kitty-serenade - Tumblr blog

kitty-serenade · 3 months

Text

Cult Reincarnation part Three! Here's parts One and Two if you missed 'em.

The followers of Bill Cipher are the most blessed of believers. Strong and devoted, they are empowered to overcome all things, through service to their god.

And in times of trouble, the devout always have something to turn to.

Dipper bows his head before the golden image, and tries to force his muscles into a semblance of relaxation.

Worship.

He hopes hating every second of it doesn’t matter. If it works at all.

Praying to a god, in the domain of said god, should technically speaking be overkill. This kind of thing is supposed to reach through the veil between planes, not just partway across a building. The process has a lot of kick to it.

That’s the theory, anyway. Dipper’s working with what he’s got -

But he’s not sure Bill’s all that easy to reach.

No worshiper has ever called for help and received it. There were excuses, of course. Dozens of them. But brushing them off with a ‘not worthy’ doesn’t work when it’s literally everyone.

Either nobody’s worthy, or no help is provided. From what Dipper’s learned about the god himself, it’s the latter.

Probably because Bill doesn’t care about most of them. Maybe because he thinks it’s funny. The third guess - that he thinks helping is boring - is currently leading the pack.

There’s another reason, too. One that’s… technically possible, but Dipper’s trying not to think about it.

No matter what the cause of it, none of those bode well for Dipper’s plan. That’s on top of the fact that summoning Bill is, by all metrics, an incredibly reckless idea.

Still, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Dipper needs a quick way out of an awful situation, and it’s one he got himself into this time.

Focusing on the shape of Bill in the window, Dipper concentrates. Breathing in, then out.

He snaps his fingers, and the candles bloom with bright blue fire, before settling down to the standard red-yellow glow. Despite everything, he spends a brief second admiring the tiny flames.

The magic comes so easily to him now. Studying mysterious texts found in a hideous nightmare realm is another bad idea, but you can’t argue with results. Whoever gathered the books in the guest room must have -

Another wailing howl rings down the corridor. A distant scrabbling echo, the scrape of claws on stone.

Dipper drops to his knees and scrambles to finish his makeshift setup. Something ninety percent cribbed from the ritual he ‘volunteered’ for, minus all the blood.

Rushing through this isn’t optimal, but hell, none of this is. Dipper’s working on a hope and a literal prayer. Being in the guy’s home instead of a dimension away should amplify the effect. Bill might not be able to ignore him, if he’s loud enough.

When the alternative is being devoured by wandering demons, Dipper’s willing to have a bit of faith.

Just a smidgen, though. Enough to make this work.

Another chattering sound, though more distant, gives him plenty more panic-induced belief to work with.

With all the setup done, Dipper claps his hands together. He tries to steady his breathing. The words of the ritual resonate in his mind instead of out loud, which should be good enough considering the god in question.

And he knows Bill, too. Personally, not abstractly. Dipper can hold the image of him in his mind as clearly as if he was standing in the room. The fact that it’s a human shape shouldn’t matter. He’s… ninety five percent certain it won’t.

Now. If he focuses. If he reaches out with sincere effort and desire, pushing with the magic that bubbles inside him - this should work.

He really, really hopes it works.

“You rang?”

His heart nearly leaps into his throat. Jerking up right, Dipper whips around towards the voice.

Where Bill Cipher stands. He’s right behind him and just to his left, as smug and dapper as always. Appearing out of freaking nowhere.

Dipper slumps back down to the floor as Bill wiggles his fingers in greeting.

That’s one hell of a response time. He’d barely gotten started before Bill popped into place.

“Looks like you had a fun little jaunt!” Bill claps his hands together, leaning - but not quite looming - over him. “I wondered where you’d run off to!”

The phrasing makes Dipper wince. That’s not - he hopes Bill didn't really mean that. It would mean he got the wrong idea.

Dipper didn’t ‘run off’, because he’s not stupid. No matter what other people might have said.

All he wanted was a cursory look around. Checking out if there were other ‘apartments’, see if there were any windows. Something brief enough to let him get an idea of what kind of place he was dealing with, then heading back to the relative safety of Bill’s place.

Which might be the weirdest part of all.

That it is safe, for a limited version of the word.

Since being kidnapped, he’s had zero new injuries. Plenty of comfort, reasonable safety, and very little to hide from. Material comforts, not promises that never get realized. Even his room in Bill’s place is the nicest place he’s ever lived, cozy by any definition.

Casting everything aside for the chance at an ‘exit’ is a dumb choice.

Dipper was doing just fine where he was. No running off anywhere. He’s been perfectly fine with his three little rooms, even if it’s a bit limiting.

Technically he has access to four, if you include the living room. But that one usually has Bill in it.

Some worshippers would have bled far, far more than Dipper did, for even the briefest chance at access to their god. Getting their messages to him directly, basking in his radiant golden presence, accessing all his mysteries - a dream that they could hope to think about achieving, one day in the future.

And they’d all be disappointed.

Turns out Bill’s both weirder and more crazy than any scripture made it seem. It’s nothing like… anything, really.

Dozens of passionate sermons on Bill’s infinite wrath, crumbling in the face of him being totally, bizarrely chill with everything Dipper’s done so far. Hours of speeches about his unknowable motives, and infinite grandeur, shattered by watching him pontificate on whether he should wear the ‘cool’ socks today, or the ‘ones with little duckies on them’.

Hell, Dipper watched his god blow up half of a wall by accident and shrug it the hell off - then later get so mad at something on interdimensional television he choked on the gummy bears he was eating.

Years of study has done nothing to prepare Dipper for this, and he was the one looking in forbidden texts.

It’s. Informative. But also, like, a lot.

So for the most part, Dipper decided to hole up in the guest room. It’s easier than parsing the god puzzle, and the alone time is nice.

In the last… few days? More than a week, possibly, he’s had time to read, write notes, take uninterrupted naps, and nothing bad has happened to him. Peace and quiet came at a premium back in the compound. Here, all he has to do is shut a door.

Still, books only last so long to keep someone occupied. Confinement has always made Dipper kinda stir-crazy.

And on the one occasion when Bill wasn’t in the living room, well. Curiosity has always driven Dipper into absolutely dumb actions. Including going snooping again. Maybe a tiny bit of peeking into Bill’s bedroom, because the door was unlocked.

And since that was unlocked, it only made sense to test the knob leading out of Bill’s quarters.

It’s not Dipper’s fault the damn door disappeared the moment he stepped outside.

So really, he didn’t ‘run off’. He wasn’t trying to escape, or even go too far from his room.

He just got bored.

And when that went south, he didn’t have many other options. Turns out the Fearamid is full of demons. He saw that on the way in, but he didn’t truly understand the extent.

Without Bill escorting him, the concept got hammered in pretty much immediately.

The moment he stepped out, he must have caught the attention of damn near every demon in this godawful place. One young human, basically catnip for monsters. The first one showed up within a minute.

Time is strange here, though. It might have been longer.

Dipper has been running for what feels like hours.

“What’s the matter, kid? Trip not as fun as you expected?” Bill gives his shoulder a friendly shake. “Or didja just miss me?”

Dipper shrugs.

Sure, it’s nice Bill showed up. It’s great that he’s not deadly. But he’s arguably a different kind of problem.

A few tugs on his shirt make him reluctantly stand, turning to face Bill. Despite being summoned in his own home, he’s surprisingly upbeat.

“Now I’m guessing you called me - and this is just off the top of my head here - that once you got going, you couldn’t find your way back.” Bill sets fists on his hips, eminently amused. “A little lost lamb like you musta freaked out!”

Before Dipper can do more than shrug, something with way too many limbs scuttles around a corner, filling the hallway with a writhing mass. He surges closer to Bill, heart in his throat.

A moment later the creature spots Bill, and freezes in place. Then, lifting each of its limbs like it’s tiptoeing, it backs all the way up and around the corner. Like it opened a door, saw something twice as horrific as itself - and then carefully shut it again, trying to pretend that didn’t happen.

“Do me a favor, though, and put a little less ‘oomph’ into the magic next time.” Bill pushes a pinky into his ear and twists it around, then pulls it out and flicks it clean. “That crap was loud.”

Dipper nods rapidly. Yep, can do. At some point he started clutching Bill’s elbow, but he’s not about to stop. Not here.

With Bill guiding him, the mazelike corridors present no further problems. Even though they do turn around at least three times, and at one point walk on the actual ceiling, Bill keeps going with perfect confidence in his stride.

There aren't’ any interruptions, either. Compared to mere minutes before, the halls are mysteriously quiet and empty, leaving him and Bill to stroll along, hand on elbow.

When they arrive back at the penthouse, Bill opens the door with a sweep of his arm, and a slight bow that might be mocking - but Dipper’s too tired to be bothered.

So much for the ‘escape’ idea. Running around the Fearamid was nothing but an exercise in terrified frustration.

It would be rational, Dipper knows, to be more upset. But the cult was also a confusing, stupid, terrifying place that held him captive, and back there he could never count on having a hot bath, or privacy, or sleep.

A few weeks ago he would have said the threat of death back home was lower, but now? He knows which one he’d choose, any day.

The one confounding factor is Bill himself.

In the cult, you couldn’t avoid him at all. Always talking about him, if you still were able. Praying to his idols, going to the rituals, chanting and waving your hands like an idiot in the air. Making sure that your every action pleased him. Following all his orders. Every day, some part of your day was spent thinking or acting on his wishes.

Actually being around him every day requires… precisely none of that. He’s so -

‘Different’ would be the wrong word. A being who’s lived for literal eons doesn’t change things up on a dime.

This is Bill Cipher without any convenient ‘reinterpretations’.

The priest was wrong about Bill. Everything he said was at best incorrect, and more likely a bunch of self-serving bullshit. Everything they ever did was stupid and wrong. Bill never cared about what they did, or all the prayers they sent or literally any devotional action. And that’s a true, unshakable fact, because the opposite idea - that Dipper’s mere presence changes Bill’s behavior, even one iota - is laughably outrageous.

Another slight shake. Bill, trying to catch his attention again. He’s raised an eyebrow, examining Dipper’s face as he thinks.

Right, Dipper should - uh. Probably just get out of here. Before Bill does something like get annoyed at his ungrateful guest. Or worse, put on the expectant look again.

With a quick nod, and a ‘cute’ smile, he shuffles out from under his arm, and scuttles for the guest room.

Everything’s just as he left it. The open book. The tidy sheets. The notes he was taking, before he noticed Bill was gone and thought he’d have a tiny look around -

“Haven’t done much redecorating, I see.”

Dipper nearly leaps out of his skin. Shit, what -

Behind him, Bill hovers at a disrespectful distance. His eye is narrowed, and his expression suggests a man who’s not terribly impressed.

“A full week shoulda had you settled in way more.” Bill says, shaking his head in… disappointment? He stalks around Dipper casually, glancing around the room. “Hey, you made the bed! That’s rare!”

Dipper’s mouth works, but that’s an old, dumb instinct. He shuts it, and glares.

Bill wanders around, casually pacing around the small space. A quick check of the bed, yanking out the sheets until they’re messy again - then setting his fists on his hips, looking proud of himself.

Okay. This is new.

Bill’s been around, but he’s never intruded before. Every time Dipper wasn’t sure how to deal with him, he could retreat back to the guest room and be sure that he’d have some space. Quiet, too, aside from the occasional piano playing, drifting through the door.

Now he’s thinking all of that was a courtesy.

Obviously Bill can’t be kept out of what is, after all, his place. He’s simply chosen not to intrude until now.

With supreme confidence, Bill drops onto the bed, tucking his arms behind his head and crossing one leg over the other - yeah. Still his place, and he knows it. He didn’t even take his shoes off.

“Oh!” A bright grin crosses Bill’s face. He rummages under the pillow for a second. “I take it back - you did make one addition to the decor.”

With a grin, he brandishes the stupid plush of himself like he was holding up his firstborn child. Because he is, as Dipper learned, a narcissist.

Ugh, of course he’d find that. Dipper looks away, trying to keep his annoyance off his face.

“Yeah, yeah, glare all you like, kid.” Bill says, wagging a chiding finger. “You’ve been making yourself scarce, but you can’t avoid me forever! At the very least ya need to get those stitches out in a few days.” A smirk. “Though I’d love to see you manage that yourself.”

Dipper can’t argue with that. He does try to stop glaring, but it’s surprisingly difficult.

“What?” Bill sits up, setting mini-Bill in his lap. He raises an eyebrow. “Not got anything to say?”

