Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So having a relationship with a homicidal isosceles triangle who previously possessed his body was not on Dipper’s to-do list this summer at all. 

But like everything else that’s occurred this summer, this was probably one of the weirder things to have happened.

Dealing with Bill is like teaching a cat how to swim; it's not that you couldn't, more of if you should.

Does he want to think about whatever the heck Bill scribbled down on that sticky note? No, of course, he doesn’t. And he is certain that he absolutely does not want to think about the various bruises and fork holes either.

But just like everything else, those kinds of thoughts have their way of pushing to the forefront of his mind, regardless of intent, the very evening that evil dorito showed himself once more. 

Dipper’s struggling to stay awake, a half-opened can of Pitt Cola sitting beside him as he sat hunched over the journal. 

He’s desperate, ok? After what felt like aeons, every lead he had on the true identity of the very person he idolised was shattered in an instant. Literally. So yes, he’s staying up far longer than he ought to be, half awake and running off of several cans of caffeinated soda. 

A pen, mildly chewed, pressed between straining fingers as his head began to droop; almost face-planting onto the page he was partially reading.

He jerked his head upwards, straining his neck from the motion. “Ugh.” Spare fingers rubbing under tired eyes, he yawned. 

It was quiet. A rather unnerving quiet for the middle of summer.

One second he was attempting to re-read a passage and the next he got incredibly intimate with said passage as he toppled forward. He jolted up again, only to be greeted by an empty grey space.

“Nope. Not doing this.” Dipper immediately stood up, knocking over the can as it spun off the roof. It flew backwards, hitting him directly in the forehead.

“Ow! What the-” He moved towards the ledge, glancing downwards. “I know you’re here, Bill!”

“I don’t know what gave you the faintest clue, Pinetree.” The smiling voice echoed from behind him, Dipper almost tumbling off the roof as he screamed, vocal cords reaching a pitch only dogs could hear. 

Bill forcefully pulled him back onto the ledge, letting out a shrill laugh. “Woah! Calm down, kid. Don’t give yourself a heart attack just yet.”

Dipper swung around violently, snarling his next words. “What do you want, demon?”

“Nothing,” He shrugged, if that was even possible for his shape, waving a hand dismissively. “Not yet anyway.” He added and Dipper could swear he was smiling.

“Then… why are you here?” The pre-teen took a cautious step backwards, sceptical of his intentions.

“You intrigue me, Pinetree.”

“Intrigue? Last time you said I ‘impressed’ you.” He raised an eyebrow in response. 

“I don’t trust you, Bill. Not after that.”

“Yeesh, kid. Are you still hung up about that?” He leaned back dramatically somehow. “It wasn’t my fault you didn’t specify what you wanted.” Bill shrugged again, twirling a cane out of nowhere and leaning on it as he spoke. “Impressed, intrigue, fascinate. It’s all the same to me.”

“Did you tell that to the Author too?”

“What?” Bill seemed taken by surprise by that, standing ramrod straight.

“You were his muse . Weren’t you? I’ve read the entries.”

Pages and pages written about Bill, deeply entrenched with ink and emotions. The black and red stain of betrayal scrawled on matching pages; the delusion and madness. And warnings plastered in red.

MY MUSE WAS A MONSTER.

DO NOT SUMMON AT ALL COSTS.

“You shouldn’t go meddling where you don’t belong, Pinetree.” The jovial tone was gone; the air was just as cold as his voice.

“Touch a nerve, did I?” Dipper couldn’t help the way his mouth twisted into a determined grin.

“That book should be burned,” Bill responded callously, clearly irritated at least slightly.

“You’re not touching it.” Dipper tried his hardest to narrow his stare towards Bill, crossing his arms in the firmest way possible. 

Bill stared at him for an unnervingly long time, tilting slightly almost as if he was thinking about something.

The triangle sighed, letting out a slight noise of frustration. “I’m not here to murder you.”

“Then what do you want? You want to scoop out my eyeballs or throw me off the roof, or maybe you want to torture me because it’ll be fun .” He snapped back.

“Geez, Pinetree, do you really think that low of me?”

“Yes.”

There’s a long stretch of silence between him, nothing but the sound of the still quiet of this grey mindscape.

Dipper shakes his head once. “Leave me alone, Bill.”

“Fine. I’ll be watching.” The words don’t sound final, more of a premonition.

And then Dipper woke up.

When Dipper woke up, sleepiness tugging at his brain, it took him a moment to recall the events of his dreams. Sock-covered feet landed on hardwood, floor creaking and buckling from the weight.

Mabel was mid-way through combing through her hair, eyes blinking in an attempt to awaken herself.

“Morning” He yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and letting out a wide yawn. Mabel smiled back, chestnut hair still in disarray as that smile turned to a pout.

“Did you stay up again , Dipper?” Her voice was filled with concern. “Do I need to-”

“No. I slept.” He paused, shaking his head. “And no I don’t want any Mabel Juice. That stuff’s the thing of nightmares, Mabel.”

“You look like Grunkle Stan ran over you with his car.” She wasn’t joking.

“I rescind my statement. I slept a little.” She was midway to opening her mouth but snapped it shut when he let his next words out in a rush, albeit sharp tone. “But I have a good reason!”

Her face was full of scepticism; a ‘you better have a good excuse, Dippin’ Dot.’ stare.

“Bill.”

“Ugh. Him .” She leant back, letting out a groan. “Not that triangle dude again. Please tell me you didn’t do something stupid, Dipper.”

“No. I didn’t do anything. Why would I-No.” He blubbered over his words for a moment. “Not after the last time, Mabes. Never again.”

Mabel practically shuddered, sharing in his distaste for that triangle monster. “So many forks.”

