not accidentally answering someone’s thoughts rather than their words.”

“Why do you think you can’t hear me?” Dipper asked curiously. Bill looked at him, his eyes enigmatic.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn’t work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I’m only getting FM.” He grinned at the brunette, suddenly amused.

“My mind doesn’t work right? I’m a freak?” The words bothered Dipper more than they should — probably because Bill’s speculation hit home. The brunette had always suspected as much and it embarrassed him to have it confirmed.

“I hear voices in my mind and you’re worried that you’re the freak,” he laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s just a theory…” his face tightened. “Speaking of which, that brings us back to you.”

Dipper sighed.

“Aren’t we past all the evasions now?” Bill mocked.

Dipper looked away from his face for the first time, trying to find the words. He happened to look at the speedometer.

“Holy shit!” he shouted. “Slow down!”

“What? What’s wrong?” Bill was startled. But the car didn’t decelerate.

“You’re going a hundred miles an hour!” Dipper was still shouting. He shot a panicky glance out the window, but it was too dark to see much. The road was only visible in the long patch of bluish brightness from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the road was like a black wall — as hard as a wall of steel if we veered off the road at this speed.

“Relax, Dipper.” Bill rolled his eyes, still not slowing.

“Are you trying to kill us?!”

“We’re not going to crash.”

“Why are you in such a hurry?!”

“I always drive like this.” Bill turned to smile crookedly at him.

“Keep your eyes on the road!”

“I’ve never been in an accident, Dipper — I’ve never even gotten a ticket.” He grinned and tapped his forehead. “Built-in radar detector.”

“Very funny,” the brunette fumed. Though, Stan drove like a maniac too, and honestly, so did Mabel. It’s why Dipper never let either of them behind the wheel when he was in the car with them, if he a had a choice. “Besides, if you turn us into a Volvo pretzel around a tree trunk, you can probably just walk away.”

“Probably,” Bill agreed with a short laugh. “But you can’t.” He sighed and Dipper watched with relief as the needle gradually drifted toward eighty. “Happy?”

“Not yet.”

“I hate driving slow,” he muttered.

“This is slow?”

“Enough commentary on my driving,” he snapped. “I’m still waiting for your latest theory.”

Dipper bit his lip. Bill looked down at him, his honey eyes unexpectedly gentle.

“I won’t laugh,” he promised.

“I’m more afraid that you’ll be angry with me.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Bill waited.

“Go ahead.” His voice was calm.

“I don’t know how to start,” Dipper admitted.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning… you said you didn’t come up with this on your own.”

“No.”

“What got you started — a book? A movie?” he probed.

“No — it was Saturday, at the beach.” Dipper risked a glance up at his face. He looked puzzled.

“I ran into an old family friend — Gideon Gleeful,” Dipper continued. “His dad and Stan used to be friends when my sister and I were babies. They’re not really close anymore, they kind of have rivaling businesses.”

Bill still looked confused.

“Gideon’s dad was a part of some… tribe?” Dipper continued, unsure how to describe it. Bill’s confused expression froze in place. “We went for a walk and he was telling me some old legends — trying to scare me, I think. He told me one…” He hesitated.

“Go on.”

“About angels and demons.”

“And you immediately thought of me?” His voice was calm but Dipper noticed his knuckles tightening convulsively on the wheel.

“No. He… mentioned your family.”

Bill was silent, staring at the road. Dipper was worried suddenly.

“He just thought it was a silly superstition,” he added quickly. “He didn’t expect me to think anything of it. It was my fault, I forced him to tell me.”

“Why?”

“Laurie said something about you — I think she was trying to provoke me. And an older boy from the tribe said your family didn’t come to the lake, only it sounded like he meant something different. So I got Gideon alone and I tricked it out of him,” Dipper admitted.

Bill startled him by laughing.

“Tricked him how?”

“I got my sister to flirt with him.”

“I’d like to have seen that.” He chuckled darkly. “And you accused me of dazzling people — poor Gideon Gleeful.”

Dipper looked out the window into the night.

“What did you do then?” Bill asked after a minute.

“I did some research on the Internet.”

“And did that convince you?”

“No. Nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly. And then…”

“What?”

“I decided it didn’t matter.”

“It didn’t matter??” Bill’s tone made him look up — he’d broken through his carefully composed mask. His face was incredulous, with just the hint of anger the brunette had feared.