Obviously not. Dipper folds his arms, and tries not to look at - not an interloper, this is Bill’s. He’s the guest. Getting bothered by it is rude at best.

“But no! Silent as the night is long, and orders of magnitude more boring. This whole time, I haven’t heard a peep from you, Pine Tree. And I've been very patient.” Bill sighs, running a hand through his hair. “What gives?”

Like that’s not obvious, either. Dipper pinches his lips together, tight.

There was a sacrifice. Made in Bill’s name, and for his honor. A devotion bestowed unto him. He can ignore cries for help, but there’s no way Bill didn’t notice that. Just like when he showed at the ritual, or at Dipper’s impromptu summoning. The call would have been too strong.

No, even stronger. With that much blood spilled, it must have been like a signal beacon.

Bill knows what went on. He just didn’t care.

And now he’s being an asshole, just because he can.

“It’s especially irritating when you have plenty of avenues to make a statement.” Bill rises from the bed with a sigh, dropping mini-Bill back onto the pillows. “You just haven’t put in the effort!”

Without waiting for a response, he stalks straight past Dipper and over to the desk. He runs his fingers over the surface, caressing the edge of -

Oh, shit, no.

His journal. That he left out, like an idiot, assuming Bill would never, ever come in here to see it-

By now it’s far too late - he must have seen a bit already - but Dipper hurries over towards him anyway. It’s not like he can shove Bill out of the way, or smack anything out of his hand. The repercussions would - he doesn’t want to think about those; they make him feel so sick.

Bill’s already picked it up, he even turned a page -

“See? You’re literate, sapling! Reading and writing, both at your command.” He rests the journal against where his heart would theoretically be. “Why haven’t you shown any of it off?”

For a lot of very good reasons. For fuck’s sake. Bill’s already intimated that he knows Dipper doesn’t really believe. But he is arrogant, and powerful. A terrible, awful, confusing god.

He can’t be allowed to read that journal, because gods do not like being called ‘assholes’. Even if it’s true.

Though it’s a dumb move, Dipper makes a grab for the damning evidence. Bill’s too quick though; he misses by a mile.

“Oop!” Bill raises his arm high, looking at Dipper with amusement. “Aww, nice try! So close.” With a wink, he dangles Dipper's own personal, very private notebook over his head. Why does this bastard have to be tall, damn it. “What, you want this?”

Dipper grits his teeth. No, he was never going to get it back by force, or speed, or even a quick wit. One young human doesn’t stand a chance.

Desperate times. Desperate measures.

It worked before. It might work now,

Dipper takes a slow breath, and lets it out. Then he shuts his eyes, and kneels.

Above him, he hears Bill’s laugh fall silent. Slightly placated, then. A little more should do the trick.

With a great effort of will, Dipper bows his head, hands pressed together. He can get through this. He can kneel and - kind of sit awkwardly on his foot, he shifts his weight and braces his palm on Bill’s thigh for balance.

He’s about to start praying when something hits him in the head with a thump.

Dipper jerks back, hissing through his teeth. He starts rubbing at the spot, head lowered -

And when he blinks at the floor, a book flops unceremoniously open on the carpet.

Before Bill can move, Dipper snags the journal that was just dropped on him. Tucking it under his arm for safekeeping, and scooting back on the carpet.

“Eh, whatever. Go ahead and keep it.” Bill folds his arms, turning away to sit back down on the bed. Weirdly huffy for a guy who was getting worshiped. Maybe Dipper did it wrong. “Besides! I don’t need to skim through some book to know you.”

Welp, that’s ominous.

Dipper shuffles back over to the desk. He glances over at Bill - looking away, still in his odd sulk - then opens a drawer, drops his journal in, and shuts it with his hip.

Another huff from Bill. By his face he’s not in a great mood, but it doesn’t seem to be actively dangerous.

And he doesn’t make another move for the journal. Even though it’s full of secrets.

That’s one relief. Maybe he considers Dipper’s secrets too boring. Maybe Bill’s not interested in them, beyond using them to antagonize him.

He’s a god, anyway. A demon slash god slash infinite being of pure energy. All human thought should be totally beneath his notice, just like the fleeting human lives that make up his cult -

But that doesn’t make sense, either.

Dipper rubs at his eyes. Silently willing any part of this, at any time, to finally come together.

Because if humans were totally beneath Bill’s notice, why is one of them here? Living in his home, taking up his space, eating his food and breathing his air and getting weird expectant looks. Even for a supernatural being, that’s no small effort.

If it were just about his blood, Dipper could understand that. It wouldn’t be very fun, but he’d get it.

But it’s not. Because none of it has been spilled since the ritual. Because nothing’s been painful or threatening or - okay, a lot of it’s been weird, but nothing like the scriptures said it would be. All the rules Dipper’s learned simply don’t seem to apply.

Bill’s supposed to be -

He’s supposed to be different, is all.

But hee can hardly blame Bill for that. It’s not his fault people got him wrong, or idealized him, or if he’s super weird - that last part was advertised, extensively.

There’s a lot of things that a lot of people are ‘supposed’ to be, Dipper guesses. It never really fits them, in the end.

He just doesn’t understand why Bill’s doing this.

“Don’t think we’re not gonna go over the main pain of the day, either.” Bill gives Dipper a long, annoyed look. “What kinda guy stays at another guy’s place and doesn’t give him so much as a ‘hello’?”

Dipper shrugs, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He can’t quite meet Bill’s eye.

Okay, technically Bill’s right. That would be rude, if it weren’t for certain circumstances.

“And I don’t mean chanting a prayer, either! You got fully functional hands and a brain.” With a frown, Bill stands and approaches. Dipper backs up against the desk, but Bill stops a couple feet away, hands on his hips. “Why not write a thank-you note or something?”

Oh. Well.

That was always an option. Dipper just didn’t know Bill wanted it.

And why would he? Bill’s a mental god, a mind reader. Always keeping an eye on him. The idea that he just wants to be ‘talked’ to is….

Yeah, another weird thing. Hell, at least Dipper can do that. It might not even be too embarrassing.

Before he can grab a pen and paper off the desk, Bill shoves a whiteboard and marker in his hands. He nearly jumps back, before accepting it with reasonable dignity. Despite having seen it before, Bill manifesting things out of nowhere is remarkably startling.

Now he’s left staring at it. Wondering what he should do.

“Ahem,” Bill clears his throat. “You could start with a, ‘Hi Bill!’ or, ‘You’re amazing, Bill’. Y’know, any kinda standard greeting.” He claps his hands together, grinning wide. “But I’ll give you more points for creativity.”

Dipper glances down at the blank white board, then back up at Bill. He clamps his mouth shut, trying to focus.

That was a joke. Right? He’s, like, 90% the ‘points’ are rhetorical, not literal. How do you get a bad grade in talking to a god? What metric would Bill use to - damn it, he’s overthinking this already.

What would be a good answer. What would be bad? And what’s the horribly wrong one that ends in disaster?

Dipper hesitates, biting his lip. He hears Bill make a soft groan, either impatient or already disappointed.

Great. Yet another chance to fail his god. Just like all the other times Bill waited for something, and didn’t get it. Now he’s going to read something Dipper wrote, words made just for him, and those will be the first words Dipper’s ever said directly to him. They have to be -

Shit. Right.

Another glance up - Bill has his expectant look on again, and somehow it’s even brighter this time. Watching tantalizing treat, held just out of reach - but maybe arriving, in a moment.

Of course. That’s what Bill’s been waiting for.

The only truly wrong answer is not giving one.

Dipper gives a quick smile, and starts scribbling on the whiteboard. He can do this. It may not be great, but he can hardly do worse than nothing.

The instant he puts marker to surface, Bill’s grin somehow widens to an impossible degree, even though it’s the single most boring thing that could be going on in the nightmare realm. He even claps a few times, like a particularly annoying, demonic seal.

His enthusiasm takes some of the pressure off. Even if Dipper can’t bring himself to use the most worshipful greetings, Bill should be pleased nonetheless.

“Lemme see, lemme see!” Bill beckons him closer, eye bright and lit from within.

For a second, Dipper’s tempted to hold the board to his chest, feeling warm in the face. It’s really not a big deal. Bill doesn’t need to make one out of it.

After a second, he turns his head away and the board around, where he’s written a fairly neutral - but still devoted! - greeting.

‘I am at your service, my lord.’

Bill looks down at the board.

Then he looks up at Dipper’s face, searching it for something. Then down again.

The smile has slid away, leaving a mix of alarm and disgust behind. Like Bill bit into a donut he’d been saving for a special occasion, and got a mouthful of frog spawn.

The reaction is so unexpected that Dipper’s more baffled than nervous. What, is it his handwriting? A quick check proves it’s perfectly legible.

“Cute, I guess! Give it another shot.” Bill says, and wipes the board clean with two fingers. He laughs, in the tone of someone who’s seen a terrible social gaffe and is glossing over it. “Try ‘Bill’, instead. ‘Handsome’, if you’re daring. A pet name, even!” His smile inches briefly downward. “But ‘bout skip the ‘lord’ or ‘master’ for the next few years. Minimum.”

Dipper slowly turns the board back around, though he does side-eye Bill for a moment. He gets a grip on the marker again, pausing for thought.

What the hell, that was a classic. Every supernatural being likes deference. Especially the powerful ones. Except now the rules have changed up, again, without any rhyme or reason, because Bill just has to be super weird, all the goddamn time.

Not that he’s going to comment on it. If Bill overthinks this ‘no groveling’ decision, he might change his mind.

After a few seconds of deliberation - Bill staring the whole time - he goes with, ‘Hi Bill’

“Much better,” Bill says with satisfaction. He rubs his hands together, smiling wide. “Man, we have a lot of catching up to do!”

He leans in, very, very close, making Dipper lean back against the desk. He clutches the board tight, smiles awkwardly - and hopes this won’t be too bad.

One of Bill Cipher’s domains of power is knowledge. Another is secrets.

With the way Bill asks questions, it’s like Dipper has a bunch that he doesn’t already know about.

Bill wants to know his favorite color - blue - tells him it should be yellow, with a haughty sniff, then erases Dipper’s apology and insists he tell him about his brief trip outside. And about how he likes the penthouse. How he’s found the accommodations - comfy, thank you - and a thousand other minor, dull details. Keeping up with the sheer barrage makes Dipper’s hand cramp, even when he skips out on full sentences.

It’s one of the longest conversations - insofar as it is one - that Dipper’s ever had with someone outside his old cult. Bill, meanwhile, is the god of that cult, and he still doesn’t seem to know anything about it. Or at least he’s asking a hell of a lot of questions about really, objectively, boring crap. At some point, Dipper realizes that eternal smile isn’t there anymore, so it’s probably boring him, too.

“All of that aside - I think we oughta get to the heart of the matter, as it were.” Bill snaps his fingers, and the grin resurges.

Dipper nods. He swallows, throat bobbing, and ducks his head.

Okay. Everything else has been kind of surface level. Now he must be moving on to deeper secrets. Things in Dipper’s head that have never seen the light of day. Or the ones that have, and Bill’s going to dig into them, deeply. Possibly painfully so -

“Why won't you talk to me?” Bill whines.

What?

Dipper runs that sentence back through his head, but there’s no other word for it. The high, nasal tone, the slump of Bill’s shoulders. A look that might be a pout - he’s sulking again, but way harder this time.

But that - Dipper double-checks his board, recalling all his responses. It can’t be something he wrote, that was all pretty bland. So either Bill’s just being weird again, or - something. Another thing.

Damn it. He wishes he had more space to pick this apart, but Bill’s been so close and talking too fast. He didn’t have time to analyze while bracing against the flood.

“Seriously, what are we looking at here?” Bill says, straightening up. He paces around Dipper in a circle, arms tucked behind his back. “Vow of silence? Cause if so, I’m your god, and I say screw that! Pipe up anytime!”

Dipper shakes his head. No. If it was, he would have violated it a long time ago. It’s a weird guess.

It’s weird that Bill is guessing.

“Ethereal binding? A curse, maybe?” The idea must strike him as a fun one, because Bill perks up again. “Now if we’re talking curses, oh man! I’ve got a whole collection! There’s dozens of ways to break those, kid. Hell, depending on type, we could get you patched up this evening!”

Again, Dipper shakes his head. He huffs out a sigh, about to correct Bill’s incredibly wrong assumption -

Then pauses with the marker above the board. Because - well - Bill wouldn’t want to be told the obvious. He should know this already.