Waddles took that brief moment to clamber onto the pre-teen’s bed, nestling beside Dipper’s torso. He let out a little oink, tilting his little fat head in confusion.

“What does he want this time?” 

Dipper sat there in silence, brow furrowed. 

What did Bill want?

“I have no clue.”

Chapter Text

Dipper was desperately trying to not think about Bill. 

It’s hard, because despite how hard he’s trying, he can’t help but linger on the words he said, even as he was running from a yandere video game girl inhabiting a Chuck E Cheese ripoff with way too much murderous intent.

Or when he was running from insane cultists townsfolk with a memory erasing gun and helping McGucket with his own unusual problems.

Honestly, he thinks McGucket probably needs to see a professional and not just his raccoon wife.

So he didn’t find out who the Author really was yet, another dead end in the long list of red herrings and downright contradicting evidence.

Did he think on occasion about how Bill must know the answer? Of course he did. But he’d rather let Mabel into the expired and highly illegal supply of Smile Dip at the Dusk2Dawn than ask Bill anything .

But there had yet to be any supernatural occurrences that night or the night before, nor lingering in his dreams. 

It was quiet just like last time.

Instead of thoughts of his failed investigation plaguing his dreamscape, Bill was the only thing on his mind, replaying the events of that early morning over and over again. 

Even here in the vastness of his dreams, it couldn’t escape it. 

‘ You intrigue me, Pinetree. ’

He couldn’t remember if Bill had said it with malice or some ill-gained respect of some kind. But the one thing he did know was that the demented triangle was planning something . Something he didn’t want Dipper to get involved with.

Dipper’s head tilted as his dreamscape shifted to a vast field of green grass. Yellowed by summer slightly, flowers, carnations and daffodils, dotting the broader landscape. From the familiar abode that was the Mystery Shack to this empty grassy plain.

He stood at a forest’s edge, large and hulking redwood trees stretching towards the sky behind him.

At first he thought it merely another part of his dream, his mental recluse, but the shrill voice of Bill told him otherwise. 

“Hiya Pinetree.” Dipper spins around, staring face to triangle with Bill. He toppled backwards, tipping into the grass as the wind was blown from his chest.

Bill laughed, hovering above him, leaning back and pressing his hands against what could only be his chest with mirth. 

“What do you want, Bill?” Dipper let out with a huff, pushing himself upright in one smooth motion. 

The triangle held out a hand, reaching out towards him. He didn’t take it, staring at the offending four fingers with utter distrust. “I’m not shaking your hand.”

“It’s not a handshake. It’s, uh, what do you flesh bags say? A peace offering?” Bill’s voice twisted in discomfort, tongue, if he had one, trying to fit around the words. 

“What do you want?” He repeated, trying to be firmer this time.

“Woah, sue a guy for just wanting some company why don’t ya?” He scoffed, if triangles could even do that.

“ Company ? Really?” Dipper said, dripping with undisguised sarcasm. “You just want company ? I don’t buy it.”

“And I don’t blame you, Pinetree. I have been known to be a not so truthful guy.” He straightened his bowtie, a flair of superiority to his tiny act of grandeur. “But you, Dipper Pines, have been incredibly intriguing. ”

He sounded almost sardonic, but there was a hint of something else. Something Dipper couldn’t quite pinpoint and by god it was frustrating.

Bill out of nowhere started eating a pomegranate of all things with his eye. The pre-teen couldn’t help but recoil slightly.

“Nope. Don’t believe it.” Dipper finally rose to his feet, brushing off dirt and grass from his shorts. 

When he glanced back upwards, Bill was tapping his foot up and down, clearly at least a little discontent with his reply. “Frustrated that I’m not that gullible this time?”

“Sheesh kid, what do I have to do for you to understand that I’m not here to possess you or murder you?? Or even rearrange your organs?? Honestly that would be the least entertaining thing right now.” He rolls his singular eye, almost as if he couldn’t believe why Dipper wouldn’t trust him.

Dipper reached up to grab his hat, fingers gliding across hair instead. “What the-” 

He looked back at Bill who was holding the hat in his spindly digits. “Looking for this?” He brandished the hat, twirling and spinning it around.

“Give that back!” Dipper launched forward, scrambling to grab it yet Bill moved backwards.

“Or what, Pinetree?” He could swear Bill would have a shit-eating grin if he had a mouth to begin with. 

With a smooth flourish, the hat tipped backwards and it spun upwards. Bill's body contoured in a horrifying manner, the triangle morphing into a different form. Twisting and malforming his isosceles shape. Flesh snaked and swam around his frame as it grew, shifted and cracked.

Dipper fell backwards in shock, hands gripping onto grass and gravel as he screamed.

Dipper’s hat landed on Bill swiftly, his arms spread out, human face split wide with that shit-eating grin.

He placed the hat on his sandy blonde hair, singular eye pushed upwards by his smile. Bill was about Dipper’s size in stature, limbs gangly and disproportionate to his torso. 

“Like what you see, kid?” Bill was laughing now, snapping his godforsaken neon sunshine yellow suspenders with a loud crack that echoed through the field.

Mabel would, rightfully so, have a minor fit over Bill’s choice in clothing. For one, he was wearing sandals with mismatched socks. And then the aforementioned neon yellow suspenders along with his usual bowtie.

Dipper couldn’t tell if the horribly patterned Hawaiian shirt was the cherry on top of Bill’s fashion disaster sundae or not.

“Nope. Nope, not doing this.” 

And then Dipper woke up.

He blinked and stared at the ceiling, the loose hang-nail, the possum that stared back at him from the roof, anything but the crushing and lingering feeling of panic on his chest.

One breath in, two breathes out.

Like a small dog, he was shaking, vibrating with panic.

He slammed his head backwards against his pillow, knowing full well he wasn’t going to get any more sleep tonight.

Fuck you, Bill.