“No,” Dipper answered softly. “It doesn’t matter to me what you are.”

A hard, mocking edge entered his tone. “You don’t care if I’m a monster? If I’m not human!”

“No.”

The silence between the two grew as the blonde stared straight ahead. His face was bleak and cold.

“You’re angry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No,” Bill shook his head, but his tone was as hard as his face. “I’d rather know what you’re thinking — even if what you’re thinking is insane.”

“So I’m wrong again?” Dipper challenged.

“That’s not what I was referring to. ‘It doesn’t matter’!” he quoted, his teeth gritted together.

“I’m right?!”

“Does it matter?” the blonde retorted.

Dipper took a deep breath.

“Not really.” There was a pause. “But I am curious.”

“What are you curious about?”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” he answered promptly.

“…and how long have you been seventeen?”

Bill’s lips twitched as he stared at the road.

“…a while.”

Dipper nodded, pleased that he was being honest with him. “Okay.”

“Don’t laugh — but how are you able to be on Earth and not in Hell?”

Bill laughed anyway. “Myth.”

“Burned by holy water?”

“Myth.”

“Sleeping?”

“Myth.” There was another pause. “I don’t sleep.”

“At all?” It took Dipper a minute to absorb all that.

“Never,” he said, his voice quiet. He turned to look at the brunette with a wistful expression. The golden eyes held brown ones, causing Dipper to lose his train of thought.

“You haven’t asked me the most important question yet.” His voice was hard now, and when he looked at Dipper again, his eyes were cold.

The brunette blinked, dazed. “Which one is that?”

“You aren’t concerned about my nature?” he asked sarcastically.

“Oh,” Dipper murmured, “that.”

“Yes, that.” His voice was bleak. “Don’t you want to know if I harm humans?”

Dipper flinched. “Well, Gideon said something about that.”

“What did Gideon say?” he asked flatly.

“He said you didn’t… harm people. He said your family wasn’t supposed to be dangerous because you were different. That you were dream demons and only messed with people in their sleep.”

“He said we weren’t dangerous?” His voice was deeply skeptical.

“Not exactly. He said you weren’t supposed to be dangerous, since you didn’t ‘harm the fabric of reality.’ But the tribe still didn’t want you on their land, just in case.”

He looked forward, but the brunette couldn’t tell if he was watching the road or not.

“So was he right? About not hurting people?” Dipper tried to keep his voice as even as possible.

“The tribe has a long memory,” Bill whispered.

He took that as confirmation.

“Don’t let that make you complacent, though,” the blonde warned him. “They’re right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We try,” he explained slowly. “We’re usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you.”

“This is a mistake?” Dipper heard the sadness in his voice, but didn’t know if Bill could as well.

“A very dangerous one,” he murmured.

They were both silent then. Dipper watched the headlights twist with the curves of the road.

They moved too fast; it didn’t look real, it looked like a video game. The brunette was aware of the time slipping away so quickly, like the black road beneath them, and he was hideously afraid that he would never have another chance to be with him again like this — openly, the walls between them gone. Bill’s words hinted at an end and Dipper recoiled from the idea. He couldn’t waste one minute he had with him.

“Tell me more,” Dipper asked desperately, not caring what he said, just so he could hear his voice again.

Bill looked at him quickly, startled by the change in his tone. “What more do you want to know?”

“Tell me why you don’t hurt humans,” the brunette suggested, his voice still tinged with desperation. He realized his eyes were wet and he fought against the grief that was trying to overpower him.

“I don’t want to be a monster.” His voice was very low.

“I don’t understand. Are dreams not enough?”

Bill paused. “We have a penchant for chaos. While messing with dreams… kind of… ‘tides’ us over, it’s not… that simple.” He seemed to be struggling with how to explain it. “Giving people nightmares is like child’s play when we have the ability to destroy the fabric of reality — as you put it. I’ve destroyed dimensions before. It’s kind of like living on tofu and soy milk. It doesn’t completely satiate the hunger. It’s enough to keep us resistant. Most of the time.” The tone turned ominous. “Sometimes it’s more difficult than others.”

“Is it very difficult for you now?” Dipper asked, recalling that Gideon had said demons had the ability to possess any living soul.

“Yes.”

“But you’re not hungry now,” Dipper said confidently; it was a statement, not a question.