Dipper bites his lower lip again, frowning at the blank white space.

Shouldn’t he?

Meanwhile, Bill rattles off more speculations, each one more bizarre than the last. No, he didn’t make a deal with a sea witch, or a harpy. He didn’t wander into the bog of silence, or sell his voice for some magic beans.

By this point he’s not bothering to hold up the board and marker anymore, just so he can shrug better. Without writing down his responses, he has more space to think.

He already knew the ‘didn’t care’ part. An ambivalent, cruel god would hardly have reason to help any easily replaceable mortal. The ‘bored’ part might fit, if Bill wasn’t so bluntly fascinated by the topic. Obviously Bill thinks some suffering is fun, but this ‘conversation’ doesn’t entertain him. It’s something…

There… was a another idea. One Dipper kept to himself.

An assumption, and one that he knows so, so much better than to speak aloud.

Not that he can ever do that again.

Looking at Bill’s face, though. He’s gone quiet, momentarily. Looking back at Dipper with his head cocked to one side. Staring, intensely, like he wants to drill the answer straight out of his brain. Which he can, he’s Bill freakin’ Cipher. But he’s not doing it for whatever reason, so Dipper just has to roll with that.

At the end of the day, there’s no other conclusion to come to.

That despite the all-seeing eye, the power of a god, and knowing mysteries of the multiverse -

Maybe Bill actually, genuinely, doesn’t...

Dipper has to try a couple times before he gets the letters down without them wobbling too much. He gets them down with careful strokes, board feeling heavy in his hands.

His hands only shake a little when he flips it around.

‘You don’t know?’

“Hey, I know tons, kid! A billion things! I could tell you what I had for breakfast, January 25, 1938! Or what Machiavelli did in his spare time! But that’s stuff I was personally involved in.” Bill scoffs. Then waves vaguely, not meeting Dipper’s eye. “Whatever went on in your little conclave wasn’t on my radar. I might be short on specifics.”

Even though he was already expecting something like that, the admission catches Dipper off guard.

Holy shit, he was right.

Bill genuinely didn’t know. He just said it, though not in so many words.

He just. Said it.

There are things in the world that he doesn’t notice, or - or things that he misses, he’s not -

As Dipper reels at the revelation, he braces himself on the desk. Bill’s arm shoots out, bracing his waist like he thinks Dipper’s going to fall.

And. If this wasn’t for - if this wasn’t from Bill. If he didn’t command it from afar. If it wasn’t his order. Then it was always the people around him, especially the priest, and Dipper didn’t, maybe, do something wrong, he just.

Dipper sniffs, then wipes at his face with his sleeve. Hopefully it looks like he was scratching an itch or something.

Weirdly, Bill’s serious face starts edging towards… surprise? Alarm? He coughs into his fist. “So, about the-”

Dipper waves him off, then realizes that was stupid. He picks up the board again, and scribbles, ‘I can’t.’

“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?”

How is he not getting this? Dipper huffs out a breath, and underlines ‘can’t’. Twice.

Bill rolls his eye, patting the air in a calming motion. “Alright, alright. Straight up incapable! Now are we talking emotionally, spiritually…” It was already weird to see him serious. Now, his expression is far too calm. “Or physically?”

Maybe Dipper shouldn’t admit this. Maybe telling Bill would get someone in trouble, but it’s not Dipper in trouble, maybe never should have been, and momentum carries him forward.

It takes a second to write it. The words keep coming out wrong. 'They said it was for blasphemy’.

"Show me." Both Bill's face and voice are dead flat.

The sharpness of the command stings. Dipper winces, jaw clenching tight.

There’s the first order he’s been given. Until now, Bill hasn’t bothered, and all things considered it could be worse.

But it is an order. Dipper swallows against the nausea rising, and clenches his fists.

Okay. He can do this. It’s been a long time since he took a look in the mirror at that particular sight, but - right, lord of nightmares. He’s probably seen way worse.

Under Bill’s impatient gaze, Dipper carefully sets his board and marker aside. Then he shuts his eyes, points at his mouth, and opens it.

He only holds it that way for, like, a little bit. Exposing this sucks. It makes his mouth dry, and having Bill stare at it makes the twist in his stomach worse. A few seconds all he can stand before he shuts it again.

A low growl rumbles.

Then Bill’s thumb digs into the corner of his mouth, pulling it back and shoving in between his teeth. Dipper tries arching his head away, but Bill turns him back with a commanding grip on his chin. A thumb digs in, wedging his mouth open and pushing his teeth apart. The only choice is to open up or bite him, and it hurts -

Dipper twists his head. Bill holds him still. The helpless ‘ah’ that comes out of his throat sounds strained and weak. Shit, he should just be quiet, it’s not like he’s not used to it at this point.

Continual pressure, Bill’s not giving in - so Dipper relents, letting Bill get his awful kicks out of the sight. Face burning, eyes shut. He’s never liked having to use his mouth since it happened, and Bill keeps staring when he should have only needed a glimpse to know what was wrong.

Bill holds him like that for a full ten seconds. Silent. Staring.

Then he lets go.

Dipper stumbles back, covering his mouth with both hands. Through the rapid blinking, he can see Bill take a deep breath in.

And another one.

Bill’s eye is twitching but otherwise, he’s dead-faced. No more smile, no easy stance. He’s tense and his fingers flex. His eye glows with a dull, burning light.

That’s… not a happy look. Dipper presses his back up against the wall. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the heat from his own eyes.

When Bill punches the wall, it shatters as if hit with a sledgehammer.

Dipper drops. Legs folding, butt hitting the ground, and pressing his hands tight over his face. Shards of the wall tumble onto the carpet, and blink away into ash, as blue fire burns in the crater; drywall flaking away to reveal more of that same black stone.

“You have got to be kidding me! What kind of bullshit is THIS?” Bill’s voice rings through the room, loud and so angry. He starts pacing back and forth, throwing his arms in the air. “Bunch of half-witted jackasses ruining my stuff! And for what?”

His voice turns strange and deep on some of the words, it resonates in the room, it makes the walls shake.

Dipper shuffles up against the desk, taking shelter from the blooms of fire that seem to be popping up on the walls, and the floor, and - everywhere. It’s trailing along the baseboards, climbing up the corners.

Bill didn’t like that. He really, really didn’t like that. He’s angered his god again and it’s going to be bad.

“And in my name! Under my image! What a laugh!” Bill taps his foot against the carpet, teeth bared, eye glowing a bright, hot red - “They like blood rituals? Oh I’ll give ‘em a blood ritual.”

It feels like the entire building is moving by now, as Bill punctuates his statement with a kick. It tosses Dipper an inch off the ground, sending books and pens toppling to the floor. The door to the kitchen splinters into a thousand quietly screaming shards, before vanishing in acrid smoke. The heat’s rising, Bill’s way too close - and the light’s gone strange and shifting, casting stark shadows in dark black and bright light.

Dipper never should have mentioned anything. Never gone outside, never left his room, never spoken up, the last is a lesson he should know by now. Never should have thought that Bill didn’t have infinite wrath available, how stupid was he.

All he can do now is try and make himself small.

Tucking himself against the desk isn’t working but there’s nowhere else to go. Nothing in this room is safe, and it’s so hot - Dipper tries to breathe steadily but he can’t seem to get enough air.

“I never shoulda left that place intact in the first place!” Bill throws his head back, laughing to himself with a manic grin. “That’s the last time I let a bunch of stupid cultists live with their lungs on the inside.”

Bill punctuates his threat with another kick to the wall, which deforms like putty around him. Bill swears again. He yanks his leg, attempting to pull it out - and hey, the door’s open. Bill never shut it, he’s turned away for now and as long as he’s not looking -

Dipper makes a break for it.

Scrambling on hands and knees on too-hot carpet hurts, but the lower he keeps himself the less likely he’ll catch Bill’s eye again. A frantic couple of seconds later he’s out of the guest room, heart pounding, and he leaps to his feet and runs.

Can’t stay out here. Room’s too open, too many places to be cornered. Can’t be in the open or be seen, can’t remind Bill that the source of his anger is right here with him, so easy to catch and punish.

His brain catches up with him just as his foot hits stone.

Dipper freezes in the doorway, breathing hard - but not stepping out.

Okay, the exit opened easily enough, but he already knows that everything outside is terrifying and horrible and - he glances over his shoulder, at the blue light - it’s not much of an improvement.

With a jerk, Dipper abandons that escape route, and turns back to face the penthouse. The light from the guest room is growing, Bill’s anger surging, and before he storms out Dipper needs a place to hide.

There’s too much space under the piano. He’d never fit in the cupboards, or under the couch, and the fireplace is literally on fire -

But there is one more open door that Dipper’s never been in before.

Bill might not like it, but he also won’t look there first thing and it’s further away from him than where Dipper’s standing right now.

He’s through the door to Bill’s bedroom before he can stop himself - no magical resistance, and no time to think about why - Dipper checks, but there’s no obvious exits, or closets, or even conveniently large wardrobes, why does -

In the distance, Bill lets out a loud, angry incoherent sound. He hears the door slam, open or closed he can’t tell.

As another rumble shakes the Fearamid, Dipper ducks and slides underneath the too-large bed.

Thank hell the bed’s totally oversized; there’s enough space to crawl, so he shuffles up and back, towards the headboard. It’s a little dusty and there’s some clutter he can’t see, but all that is easily shoved aside until he curls up, tight, against the wall and under the frame.

That’s it. As far away as he can get.

Nothing left to do but wait.

It feels like a long time. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. There’s no way to tell, with the only frame of reference being his own heart pounding, too fast.

The building has gone still again, which. Hopefully that’s a good sign. Maybe Bill’s calming down. Maybe he’s moved somewhere else. Maybe he noticed Dipper left, and he’s going to hunt him down and -

But it might take him a while. This is a decent hiding space. The blankets draped back down after he slid under, covering any line of sight. And all the light. Everything’s dark, and the cloth and bed muffle all the distant sounds.

Somewhere, Bill lets out a single, furious shout. Dipper winces, but he can’t make out the words anymore. It could be about anything.

After that, there’s silence again.

Simply waiting means he could stalk in without any sign. He can be quiet, he’s basically a supernatural predator, and an ambush - he needs some warning.

Dipper shuffles until he faces the wall, pressing his ear against the floor, listening for the approach - No footsteps. Yet. He can still feel his heart beating at a rapid pace, but he thinks he’s not panting anymore, so. That’s good.

The quiet, and dark, and - for some, incredibly weird reason - the smell of the room itself all combine into a strangely calming effect. Not that it’s safe, because absolutely isn’t; there’s literally only a duvet keeping him out of sight.

It just. Feels a little safer. For stupid, back-of-the-brain reasons, totally irrational. Like an animal retreating into its burrow from a predator, pinging ancient instincts.

Which isn’t rational in the slightest. Not to mention the danger is Bill Cipher himself. Dipper’s putting his faith into a blanket keeping a monster from seeing him, and if it wasn’t so terrifyingly real it’d almost be funny.

This is the best he’s got for now. He’ll figure out the next step later. Whenever that is.

The one positive note is the yelling’s been done for a while now. Quiet is a welcome relief. Even if it’s temporary.

Very temporary, as a sudden commotion starts up in the living room.

By the sound of it, Bill’s stomping around and making a clatter. He’s messing around with objects. Breaking something, maybe. Doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not breaking someone.

More thudding - faster, like a run - then Bill’s voice, loud and slightly breathless. “Hey! Pine Tree?”

A long pause.

Dipper tucks his legs up against himself, wrapping his good arm around them. His other wrist throbs; he holds it close to his chest.

Swearing resumes, at a lower volume - then a rapid thump of a run, before an abrupt stop.

Then Bill shouts again, echoing and distant, as if down a hallway. “Dipper!”

The name rings through Dipper’s nerves like a bell. It’s like being clanged against a metal pot, sudden and shocking, vibrations running through him. He clasps his arm tighter around his legs, and shuts his eyes.

It- maybe that was less angry? Bill, wondering where he went. Dipper’s not in trouble. He shouldn’t be in trouble. It wouldn’t be fair, it wasn’t fair before and it wouldn’t be now, he was just doing what he was told this time - and there’s no way to get out of here. There’s nowhere else to go.

Dipper pushes his nose into his sleeve, face against the fabric.

It’s too much to hope that Bill’s not upset - but he might have taken off somewhere. Found someone else to take his anger out on. A more deserving target.

He won’t be mad forever. Right?. His emotions are flighty, and he’s easier-going than the sermons made him seem. Given enough time, maybe Dipper can uncurl himself from this place, sneak back to the probably-ruined guestroom, and -

Footsteps, again. Close.

Dipper jerks his head up from the floor and he can still hear them, even through the cover of the bed and blanket.

Bill’s not just back, he’s in the room with him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did he take off, that was the worst thing he could ever have done. The eye of God is always watching, witnessing everything Dipper does.

He can run, and he can hide, but in the end he will always face judgment.

He claps a hand over his mouth and nose. Holds his breath. A few more seconds. A minute. Every moment he can get is precious.

Bill’s shoes on the carpet make a loud, distinctive thump. The sound heads towards the fireplace of the room - then pauses, and turns back to the door. A quick, repetitive path, back and forth. Not near the bed, yet. Bill’s muttering something under his breath that’s too quiet to make out, staying in the room, not leaving, until Dipper’s lungs burn with the effort to keep still. Keep silent.

“Fuck!” Something slams into the bed, a thump on the mattress that sends the frame shaking. Despite all his effort, some air escapes Dipper’s lungs through his nose with a short, high sound. He clamps his fingers over it, but it’s too late.

Silence.

Bill goes still. He’s next to the bed. But he’s not setting everything under the bed aflame, or swearing or yelling anymore. Dipper holds his breath again, daring to hope-

“Aha!” The blankets whip up, letting all the light in - and showing Bill’s huge, sharp teeth bared in a grin. “There you are!”

Dipper turns away. He faces the back wall, he lowers his head.

“I thought you almost ran out again for a sec!” A low whistle. “Be a real shame if you got devoured, kid. I’ve barely even started with you!” There’s a shuffle, like Bill - the god - himself might actually be kneeling, if only to get a better look. “C’mere.”

Dipper shakes his head. Behind him, he hears Bill let out a displeased grunt.

No, he’s not coming out. Not for this. Not even if Bill’s mad about it.

There's punishment waiting, once he emerges. Dipper can handle it. He has before.

But he will not go willingly. He never has.

Obedience truly offers no protection. Bill asked Dipper to tell him. Dipper did as he was told for once. Getting hurt for it is just unfair. Hi only did what he thought was right. That's all he's ever done, no matter what anyone else says, and even if some of it was blasphemous then it sure as hell wasn't any of Bill’s business. He doesn’t even know what was said.

If Bill wants to make a big, agonizing show out of something that upset him, then whatever. He can't be stopped.

But he doesn’t get to pretend it's anything but cruel.

He'll have to drag Dipper out.

Another grunt behind him, and the shuffle of something on carpet. Dipper hears it come closer, then the soft brush of something on his back - he flinches.

“Oh, for-” A heavy sigh, then a retreating scuffle. Bill mutters something under his breath, then, “Under the bed is where monsters live, sapling. By all rights I should join you! Might wanna get outta the way first.”

Dipper doesn’t move, or respond. He remains still, in the desperate hope that Bill will find it boring enough to leave him be.

There’s a pause. A long one, at that.

The silence lingers, for three seconds. Then five. Ten.

“Okay! Okay, I get it.” Bill says. His tone is calmer, though more sarcastic than soothing. “So the little scene earlier got you freaked out. It’d be a pretty poor showing on my part if I didn’t inspire terror! But none of that was about you, kid.” A patting sound, like a palm on carpet. “You’re fine! No cowering needed!”

Yeah, right. Dipper almost rolls his eyes.

Oh, no, of course he’s not in trouble. He just needs to come out so they can have a little ‘talk’, or participate in this one little ‘ritual’. With commentary that never once mentions his name, but says it louder than any words.

It wasn’t true then, and isn’t true now. One of Bill’s major domains is deception, and in plain terms - blasphemous ones - that makes him a big fat liar.

Dipper tucks his chin down further. Bill missed getting hold of his shirt earlier, so he’s sure as hell not offering his hair as purchase. If he wants to wreak vengeance, he better break down the bed or scoot back under.

Either way, Dipper gets the small satisfaction of making him work for it. It’ll almost be worth what follows.

“Seriously!” Bill says, indignant this time. “Cross my heart and hope to rot in a grave, you’re not the guy in trouble.” He waits a beat, then another - then an annoyed groan, as his lies have no effect. “Always a friggin’ skeptic, huh.”

He pauses, then, “What do you want, kid? A bribe, maybe? Do I gotta blackmail you outta there?” A hum of thought. “Okay, both! If you get outta there, I won’t read your dumb journal and will get you something reaaally nice.”

Let him talk all he wants. It doesn’t mean anything.

“You gotta come out eventually, y’know.” Bill continues. Dipper tries to tune out his voice, but Bill’s very hard to ignore. “You can’t live there forever!”

It’s true, Dipper can’t. At some point, he’s going to need water, or to eat, or use the bathroom. All kinds of mortal human necessities.

But until then, he can put off the consequences. Annoying Bill is just a bonus.

Another, louder groan, and then Dipper hears Bill’s shoes on the carpet again. He stands by the bed for a moment, then goes back to tracing the same pacing path, back and forth. Not bored enough to leave, not annoyed enough to pursue. Even the slight reprieve is a surprising relief.

Bill's also muttering to himself again. Mostly swearing, by the sound of it, but Dipper thinks he hears the word ‘stubborn’. Which tracks.

How long will it take before Bill gives up? Will he give up? Dipper’s kept his interactions with him to a minimum; he doesn’t know how much patience Bill has. Or how long it’ll last until the fire blooms under the already stifling bedframe, heat building -

“Ha!” Bill snaps his fingers. Chuckling, too, like he’s just had a great idea.

Okay. Not that long, then.

Before he can curl up even tighter in the cramped space, he hears Bill’s thudding footsteps -

Running out of the room?

Dipper waits for a moment. He squirms around enough to tilt his head, checking the space left from Bill raising the blankets. Nothing there.

It’s too much to hope that Bill’s truly gone. He’ll be back. By his exclamation and sudden exit, he’s preparing for some dubiously good idea. He’s going to…

To…

Something.

For a moment, Dipper almost wishes he had hung out with Bill more. Talked to him, or, well. Wrote something to him. Maybe then he’d have a better idea of what’s going on in that insane, convoluted head of his. It’s not burning Dipper out, apparently, or convincing him through lies. But that just leaves a giant blank space he can’t fill in with useful information.

It barely takes a minute before the sound of Bill storming back in breaks his train of thought.

Since Dipper knows a scheme is being pulled, he’s sorta prepared. He hopes it won’t hurt, or not hurt too badly.

“Alright.” Bill returns to his previous position, standing by the bed. His breathing has slightly picked up, like he ran all the way somewhere and back. “How about this, then?”

Dipper doesn’t respond. He can tell Bill’s getting back down to peek under the bed; the shadows show it, there’s a scuffle on carpet.

Then, Bill’s voice. Higher pitched, somewhere in the range of cloying and deeply annoying. “What’s wrong, Pine Tree?”

What.

“I heard that someone is reaaaal upset!” Bill continues, with the same godawful tone. “Why don’t you come out and have a big cuddle with your-” A pause, a quick ‘eugh’ - “Squishy little friend! Mini-Bill!”

Okay, what.

Dipper turns away from the wall out of sheer morbid curiosity.

The first thing he catches is Bill - looking annoyed, until he sees Dipper turn to look and instantly brightens. He’s crouched by the bed, looking sideways under the frame, one arm extended, and he’s wiggling the stupid Bill plush.

Dipper stares at it. Bill jiggles mini-him some more, making the black legs and arms flop around like the most noodly of puppets.

Bill dashed off like something was urgent, but it was really only just across the penthouse. Then he dug that out from under Dipper’s pillow, and ran back like he’d just had an amazing idea.

It’s so…

Dumb.

With a playful whistle. Bill makes the puppet’s arms rise up like it’s offering a hug, clapping its little hands together.

In fact, Bill Cipher - is a goddamn idiot.

It’s the same phrase that always occupies a part of Dipper’s brain, only this time instead of the shame, the self-recrimination, and the memory of pain - he kinda feels like he wants to laugh.

God. That’s. Vindication, isn’t it. Even while he’s in danger, it feels really, really good.

Bill catches him watching, and all his smugness returns in a rush. “Ha! Knew this would work.” He says - in his normal tone, thank fuck. “Your - ugh - little friend is waiting, kid! Come give ‘em a kiss!”

Alright, that’s enough.

Dipper makes a swipe for the plushie, but Bill’s quicker on the draw and he misses by inches. That also brought him perilously close to Bill-range - he retreats before Bill can swipe right back.

Too bad. He’s not getting out of here yet. Being under the bed has been safe, so far. He can’t give that up.

Bill groans, slumping down onto the carpet. He lies on his side, turning Mini-Bill around to glare like somehow it’s the reason Dipper didn’t give in.

“Fine. Fine! Take your dumb toy, if he makes you feel so much better,” Bill says, mockingly. With a wordless sneer, he flings the plush in Dipper’s direction and flops down on his back. “He’s stupid anyway.”

Mini-Bill lands just far enough away that Dipper has to shuffle forward to grab it. Bill doesn’t move from where he’s lying, giving Dipper enough time to scoot back against the wall and bring it to his chest, holding tight.

Yes, it’s dumb that Bill got this. Yes, it’s also dumb that Dipper’s glad he got it, and he knows it’s totally stupid, but having the one soft thing in his life in his arms again does make him feel better.

He checks Mini-Bill - still intact, undamaged - then back at the regular-sized version.

Bill lets out a derisive snort, but doesn’t speak. He folds his arms over his chest.

That… was nothing like Dipper expected.

That can’t have been his whole plan. Right? There’s another plot. Deception that he hasn’t seen yet.

On the carpet, Bill lies flat on his back. He’s glaring at the ceiling. One finger taps an impatient beat on his bicep. And while there’s no smile on his face, he doesn’t look angry, exactly, even though his brow is furrowed. It takes a second for Dipper to parse.

Bill. Actually looks…

Tired.

Not physically, of course, there’s no sweat on him. Simply like he’s run out of energy, and needs a moment to recharge. Like someone poked a pin in an inflatable plan, one he put a lot of work into, and now he needs a minute to sulk.

Which means he’s not up to anything just yet.

Dipper squeezes Mini-Bill a few times. It’s soft and clean. A quick check proves it doesn’t even smell like smoke from all the burning; the guest room must be pretty intact.

After a moment, he wriggles onto his stomach, plushie tucked between his shoulder and ear.

But he slows down, and stops. Bill’s eye is on him again, half-lidded. Contemplative.

“What a shame. My human’s decided to dwell with the dust bunnies.” Bill lays the back of a hand dramatically against his forehead, though his eye stays firmly on Dipper. “And here I was, just about to tell ‘em the real reason he’s here.” The barest flicker of a grin, quickly repressed. “Guess he’ll never learn it now!”

Okay, that's a temptation. Dipper glares, but it only makes Bill’s smile creep into a grin.

And… fine. It’s effective, too.

Whatever. Bill was right, earlier. Dipper really can’t stay under the bed forever. It’s cramped and dark and uncomfortably tight. It’s only been about half an hour and parts of him are already sore.

And if he’s got to get out, then now’s as good a time as any.

He rolls onto his stomach, and inches forward, before pausing with a jolt as Bill scrambles up to a sitting position. But he doesn’t go for a grab. He just… watches, with a weird amount of anticipation. When he sees Dipper hesitate, he starts patting his knees.

Great, Bill’s not just stupid, he’s a dork.

Yet another difference from doctrine. The list is getting really long - but Dipper’s okay with that.

It could totally be worse. Way worse.

Crawling his way out is way harder than it was getting in. Without the energy of panic, it’s kind of a pain in the ass. Hiding in a barely accessible place seemed like a great idea until he had to get himself out.

It’s a far less eventful exit than he pictured. More awkward than anything. Also, the sideboard is lower than the space under the bed, and Dipper hits his head on it with a - well, he can’t swear. But he wants to.

“Having trouble, kid?” Bill says, sounding amused. He gets to his feet, grinning wide. “No problem. Lemme get that for ya!” And snaps his fingers.

Light floods over Dipper. So does space, in an alarming amount.

He glances around, where there’s no frame or legs or mattress or - where the hell did the bed go?

“Up you go!” Bill takes hold of Dipper’s arms, pulling him to his feet. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Dipper looks behind him - no, the bed wasn’t turned over, or anything. He can’t see a blanket or a shred of wood around. But if Bill he can make things out of nowhere, he can get rid of them too, and -

He. Probably could have done this the entire time.