“Why do you think that?”

“Your eyes. I told you I had a theory. I’ve noticed that people — men in particular — are crabbier when they’re hungry.” Bill’s eyes seemed to change depending on something; the brunette theorized that it was based on how much chaos he was causing.

Bill chuckled. “You’re observant, aren’t you?”

Dipper didn’t answer, just listened to the sound of his laugh and committed it to memory.

“Were you conjuring nightmares this weekend, with Keyhole?”

“Yes.” Bill paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. “I didn’t want to leave, but it was necessary. It’s a bit easier to be around you when I’m not spending every second trying not to possess you.”

“Why didn’t you want to leave?”

“It makes me… anxious.. to be away from you.” His eyes were gentle but intense. “I wasn’t joking when I asked you not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I’m surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed.” Bill shook his head, then seemed to remember something. “Well, almost.”

“What?”

“Your hands,” he reminded the brunette. Dipper looked down at his palms, at the almost-healed scrapes across the heels of his hands. Bill’s eyes missed nothing.

“I fell.”

“That’s what I thought.” The blonde’s lips curved up at the corners. “I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse — and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Keyhole’s nerves.”

“Three days? Didn’t you just get back today?”

“No, we got back Sunday.”

“Then why weren’t any of you in school?” Dipper was frustrated, almost angry as he thought of how much disappointment he had suffered because of his absence. “It’s not like you’re a vampire that can’t go out in the sun.”

“Yeah, about that… The sun doesn’t hurt me, but I can’t go out in sunlight — at least, not where anyone can see.”

“Why?”

“I’ll show you sometime,” he promised.

Dipper thought for a moment.

“You might have called me.”

The blonde was confused, quirking an eyebrow. “But I knew you were safe.”

“But I didn’t know where you were. I—” Dipper hesitated, dropping his eyes.

“What?” His velvety voice was compelling.

“I didn’t like it. Not seeing you. It makes me anxious too,” he admitted, blushing. He was embarrassed to say that out loud.

Bill was quiet. He glanced up, apprehensive, and saw that his expression was pained.

“Ah,” he groaned quietly. “This is wrong.”

The brunette didn’t understand his response. “What did I say?”

“Don’t you see, Dipper? It’s one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved.” He turned his anguished eyes to the road, his words flowing almost too fast for Dipper to understand. “I don’t want to hear that you feel that way.” His voice was low but urgent. His words cut the brunette. “It’s wrong. It’s not safe. I’m dangerous, Mason — please, grasp that.”

“No.” Dipper tried very hard not to sound like a sulking, petulant child.

“I’m serious,” Bill growled.

“So am I. I told you, it doesn’t matter what you are. It’s too late.”

Bill’s voice whipped out, low and harsh. “Never say that.”

Dipper bit his lip and was glad he couldn’t know how much that hurt. He stared out at the road.

They must be close now. Bill was driving much too fast.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice still raw. Dipper just shook his head, unsure if he could speak. He could feel the blonde’s gaze on his face, but he kept his eyes forward.

“Are you crying?” He sounded appalled. Dipper hadn’t even realized the moisture in his eyes had brimmed over. He quickly rubbed his hand across his cheek, and sure enough, traitor tears were there.

“No,” he answered, but his voice cracked.

He saw Bill reach out toward him hesitantly with his right hand, but then he stopped and placed it slowly back on the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry.” His voice burned with regret. Dipper knew he wasn’t just apologizing for the words that had upset him.

The darkness slipped by them in silence.

“Tell me something,” Bill said after another minute, struggling to use a lighter tone. “What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn’t understand your expression — you didn’t look scared. You looked like you were hyper-focused on something.”

“I was trying to remember how to incapacitate an attacker. Self-defense. I was going to smash his nose into his brain.”

“You were going to fight them?!” This upset him. “Didn’t you think about running??”

“I fall down a lot when I run,” Dipper admitted.

“What about screaming for help?”

“I was getting to that part.”

Bill shook his head. “You were right — I’m definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive.”

The brunette sighed. They were slowing, passing into the boundary of Gravity Falls. It had taken less than twenty minutes.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes — I have a paper due, too.” Bill smiled. “I’ll save you a seat at lunch.”

It was silly, after everything they’d been through tonight, how that little promise sent flutters through Dipper’s stomach, rendering him unable to speak.