“Hey,” Bill says. He catches Dipper’s attention again with a little shake, holding onto his upper arms. “Listen up, ‘cause you weren’t earlier - You aren’t the guy I was mad at, kid.”

A brief, hesitant nod. Yeah. Okay.

By now Dipper’s pretty sure that’s the case, or everything else wouldn’t make sense. But the way he - with the punching, and the yelling, the distorted reality -

“No, really! I wanted you in mint condition, sapling. I’m mad at whatever empty-headed asshole decided they should perform an objectively stupid surgery! ” His smile flickers into a grimace, sharp teeth very white in his face. “Someone made a real dumb call.”

On that, they can agree. Dipper nods, one sharp motion. He sniffs, and swallows.

Bill’s smile is back, but not the standard version. This is a thin thing, with tension around his eye.

Though Dipper hasn’t been here long, he has learned a few things. One of them is how to read the variations of ‘happy’ that Bill puts on. It’s a clear cover for other emotions, running just below the surface

Right now, Bill’s still mad. He’s furious.

But like he said - it’s not at Dipper.

This is anger with no immediate outlet, burning underneath his skin. His eye is focused elsewhere, off into the distance over Dipper’s left shoulder, like he can see the person he wants dead but just can’t reach them. Yet.

And Dipper knows exactly how that feels. For exactly the same reason.

There’s something they can both agree on. It was totally bullshit. Unfair and cruel and - and Bill himself had nothing to do with it, he’d never have ordered it done. Maybe Bill would never have said Dipper deserved to -

Dipper takes another, longer, sniff. Clears his throat, blinking rapidly. No, can’t - not the time for that. Dwell on it later, not in front of a friggin’ god.

Bill clears his throat, smile shifting ever so slightly. “Hey hey hey! Easy, there.” He winks, sliding his hands up to pat Dipper’s shoulders. “I, for one, think a little vengeance is in order. And since it was your tongue, I’ll even let you pick the method! How’s that sound?”

That sounds… violent. Gory and chaotic and - knowing Bill - filled with maniacal laughter.

Some deep part of Dipper even likes the idea, but he knows couldn’t go through with it. Even thinking about it makes him feel so, so tired. And awful. Pre-grossed out by the blood. There’s been too much of that already. Still, he nods again, which makes Bill cheer up. The prospect of future chaos, whenever that may be.

Though if Bill tries following up on that, it’ll be pretty hard to pull off. The culprit was last seen dead on the steps of the altar.

“Welp!” Bill claps his hands together. “Can’t say this was a total shitshow! I learned a lot about you today.” He cocks his head to one side. “More than I thought I would.”

A dismissal. According to Bill, everything’s wrapped up.

As he takes a step back, Dipper grabs him by his shirt. It stops him right in his tracks. For a single, stuttering heartbeat, Dipper thinks he’s fucked up, again.

“Oh? Not done with me yet, are ya?” Bill purrs, clearly delighted. He spreads his arms wide. “What’s up, sapling? Miss me already?” He ruffles Dipper’s hair in a rough, annoying way. “I haven’t even gone anywhere!”

No, that’s not it. Dipper frowns, and shakes his head. Though it doesn’t dislodge Bill’s hand, he ignores it

There’s a lot of things Dipper doesn’t get about this place. How it works. Where, exactly, the hell he is. But ever since he was dragged from reality and brought to a weird god’s realm, he’s mostly wondered why.

Why him. Why then, why bring him here in the first place, why stitch him up and feed and house him. Why not earlier, damn it.

And Bill just beckoned him out with a clear, though indirect, offer.

He doesn’t get to back out of it that easily.

“Do me a favor, will ya?” Bill says, slow. He moves in fast enough that Dipper has to back up this time.

Wow, they’re, uh. Really close now. Dipper has a close-up view of Bill’s collar, before a touch on his chin lifts his head.

“If you’re gonna invade my room, sapling.” There’s a twinkle in Bill’s eye. “You should get in the bed instead of under it.”

What, like. Hide under the blankets? Literally, next time? Dipper guesses that makes… some kind of sense. In a nightmare realm, made of thoughts. Shifting spaces, lingering ideas - maybe it actually does protect you from monsters. That’d be strange, but…

Damn it, this place better not run on metaphors, or that’s going to be really annoying to parse.

Also, Bill’s giving him a weird look. He stares forward, lips tucked in, like he didn’t say what he meant to, or a great line didn’t land.

Wait. Was that a joke? Weird god-demon humor? A reference? It could - no, he’s getting distracted. Letting Bill change the subject lets him get away without answering. He gives Bill’s shirt another tug, insistent.

“What’s up?”

Oh, for - Maybe Bill should put some of that infinite knowledge towards remembering what he said three minutes ago.

Dipper holds his hand out flat, scribbling an invisible pen on his palm. Thankfully Bill gets that hint; another board snaps into existence, and Dipper takes it not very gently from his hold.

It only takes a second to write it out, though Bill keeps trying to lean over the board for a peek.

‘Why am I here?’

“Oh, that.” Bill says airly, looking up and to the side. He’s avoiding Dipper’s gaze. “Y’know. Reasons.”

Dipper takes a deep breath, and lets it out. Okay. Secrets. Another of Bill’s domains, he gets that, but still. He underlines the question, twice.

“Boy, you’re real curious arent’cha?”

Yes, he is. How much more obvious could it be? Dipper taps the end of the marker on the board - then sighs, and writes a quick addition. ‘Please’.

“How polite!” Bill’s smile turns mocking, squeezing Dipper’s shoulders. “Wanna add a ‘pretty’ to that?”

That- Fine. Dipper grits his teeth. After the day he’s had, he can handle one last awful thing. For answers.

The marker smudges from the pressure as Dipper painstakingly scrawls down the word.

“Hm.” Bill’s eye narrows as he hums in thought, He rubs his chin, head tilting to the side. Taking his damn time, too, as he looks Dipper over like he’s evaluating a rather expensive purchase.

It never hurts to look presentable in front of a deity, when it comes to something important. The best he can do is stand up straight, and look attentive. Bill shouldn’t mind. He should just spit it out already.

“The reason you’re here, mortal…” Bill says, drawing the sentence out, word by word. He smiles, something slow and sharp, as his thumb strokes over Dipper’s cheek - then pinches it. “Is for me to know, and you to wonder about!”

What?

Fucking what?

As Bill draws back, Dipper’s mouth works, no sound coming out. Another yank on Bill’s shirt does nothing except make him laugh.

It’s not funny. It’s important, it’s - Heat rises into Dipper’s face. His shoulders inch up towards his ears.

Bill can’t just do that. Not after today. Not after everything Dipper’s been through, the demons, the tantrum, the stupid talk to get him out of the bed. The totally humiliating plea. Dangling this in front of him, the reason he’s been kidnapped and confused and basically alone this whole time, then taking it back?

Nothing ever goes right for Dipper when it comes to his awful god, and - and the laughter stings. Embarrassment burns and rises on the coattails of all the other bullshit Dipper’s dealt with today; there’s heat in his chest and a knot in his stomach.

That’s not what he said. It’s not fair.

He can’t just do that.

“Yep! You’re not getting that one outta me. Nice try, though.” Bill taps his finger against the end of Dipper’s nose, making him flinch. “You’re never gonna gue-”

Rational thought doesn’t have time to catch up before Dipper’s fist meets Bill’s face.

It lands, painfully, in the juncture of his head and neck. With more of a thud than a crack - but it does jerk Bill’s head to the side, and that’s a minor win.

Or would, be, if it had the right effect.

Bill looks surprised and totally unhurt, while Dipper’s knuckles definitely sting from the contact. He shakes them to get some feeling back. What the hell, how durable is that bastard -

His brain, screaming from the background, kicks in again.

Dipper grips his hand tight as shame rising higher in his chest, a burning tide. It feels like he’ll choke on it.

Stupid, stupid stupid. How could Dipper be this dumb, he’s in the realm of a god, helpless, powerless, at the mercy of his whims - and if Bill wasn’t mad before then he’s definitely mad now.

God, this always happens, Dipper does something stupid, he stupidly defies god’s will, and there’s always consequences, no matter how he fights.

He looks up at Bill, chest heaving. Bill looks right back, rubbing his jaw - and starting to smile, wide. Showing those dangerous, predatory teeth.

No way to get out of here. Leaving the penthouse means other dangers, and leaving the realm is impossible. Even if he could, Bill’s got a memory a million years long, and he put a knife in the priest’s chest so casually that it was like putting it back in a drawer.

But Dipper can avoid him, for a bit. Along with all other awful things he found out today, he learned that fact.

He turns on his heel, ready to make his second run of the day.

It fails almost instantly.

One step into his retreat, Bill seizes him by the waist and drags him in, too quick by far. Strong, too; kicking out doesn’t work, hitting him again doesn’t work, he struggles against the tight grip and it only makes Bill let out a terrible, cackling laugh.

Arms come around him, then, drawing him in too close to even hit the bastard anymore, or struggle effectively. They squeeze so tight it’s nearly hard to breathe. Dipper feels a warm grip on the back of his neck, firm and relentless.

God. He never stood a chance against Bill, did he. Too strong, too quick. Too weird to understand, or placate. Nothing was going to be clear, or forthright, or helpful or safe.

Escaping the cult didn’t matter, all of Bill’s previous patience didn’t matter, things are alway going to turn against him and ruin his day and his life. It doesn’t matter where Dipper is, it’s always going to be like this.

It was never going to be okay.

The strangled noise that escapes his throat sounds so much worse than a normal person’s. A wordless, helpless sound he can’t stop, there’s too much frustration and anger and sheer exhaustion, and Bill’s holding him really right, up against his chest. Dipper headbutts his shoulder in one last attempt at escape, then just. Leaves it there.

Bill can retaliate whenever he wants. Dipper can’t fight right now, he just - He needs a minute.

The minute lasts. And passes.

Also, Bill’s shirt is really soft, so it doesn’t hurt when he rubs his face against it. Fuck, and now he’s getting it wet - but actually, fuck Bill, he’s the one who caused all of this.

Absolutely everything is Bill Cipher’s fault, even if indirectly. Dipper hiccups, then wipes his nose on the soft cloth.

It’s all soggy and gross now, he screwed up again -

But no, Bill deserves it. He hopes it sucks for Bill as much as it does for him, trying to stop his chest from heaving. Bill could have let him go and avoided this, but no, he’s stuck in his arms. Let that asshole get all damp.

At some point Dipper started clinging back, but that’s only because he couldn’t go anywhere else. Bill hasn’t relented even in the slightest, this entire time. He’s stroking a palm up and down Dipper’s back in a slow, warm rhythm because he’s super goddamn weird.

Much like living under the bed, this, too, can’t last forever.

Eventually Dipper sighs. The breath is shaky. Still more solid. He doesn’t have any more to let out.

He’s. Still pretty embarrassed, but he can’t see Bill’s face and he’s not dead. Two okay points in what’s otherwise been… not the worst day of Dipper’s life. But maybe in the top ten.

The hand playing with the hair at the back of his neck slows. Then it strokes through his hair again, and down. Bill pats him between the shoulders, letting out a low sigh.

“Aw, look at you. All torn up ‘cause the answer wasn’t handed to ya on a silver platter.” Bill pats his back a couple more times. “Man, are you full of fluids!”

A little squirming manages to free Dipper from Bill, at least by a few inches. Bill gives him a once-over, then pushes a handkerchief into his face.

It’s too late to pretend none of that happened. Or cover up, for dignity’s sake. Or back up, for that matter. With his cover totally blown, Dipper takes the damn thing so he can stop ruining Bill’s shirt, and wipes his face.

“Tell ya what. You had yourself a big day, and your poor human brain’s probably way too overwhelmed to be of use, sooooo…” Bill says, drawing out the word slowly. Smug, again, despite his snotty shoulder and too-close human. “I guess I can part with one hint.”

Dipper looks up. Bill meets his gaze with a grin, totally unbothered. Oddly unbothered.

It’s… it’s like he truly doesn’t mind that his shirt is ruined because some random human’s having a fit, or that he’s been bothered by pointless crap ruining his evening. Bill looks…

Well, he’s… not amused, exactly. Something less snide, and downright impossible to place.

“Truth is…” Bill leans in close, and winks. “You’re special, sapling.” He lingers for a moment - then squeezes Dipper again, slightly more gentle. “Have fun working out what that entails.”

Special.

Sure, it’s a hint. One that’s sorta true. With everything else that’s happened, denying it outright would throw all of the other hints out with the bathwater. But…

Dipper, of all people. Special.

It’s one hell of a word choice - and it’s totally, classically Bill.

With just one word, Bill implied a secret with deep importance. Saying that, deep down, Dipper has something nobody else does.

Because of course he did. It’s about the allure.

Everyone wants to be important. Being important to a god, triply so. It’s the carrot at the end of a long, long stick. A temptation. Doesn’t Dipper want to know why he’s ‘special’? Wouldn’t it be cool if he was? The intrigue is exactly why it’s so dangerous.

His first instinct was right. Bill is an asshole. And a big fat liar.

Dipper blows his nose into the handkerchief, sniffing again. Looking awed at the ‘reveal’ would be the right response, but he’s too tired to play along. And by the look of it, Bill doesn’t mind that either.

“Gross,” Bill says, but his smile doesn’t alter a fraction. Dipper can’t see any other emotion behind it, for once. He reaches up, thumb smoothing some hair behind his ear, before his arm slips around Dipper’s waist. “No amount of special stops you from being organic, unfortunately.”

Yet more Bill, revealed. A liar, an asshole - and definitely the type of guy who can’t leave an insouciant comment unsaid. It’s completely unsurprising.

Even though he doesn’t need to, Dipper blows his nose again, just to watch Bill make a face. He rubs at his eyes, trying to dispel some of the lingering heat.

It doesn’t matter though, Dipper guesses. Bill’s always going to be really goddamned weird and erratic and insane. A person that no amount of learning enables you to entirely predict.

He’s just going to have to work around it. Somehow.

With a smile, Bill starts up his slow petting again. His arms are warm, and that inhuman strength isn’t so bad when it’s just. Holding.

It’s been a long time - or, how long has it been? Years, maybe… god, Dipper can’t remember the last time someone just-

He takes a slow, shuddering breath. Bill goes very still for a moment, then he squeezes Dipper around the back, with both arms. Not hard, just tight enough to be kind of…

Wow. Okay.

This is a hug. Bill might lie about it later, but there’s literally no other word for it.

Dipper turns to rest his forehead on Bill’s dry shoulder, and listens to him chuckle. He can feel his chest moving under his hand, and the steady beat of an inhuman heart.

There’s a secret here. One about Dipper, and what he means. Bill’s partially revealed it, and he wants Dipper to work out the rest. Best thing to do would be to get on that immediately.

But he’ll have time for that later.

He can stay here for a bit. Until Bill gets bored with this part too.

Dipper lets out a sigh, and lets himself relax. He feels the slow stroke start up on his back again, and a low contented hum. This warm body, firm under his arms.

Even if it’s a lie, it makes Dipper feel like he’s special. Just for a moment.

#woohoo!!#at this point i just go onto tumblr for tswwwit's writing

248 notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 4 months

Text

May your new year be filled with Billdip in the year of 2024

Bonus:

Uh oh, hes been drinking...

289 notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 4 months

Text

happy rlly early new yearrss woo ヾ(＾-＾)ノ

#new years #wwooooo #im gonna post content i swear

0 notes

kitty-serenade · 6 months

Text

He move :3

#<333 #he is soooo silly

378 notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 6 months

Text

Part 2 + sketches of the full designs

#OH WOW.#billdip #this is amazing

881 notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 6 months

Text

Insane ramblings (ignore the art style change this drawing is kinda old)

Dipper finishes a novel he's been reading religiously for 5 years and was so upset at the ending he threw the book against a wall and it bounced back to him, hitting his head and because it was a hard cover he had a head injury and bled out to death. [Context, the novel is basically Reverse Falls, if Will freed himself, killed the pines family and became a tyrant]

Dipper then wakes up to find he's been transmigrated into the nove seriesl he read as the main villain in the first book: Mason Pines, and tries to help or at least be nice to younger Will so he wouldn't die when Will comes back for revenge only for W to come back from his training arc for Mason's hand in marriage.

#billdip #brainrot #i just realized i spelled system wrong #ignore that please ಥ_ಥ #and yes this is /heavily/ inspired by SVSSS #this has been on the back of my mind for months glad to finally have it out

36 notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 6 months

Text

> show up to a summoning

> takes sacrifice

> don't give anything to the people that summoned you and offered the sacrifice in the first place

> :3

Here's a thing! Reincarnation of Dipper who's not in the best of situations. (A Cult)

Got some gore and knives in here so watch out!

In the room of ritual, everything is ready.

Off in that wide and majestic space, the candles are lit. The circle is drawn. The altar spread with gold and trinkets, little offerings of delight and whimsy, tomes of knowledge. Along with the remnants of the latest sacrifice, dried in long trails down the stone.

The tomes, though. If one looked closely, they would see mostly encyclopedia volumes from like, sixty years ago. Because, yeah, those are going to be so tempting for a being of infinite knowledge.

Long chanting rings through the hallways, preparing the way. The ritual is in less than an hour. In preparation for the service, the servants of their lord make themselves presentable.

Dipper adjusts his robe - too big for him, by at least one size- and pulls at the neckline. It always drags up against his throat, in a tight, uncomfortable way. He tugs it down again, glaring into the small mirror on the otherwise bare wall.

Bill Cipher is the most powerful being in the universe, and his reach is infinite and his discernment of the mind and mastery of mysteries is unquestionable, yadda yadda yadda.

Dipper just. Doesn’t know what everyone else here expects to happen. Especially with the setup unchanged from the one he saw last year. And the year before that. And the one before that.

Odds are, this ritual is going to end up the same as every other one.

Pointless.

Dipper adjusts his robes again, and smooths out the front with slow strokes. As long as this is going to happen, he might as well avoid drawing attention to himself. He’s had enough ‘attention’ for more than a lifetime.

There’s a rhythm to these ceremonies. Dipper hears the footsteps, and easily tucks the hood of his robe up, only semi-stumbling as he joins the twin lines of robed figures leading into the ritual room.

As he tucks his hands together, covering them with long sleeves - Dipper spends another moment to silently sigh.

He joins the line, ducking his head as he joins in formation. The two lines of followers shuffle on with their long robes brushing the floor. He can hear them whispering to each other; varying levels of excitement, boredom. Talking about plans for after the ritual. He thinks he picks up one of the more devout members, almost humming with anticipation.

Despite the murmurs, the sight itself could be quite impressive. An all-seeing eye, if it was real, might even appreciate it.

Still, all these dramatics are so over the top. Just as fruitless and stupid as every other prayer, or ritual. Never worked before, not gonna work now. Dipper’s not sure why they’re trying the same freakin’ thing, over and over again.

For a bunch of people obsessed with the infinite power and knowledge Cipher represents, they haven’t accrued any.

And for that matter! If Bill Cipher’s eye is truly all-seeing, why hasn’t he ever responded? His triangle is emblazoned on every wall, and on their robes. You can’t look at a surface without seeing it staring back at you, and there’s no short of devout worshipers, constantly praying and doing rites.

Dipper dares a glance at one of the long scrawls on the walls, seething slightly at the handwriting. And the grammar.

If he was watching, surely he would have spoken up by now. Even if it’s just to critique the decor, which is tacky as hell.

The main ritual room fills up with warm bodies, and Dipper stands in an inconspicuous place. Just to the left, and not quite entirely in the back. At the front of the room, he can see the priest nodding approvingly, hands tucked behind his back.

Hidden under the sleeves, Dipper clenches his hands together. Breathing out a silent prayer of his own, to nobody particular. He can stand stock-still through one or two more ridiculous rituals, if it means no more prayers to a blind idiot god.

A week. Maybe two. That’s it.

Then he’ll be out of these robes, and far, far away from here. He’ll never see these people again. He’ll never have to chant a single verse again in slightly incorrect Latin. He’ll never have to kneel, or go before that stone altar again, not even once.

The outside world is - there’s a lot of talk about it. There’s always a lot of talk, more or less colored by personal experiences and levels of permission to go ‘outside’. Dipper’s learned, now, that well over ninety percent of the gossip is lies.

If his palms still sweat at the prospect, it’s because it’s… New. Different. But it can’t possibly be worse than here, and, like. Novelty is condoned by his not-really-a-god. Trying new things should be standard doctrine - if the priest wasn’t a total idiot.

Not much longer, now.

Out there, things will be better. Out there, Dipper will have a chance at having a life.

And there won’t be any trouble, since he’ll keep his mouth shut.

“Children of Cipher!” The high-pitched voice of the priest rings tinnily through the air. “We are once again assembled!”

Dipper bows in concert with his fellows. Staring at the ground is a good way to not roll his eyes.

A chant rises up, and he keeps his lips clamped together as he mirrors the ritual bowing and scraping and general genuflection. The priest will go on and on, no matter what he does.

All it takes to get through this is time. Another round of kneeling, then standing, then kneeling, until they stand at the last word in a thronging chorus.

“Brothers!” A louder, shriller call, now that everyone has been drawn close to a fervor. For all his faults, the priest does know how to read the mood - “Tonight is a special evening!” His arms thrown up, spindly and bare as the sleeves drop near to his shoulders. “Who will bleed for our god?”

The only thing that prevents Dipper from flinching is how much attention that would draw.

He hardly dares to breathe, lest some wayward motion be taken as ‘enthusiasm.’

Dipper keeps his head bowed, as murmurs start up around him and his forehead starts to prickle with sweat.

Sacrifices happen all the time. Mostly animals. Last year they got a goat, and that was considered a pretty big one and the stew afterwards was filling, and probably tasted pretty good.

Human blood, though. That’s - They haven’t done this in years.

The susurration of voices in the background grow louder, and Dipper stays bowed in place. Of course nobody wants to volunteer; ‘willing’ isn’t easily found when it comes to getting a knife in your flesh - but someone’s going to bleed, tonight. The ‘volunteer’ bit will be justified by whatever’s convenient.

Around him there’s murmurs, a few, low arguments. Tension is starting to rise, but for the most part, he’s being overlooked.

He nearly thinks he’s gotten away with it, too, when a hard shove on his back sends him stumbling forward.

“Here, brothers!” The voice rings in Dipper’s ears as he tries to backtrack, slipping on the robes of the person in front of him and dropping painfully to the floor. “The provider!”

Shit, shit, shit.

Dipper tries to glance back at whatever asshole pushed him, but the crowd’s already grouped together into a bunch of faceless clumps, drawing back from his fall.

He levels the worst glare he can manage, even as both his arms are seized by two of his so-called ‘brothers’. The big ones.

Gritting his teeth, Dipper digs in his heels. Struggling’s ineffective, protesting’s impossible. Gesturing wildly, including a raised finger in the general direction of the asshole who pushed him, Dipper gets dragged to the foot of the altar.

“See how he offers his flesh! See how he shakes with joy!” The priest jogs his arms in the air. Dipper shakes his head rapidly holding up his hands. “His arms, already offered!”

And for a moment Dipper’s simply annoyed at how obvious it is that the whole damn ritual is a farce.

“Tonight, we call upon the god! Tonight! We-”

Whatever else he’s yelling about, Dipper doesn’t pay any mind. He’s busy trying to use the loose robes to worm his way out of the guards’ grip. It halfway works, until one of them gets him by the bare wrist and painfully pulls it out.

The cold stone hits his waist. One of his sleeves is drawn to his shoulder. His arm pinned, bare and wrist upraised, on the stone.

Damn it, if he finds out who shoved him, he’s going to - he arches up, but firm hands hold his shoulders. There’s little time to think about revenge when he’s trying to find a way out of this. Arm, stuck. Shoulders, held. The exits, totally blocked by a bunch of crowded figures.

In a way, Dipper can’t truly blame them. After all, if the current sacrifice got away, who knows?

They could be next.

The priest seems pleased, at least. He paces in front of the altar, gesticulating wildly, and rambling on about god and blood, and other nonsensical bullshit.

Great. They have their ‘sacrifice’ for tonight. So, so super ‘willing’ too, what with how he, quote ‘rushed to offer himself’, end quote.

Dipper takes a long breath, holding it for three beats. Then he lets it out.

Okay. If this follows most other ‘human sacrifices’, it should be bearable. Some bloodletting, a nasty scar. Maybe a missing finger, but he’s learned to deal with worse. Push through the moment, wait for it to be over. Soon enough, he’ll be on the other side of this entire godawful situation.

Focusing on the transitory nature of pain helps him steady his breathing. And more importantly, slow his heart rate.