They were now in front of the Mystery Shack. The lights were on, the truck in its place, everything utterly normal. It was like waking up from a dream. Bill stopped the car but he didn’t move.

“Do you promise to be there tomorrow?”

“I promise.”

Dipper considered that for a moment, then nodded. He pulled off Bill’s jacket, taking one last whiff.

“You can keep it — you don’t have a jacket for tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to have to explain it to Mabel.”

“Oh, right.” Bill took the jacket out of Dipper’s hands.

He hesitated, his hand on the door handle, trying to prolong the moment.

“Dipper?” he asked in a different tone — serious, but hesitant.

“Yes?”

“Will you promise me something?”

“Yes,” he said, instantly regretting the unconditional agreement. What if he asked me to stay away from him? I couldn’t keep that promise.

“Don’t go into the woods alone.”

Dipper stared at him in blank confusion. “Why?”

Bill frowned, and his eyes were tight as he stared past the brunette out the window.

“I’m not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let’s leave it at that.”

Dipper shuddered slightly at the sudden bleakness in his voice, but was relieved. That was, at least, an easy promise to honor. “Whatever you say.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he sighed, and Dipper knew he wanted him to leave now.

“Tomorrow, then.” Dipper opened the door unwillingly.

“Hey, Pine Tree?”

He turned and saw he was leaning towards him, his pale and glorious face just inches from his. His heart skipped a beat.

“Sleep well.”

Dipper blinked, thoroughly dazed. Bill leaned away.

He was unable to move until his brain had somewhat unscrambled itself. Then he stepped out of the car awkwardly, having to use the frame for support. He thought he heard Bill chuckle, but the sound was too quiet for him to be certain.

Bill waited until he stumbled to the front door, then revved his engine. Dipper turned to watch the silver car disappear around the corner.

He reached for the key mechanically, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

Stan called from the living room. “Dipper?”

“Yeah, Stan, it’s me.” He walked in to see him. He was watching a re-run of Duck-Tective.

“You’re home early.”

“Am I?”

“It’s not even eight yet,” he told him. “Did you have fun with your friends?”

“Yeah — it was lots of fun.” Dipper’s head was spinning as he tried to remember all the way back to the night with the girls he had planned. “The three of them found dresses.”

“Are you okay, kid?”

“I’m just tired,” Dipper lied through his teeth. “I did a lot of walking.”

“Well, maybe you should go lie down.” Stan sounded concerned. He wondered what his face looked like.

“I’m just going to call Wendy first.”

“Weren’t you just with her?”

“Well, yeah— I left my jacket in her car. I want to make sure she brings it tomorrow.”

“Well, give her a chance to get home first.”

“O-oh, right.”

Dipper went to the kitchen and fell, exhausted, into a chair. He was feeling really dizzy now. He wondered if he was going into shock after all. Get a grip, he told himself.

The phone rang suddenly, startling him. He yanked it off the hook.

“Hello?” he asked breathlessly.

“Dipper?”

“Oh, hey, Wendy. I was just going to call you.”

“You made it home?” Her voice was relieved… and surprised.

“Yes. I left my jacket in your car — could you bring it to me tomorrow?”

“Sure, but tell me what happened!” she demanded.

“Um, tomorrow, in Trig, okay?”

She caught on quickly. “Oh, is Stan there?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow then. Bye!” Dipper could hear the impatience in her voice.

“Bye, Wendy.”

Dipper walked up the stairs slowly, a heavy stupor clouding his mind. He went through the motions of getting ready for bed without paying any attention to what he was doing. It wasn’t until he was in the shower — the water too hot, burning his skin — that he realized he was freezing. He shuddered violently for several minutes before the steaming spray could finally relax his muscles. Then he stood in the shower, too tired to move, until the water turned cold.

He stumbled out, wrapping himself in a towel, trying to hold the heat from the water in. Swiftly, he changed into his pajamas and climbed under his comforter, curling into a ball, hugging himself to keep warm.

His mind still swirled dizzily, full of images he couldn’t understand, and some he fought to repress. Nothing seemed clear at first, but as he fell gradually closer to unconsciousness, a few certainties became evident.

There were about three things he was absolutely positive. First, Bill was a demon. Second, there was a part of him — and he didn’t know how potent that part might be — that thirsted for his pain. And third, Dipper was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.