Calming meditation. He can work on that. Though it’s difficult, with the way the priest keeps going on and on about an ‘auspicious night’. Also, the very large, curved, very sharp-looking knife.

Dipper tries his best not to stare at it. Or to linger too much on the thought of knives and flesh and blood. If he could stop thinking, for once in his stupid life, it’ll be over before he knows it.

That’s totally not not the usual knife, though. He wonders where the hell it came from.

Last time, it was some basic utilitarian repurposed chef-thing, with a crudely engraved triangle on the hilt and the blade. This one’s much more… Ceremonial. Sharper, too, with a wicked curve and a gleaming edge, and covered in runes that Dipper’s never seen before.

He mouths a swear as one guard uncurls his fingers from the edge of the altar, turning his wrist back upright. The priest waves the very, very sharp blade around, yelling something that Dipper doesn’t bother parsing, even as his mind races. He can tell it’s definitely not Cipher runes on that thing, and not the old Latin their god prefers. Did someone go outside to find this? Another random artifact that the priest got his hands on? Seems like he’s always picking up useless semi-magic items.

The knife doesn’t feel ‘useless’, though, even from a glance. It radiates a pure and terrifying purpose.

Especially as it comes down, and rests against his wrist. Almost gently, its point bites a drop of blood from his skin.

The fetid breath of the priest pants over the altar. Dipper turns away, neck twisting as far as he can manage, eyes shut.

Please let this be just a bit. Just a drop. A small, tentative cut to fill a bit of the channels on the stone. There’s a sting to the metal, a slight burn, and though Dipper’s not one of the main Holders of Mysteries or anything, he feels like that’s a very bad sign.

Then he feels. Cold.

It runs down his inner arm, lingering for an instant before blossoming into sharp, bright pain. He nearly chokes on air, cringing into a hunched position as he feels the knife slide.

The catching drag of the old knife would have been painful, but that was mostly used for taking a finger, or maybe dragging across the back of the arm, in a more decorative than productive way of drawing blood.

The ease with which this knife cuts sends a deep, swirling nausea straight to the pit of his stomach.

“Behold, the flow! The magic gathers, my children!” THe priest’s voice warbles a bit as “With this tool, with this magic, our god will hear our call! He will behold our devotion, and raise us to glory! He will answer-” More and more words, variations on encouragement. Zero substance, all hype. A fanatical motivation speaker, Dipper thinks, half-hysterically.

Vapid or not, the result is effective. The sight of blood has certainly spurred everyone into a kind of frenzy, whether from fear or fervor, Dipper doesn’t care.

And they’re certainly getting a lot of blood. More than required.

Dipper struggles up against the hold, but it’s pointless. He ‘s stuck there for a few long minutes, oozing out for an audience that can’t even see half the damn thing, and it hurts.

The red trail gathers, slowly pooling down and into the engraven triangle. Enough to fill the shallow channels easily, which, uh. Dipper’s never seen before. With the other sacrifices it kind of stopped and clotted, but this moves like it’s being wicked along the surface.

He makes a face as his blood slowly travels through the lines, but can’t see any surface changes, or feel anything that might have been put on the stone.

Until it connects at the top point. Then it meets, completing the image of Bill with a strange, too-bubbly ‘blorp’.

Okay. Weird. But that’s plenty, right? Ritual done, blood offered, and now, he should get going.

Lurching upward gets the grip to loosen up on his arms, as the guards loosen their grip a bit. They already have what they need, and hell. Dippers deserves a friggin’ break. With the immediate attention off him, he can dare a glance at his arm -

And instantly averts his gaze to absolutely anything else.

The priest turns around, arms raised. Pumping them in the air, knife glinting in the candlelight. “Yes. Yes!” He swings the blade around, nearly catching one of the big brothers in the side. “See how easily the liquid flows. The power builds! I can feel it - the summoning, in this room tonight!”

The crowd calls out their enthusiasm, a high rising ‘oooh’ noise.

Dipper sighs, and tries to scoot back away from the altar. It’s done, at least; he’ll just have to cope with the aftermath. Could be worse.

“The other arm, brothers!” A loud, clarion call. Dipper whips his head around, as the priest lowers his arms - and turns back around. Pointing at Dipper. Again. “I feel the blade crave more!”

Uh, hello? What?

Dipper glances up at the knife. At how the slight sheen of blood has dipped into some of the runes, the faint glow - and goes ‘huh’.

Alright, he’ll admit. It’s definitely magical.

But he’s beginning to suspect it has less to do with Bill, and a lot more to do with other forces. Ones that might, say, make a ritual flow smoothly. Or make a fanatical asshole even more bloodthirsty.

Behind him, he almost feels the guards shrug, right before he gets shoved against the altar again. One of the assholes even dares to pat his side, in a brief bit of unexpected sympathy. Not that it means anything.

Dipper longs to curse them out, to scream at every single one of these absolute jackasses. Every one of them is just watching this happen. Nobody thinks about what happens next, ever, including -

He grits his teeth instead, hard enough that he thinks something might crack.

Everyone follows orders. The words of their supposed ‘god’, filtered through a man who’s fallible and frail and frankly fucking stupid. Always getting stupid magical trinkets. Always trying to find a link to that demonic god, constantly pursuing magic, and power, and influence. No matter the cost.

Why would he care if one of the too-few worshipers pays the price?

And fuck that.

Before, Dipper struggled as much as he could. Partly from fear, sure. But mostly to make a point. That this was stupid and painful, and wasn’t going to do anything anyway. Knowing that with enough kicking and protest, he might get them to cut things short.

Now, seeing the priest whip the blade back around, raising overhead with both hands - he fights.

A solid kick lands in the left guard’s groin, and he gets his wounded arm back. Dipper clutches it to his chest, but the other’s still pinned and being twisted, now. Another kick gets something softer, and he hears a huff from the priest. Then a loud, angry order to ‘Hold him down!’.

Dipper’s shoved into the stone, stomach digging into the edge of the altar hard enough to make him gag. His head hits the surface, more dizzying than painful. There's a hand gripped in his hair. Then his other sleeve is drawn up, his healthy arm extended over the table. Bare skin exposed, lying over the bloody surface.

He breathes heavily, nose nearly against the altar. It quickly grows hot from his breath, and moist, too, which is probably why his face feels wet. He doesn’t hear anything but his own harsh panting.

He never wanted to be a part of this, he never wanted to grow up like this. In a week or so, he was going to get out, and now he’s going to get hurt again, so soon, and he only has so much blood in him. He doesn’t want to die. He shuts his eyes, tucking up against himself. Hoping the weight of his body will drag his arm away where his own strength couldn’t, choking back a tightness in his throat. He was nearly out. He was nearly safe.

He was almost free.

He breathes harder, shutting his eyes tight. He presses his forehead against the runes, and the blood, and just wishes he wasn’t here.

Metal clangs on the floor, ringing bright as a bell.

There’s a sudden intake of breath. Dipper feels the hands release him, a shocked sound. Then the ‘flump’ of a lot of draped fabric, all at once.

Dipper keeps his face against the stone, breathing slower. That’s. That’s not how any ritual goes.

He can’t waste the opportunity, though. Now that his arms are free, Dipper pulls his sleeve back up, bundling it around the cut. Shit. Does he clench his fist or leave his grip loose? Which one slows blood flow.

Whatever interrupted this isn’t going to last. He’s only got a few seconds before everyone comes back to whatever passes for their senses, and tries to ‘complete the summoning’, or whatever the hell they were after.

Gotta act. Gotta - Dipper wheels around, panting for breath.

In front of the altar, all the robed figures in the room have fallen to their knees. The priest’s dropped the knife. Dipper scoots it a little closer to himself with a foot, watching as the zealot raises his arms in devout praise.

Dipper pauses. Still clenching tight on his wrist, though his sleeve is starting to feel damp. Things don’t just stop like that. The ritual has to continue. People should be surging up to keep the momentum, but the entire room is -

Oh.

Yeah, now he sees it.

All the candles were lit before. They give a little light to a room that’s never seen electronics in its life, dim as it is.

Right now, they’re bursting with flame, rising high enough to cast weird shadows over the cavern -

And it’s a very bright blue.

Shit.

Dipper whirls around, unsteady on his feet. Staring at a long, long trail of rising blood. Almost a string, or a reverse droplet, floating up from the triangle carved on the stone. In midair it spreads into a thin web, shapeless and vaguely pulsing.

Okay. That is definitely magical. And absolutely up to no good.

He fumbles around - where did he kick the knife? Maybe if he breaks it, it’ll interrupt this whole thing. Who knows what the hell that idiot priest did, or where he got the artifact, or what it does.

Dipper doesn’t know much about gods, or spirits, or demons, but anything that gets pulled in by a blood sacrifice can’t be a good sign. He spots the damn thing near the opposite corner, and braces himself on the altar. It he’s careful, he can reach it without alerting anyone. Maybe.

Which is when the entire hall fills with bright, loud laughter.

“Well, well, well, well, well!” The voice rings just as brightly as the laugh. Dipper jerks towards the sound, involuntarily, only to see a single eye open inside the breath web of blood. “What do we have here?”

There’s a resounding groan from the crowd. Various people start chanting, but they’re all using different verses, and the priest starts his own, presumably improvised, wail of praise and devotion. The end result is an ear-rattling clamor.

Dipper looks back at the altar. Watching the blood twist in this way, and that. The eye alights on him for a moment - he freezes - but it moves on from him quickly, examining the room.

There’s a lot to see, too. Maybe terrified, devout worshipers isn’t weird for a supernatural entity, but it’s thoroughly freaking Dipper out. Even the priest is on his knees.

“Boy, it’s been a while since I’ve had this kinda summon!” The net stretches, almost elastic; twisting into limblike shapes, and fractal forms. The slit-pupiled eye rolls back and forth. Then it blinks twice. “Might as well get dressed for the occasion! Hold on a sec.”

The eye shuts into nothingness. Moments later, the blood starts getting really active, pulsing faster, twisting into shapes like it’s alive.

Dipper spares a terrified check on his wrist, but. No, he’s not feeding it, or anything. This is something else. Someone else, taking the material and lending it power enough to grow.

Even as he watches, there’s a spreading arch of bone and the twist of veins. A fairly glorpy assortment of something between and below what looks like ribs, a strange thick blackness tinged with yellow…

He cringes back, and shuts his eyes. Shit, watching this is deeply unsettling.

Not that it’s gory, per se - that would imply that something’s being taken apart, when it shouldn’t be. This is something being put together, a way that it shouldn’t ever be.

He backs up a step from the writhing mass, getting more fleshy by the instant. Then grimaces, teetering in place. Blood loss, right. From the asshole who started this whole thing. He levels a glare at said asshole -

But. Beside him, the priest is quivering with tension. Trembling like he didn’t expect this to happen.

Frankly? Neither did Dipper. For all the times they’ve done a ritual, there’s never been a reaction like this.

This insane mass, forming insanely out of nothing. Or well, from blood, that spread out in a weird three-dimensional - triangle, oh shit -

He should have known. Should have noticed. This was a summon, and while the object used wasn’t for the right being, maybe that doesn't’ matter with so much gathered intent.

This is….

Dipper falls, awkwardly, to his knees. Then ducks down in as low a bow as he can manage, pulling the hood of his robe back over his head.

Part of him thought Bill didn’t exist, or at least not in the way these guys talked about him. Maybe they’d latched onto some other spirit or deity, and completely misinterpreted everything. Maybe they’d made it all up, including some of the really old texts. There was never any evidence that their lord and master was real.

But given what’s happening here…

Like hell is he gonna look like the only person who doesn’t.

Something - two things - go ‘clack’ on the altar. A few series of taps.

Then a long, pleased sigh, and the sound of soft movement, like cloth.

Dipper keeps looking down. The hood keeps him anonymous, another faceless shape in the crowd. Just one more figure genuflecting before his -

Before a god.

One that might not even deserve a capital letter on the word, perhaps, but still an entity that he should not, under any circumstances, piss off.

There’s a tap that sounds like a shoe, and a low hum. Something lands beside him with a thud. In the brief moment that he raises his head, Dipper catches sight of black loafers, and long fingers on an oddly human-looking hand.

He quickly lowers himself more towards the floor, holding his arm tight.

Yep, just one more super-devoted believer, same as all the others. Super not important enough to notice.

“You know, blood’s usually for blood gods!” Bill Cipher’s voice rings through the room. It’s higher than Dipper expected it to be. One of the fancy-looking black shoes kicks the knife up into the air, where it’s caught by the long fingers of that hand. “Pretty wild for you guys to pull this. With another guy’s artifact, of all things!” A chiding tut, and the knife twirls. “And pretty disrespectful, I gotta say.”

“My lord.” The priest’s voice is dry, even for a guy who already sounded half-dessicated. He rises to his knees, hands clasped together. “We meant no disrespect. We are here to serve you, master. As we always have.”

“Uh huh,” Bill says. In Dipper’s limited sight, he toys idly with the knife, pressing the tip against the finger of an opposite hand. A bead of something dark wells up, and he rubs his fingers together.

The priest recites several lines of a chant, making a triangle with his fingers. So eager, and so totally missing the disinterest in Bill’s tone- “We have always been searching for you, our worship unending! You honor us with your presence. You shine upon us your infinite glory!”

“Sure you have,” Bill says, sounding, if anything, bored. The blade in his hand flips around between his fingers, then back again. The motion reminds Dipper of a very deadly fidget spinner. “Do tell.”

Which is when the priest surges up, nearly grabbing onto Bill’s thigh. He’s only stopped by a rapid sidestep.

Dipper cringes back out of secondhand embarrassment. Bad move. Dumb move. ‘Devoted’ or not, Bill was bored already - and infinite beings of pure energy do not like being manhandled by mortals.

“Let us use this connection, and the blade! Let us complete the sacrifice.” The priest continues, undeterred. Shuffling closer on his knees, he spreads his arms wide, inviting and eager. “The blood could grant you all your power, that you might grant us-”

“Pass.” Bill says dismissively. The knife flashes, and there’s a wet, solid ‘thunk’.

Dipper catches a brief glimpse of the priest’s face - stuck in shock, pale and lined with age - just before his body falls to the floor, as limp as a ragdoll. The knife handle in his chest props him up at a weird angle, before a swift kick from a black shoe sends it tumbling down the short three steps of the dais.

Dipper cringes into a smaller ball, trying to scrunch himself into invisibility. He watches Bill pass in front of him, standing in front of the crowd. The hand rests on a hip, while the other is raised out of site. Still far, far too close.

On the one hand, Bill’s examining the congregation. Distracted, for a moment. Staying out of his attention is so, so great.

Dipper curls up in a much, much tighter ball despite that.

In every single one of his plans to get out of here, Bill Cipher existing wasn’t a factor. Much less his actual, physical presence. All he’d ever thought about was how this was bullshit, that the people he knew were awful - and how hopefully, nobody would notice if he left. Now the ‘god’ himself is here. Standing so near Dipper he could, if he wanted, stupidly touch the hem of his pants.

A distant, insane part of him chimes in with the stupid idea that it’s nothing to really worry about.

Like, compared to how he’s still losing blood, for example.

Right. Staunch first, panic later.

Dipper wraps his sleeve around his arm, as subtly as he can, teeth gritted. His first priority is to stop bleeding. No escape plan - or any plan for that matter - is going to be useful if he dies.

The immensely powerful nightmare god is also a problem, obviously. But in this moment he’s not the immediate threat.

“Hmmm.” Bill lets out a low, contemplative hum. It resonates in the room, with how deathly silent things have become. “Let’s see here…”

After a pause, he snaps his fingers. “Stand!”

The entire congregation leaps to their feet. One of them stumbles and gets a swift kick in the side.

“Sit!” Bill commands. Everyone drops to the floor. A low chuckle, then, “Turn around three times and bark like a dog!”

Oh, now that won’t -

Or maybe it will. Dipper cringes, back pressed against the altar. Don’t just comply, what the hell. Sure it’s a magical god-being, but - fuck. He watches the scene with a grimace.

Bill, though, seems to be having a great time. He’s bouncing in place, voice bright with enthusiasm. “Do a little dance! Twist yourself until your joints snap! Hell, start a fight with the guy next to you!”

There’s havoc in the room of ritual. Robed figures practically fall all over themselves, and Dipper notes with a nauseating turn that some of them have drawn knives of their own. Chaos reigns; an entire scramble to do each possible thing, all at once.

And Bill’s laughter rings out over everything, clapping his hands in delight.

Dipper’s trapped in this room with an insane madman, leading a horde of equally insane idiots, and he doesn’t have a way out. He hopes he’ll stay out of notice. He hopes that he’ll live through the next five minutes.

There’s no controlling the situation, but he can improve his odds.

The altar’s pretty close, and Bill’s turned away, for the moment. Dipper scoots back, inching himself towards the corner. With enough shuffling, he might be able to move behind it and get out of sight.

“Welp,” Bill claps his hands again, this time with finality. Some of the chaos stills. “You’re all annoying, boring little vermin, but maybe you guys could improve. I noticed the blood you used to summon me was real choice stuff!” The exaggerated sound of a kiss. “Very nice.”

Dipper feels sweat building up in his robes, and tries to be very still. Basically part of the ritual scenery. Anonymous furniture, at best.

“In fact. It was so nice.” The voice continues, at a lower tone. Almost a purr. There’s a clack of shoes on stone. “Let’s see who this little treat is!”

The god seizes Dipper’s wrist - the wounded one, sending a bolt of pain down his arm - and clamps his palm around it, incredibly tight.

Before he knows it, Dipper’s standing again, involuntarily, staring past his hood into a bright, glowing eye.

He’s meeting his god. He’s been noticed by Bill Cipher.

So far he’s not trembling, so. That’s one thing he has going for him.

Bill’s eye flicks down, then up again, almost thoughtful. Any question about his power is quickly tossed aside, because holy shit; the magic is nearly palpable, thrumming into Dipper’s skin and making his heart race.

He’s also sporting a bright, wide grin, in a face that makes Dipper do a double-take.

Like. He thought - he glances at the triangle on the back of the wall, then to the person in front of him.

Okay, it’s said that Bill Cipher can take any form he wants, human included, but, like. What?

Thankfully, Bill doesn’t seem to notice any of the insane, stupid things Dipper is thinking. All he does is raise his hand, and with one quick motion, sweep the hood off of Dipper’s head.

Dipper flinches back. Jaw clenched, eye shut.

Shit, shit, shit. Special attention. All the scenarios he can think of say ‘not good’. Best case scenario, it’s because Bill wants to thank him, for... Whatever his blood did. The rest of them involve increasingly terrifying ideas about what ‘nice blood’ means, and how much of it Bill might want. All of it, say. Maybe immediately.

Dipper can’t pull away, not with such a strong hold on his arm. Fighting is downright dumb. Trembling’s happening, despite his best efforts, and the intrusive thought bubbles up that, hey, at least there’s lots of pressure on his wound. Could be worse.

Nothing happens. For several seconds.

Eventually, Dipper peeks an eye open.

There’s Bill Cipher, looking back at him. His eye is literally lit up, the pleased grin wide on his face.

Dipper waits for an order, but the god doesn’t speak. He just wiggles his eyebrows. If anything, he looks oddly… expectant?

Fuck. Dipper has to do something.

What the hell, there isn’t any doctrine for this.

Sure, he knows all of the catechism, and each chant he was taught. He’s got an encyclopedic memory of everything he was taught about this powerful interdimensional god-being, he knows every ritual back and forth. The tenets spring to mind, unbidden: Be obedient, speak his words, serve him in all ways - and most of all, don’t think.

But Dipper can’t chant. He hasn’t been told to do anything yet. And though it’d be a death sentence, if serving involves more bleeding he’d be tempted to kick again. Hell, he literally just watched everyone else trying the other bits. They did exactly what they were supposed to, and that was ‘boring’.

He never could stop thinking, though.

Now, his mind is racing.

A little-known and never-preached fact about Bill Cipher is that he doesn’t, actually, like rules all that much -

So.

Dipper offers a hesitant, closed-mouth smile. He wiggles the fingers of his free hand, a bit awkwardly, in greeting.

Then ducks his head again, wishing he still had a hood to cover his face.

That didn’t make it weird, right? That’s a normal, devout thing to do. Coming from a totally religious guy, who’s only slightly damp from all the sweating.

“Oh.” Bill’s voice lowers to something like a purr. He tucks a knuckle under Dipper’s chin, lifting him to meet his single eye again. An eye that’s glowing now, bright gold and half-lidded. “Ten outta ten on the offering, guys. Very cute.”

Which is a little weird, but probably -

“Y’know what?” And Bill’s grin widens, bright and wild, as his thumb strokes Dipper’s chin. “I like this one.”

Uh oh.

Dipper tries sinking down into his oversized robes, but Bill just fishes around inside them until he can pull Dipper up again by his undershirt.

“In fact,” Bill declares, sounding proud. He pulls Dipper in closer, hand still clamped painfully tight on his wounded wrist. “I’m gonna keep him.”

What?

Immediately after that declaration, Dipper’s tugged in close, thumping against his side. Bill turns to start barking orders at the congregation, a sneer in his voice and a

Dipper can’t quite parse it. He’s still running over the words in his head.

In the ritual room, the candles flare even higher, temperature rising to an uncomfortable degree. Dipper watches two worshipers collide with each other in their frantic obedience, and can’t even laugh about it.

‘Keep’, Bill said.

What does that mean? Everything here is already ‘Bill’s’, in a way. But the way he said it sounded… oddly specific.

A hopeful part of Dipper chimes in that it might just mean ‘not let him bleed out’, but he’s never been that lucky before, and there’s no reason it would start now.

With everything else going on. With the presence of a god. e.

The cultists are bustling about; a few of them deposit things near Bill’s feet, like gifts upon the altar. Boxes, totems, more lit candles that Bill idly kicks over onto one of their robes, watching them flail at the sudden burst of fire.

Eventually, Bill considered the task ‘done’, or close enough. He sighs, shaking his head. “About time, guys! Talk about slow. Hard to get good followers these days.”

Bill clicks his tongue in distaste, then snaps his fingers.

Dipper hears a weird ‘zmmm’ sound to his left. He notices that Bill’s suit is really soft material, and also that he probably shouldn’t be grabbing it like this.

He doesn’t dare look at the sound. Not when Bill’s turned towards him with smug pride, like he’s pulled off a plan without a hitch.

“Man, it's only been fifteen minutes, and I’ve had it with these losers.” Bill gives the congregation a look of disgust, then turns back to Dipper. That grin reemerges like the sunrise. “Screw these guys, am I right?”

This time, Dipper’s smile is involuntary. He quashes it fast, but not before Bill notices.

“That’s what I thought.” Bill says, with deep pleasure. He takes a step closer to the altar, pulling Dipper along with a surprising lack of force. “So! What’d’ya say we ditch this joint?”

Dipper doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t know what’s been happening, either, other than it’s all been going way too fast.

But Bill Cipher is looking at him, still. Present, powerful. Eager for a response.

Dipper just shrugs. He wouldn’t know what to say even if he still had his tongue.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Bill says, eminently pleased. Pulling Dipper in closer, with an arm suddenly around his waist. “Hold on tight! It ain’t a bumpy ride, but it’s a weird one.”

Dipper follows as he walks. Partly on automatic, and partly because what the hell else is he supposed to do?

About three steps in, he realizes they’re both walking on thin air, towards and over the altar.

He jerks his head over, blinking at the source of that ‘zmm’ sound.

Because of course summoning am interdimensional god-being would leave a remnant. He had to come from somewhere.

Like, say, a weird red-yellow gap in space, with nonsense things flung around in a black and bizarre starscape. Dipper catches a glimpse of something with two many limbs, and of a series of screaming mouths with no bodies, and a duck and a grandfather clock, tumbling through the air.

It’s almost like it might be a nightmare dimension. Who could have thought.

With nothing else to cling to, his free hand clamps Bill’s shoulder, tight.

“You’re my guest for the next while, sapling.” Bill says, squeezing him tight in return as he steps in - and drags Dipper alongside him, stalking into the portal. “Glad to have you!”

#billdip #silly lil guy :3 #“dine and dash” but its more of an “abduct and abscond” kind of situation

263 notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 6 months

Text

I decided to post them because they've been on my mind lately

Monsterfucker au by @thatonegayship

#Bill cipher #billdip #? i guess its a oc child #im staying up rlly late right now im so sleepy #oc #never call him dookie!! (๑•̀д•́๑)#this made me realize i have alot of BD comics i havent digitalized yet #i should probably do that

72 notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 7 months

Text

[Jean Delville, "Justice" 1914]

#billdip #do i even need to say anything

16 notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 7 months

Note

If your still taking requests can we see some more cowboy billdip? 🤠

Cunty country boys

#billdip #giggling and kicking my feet metaphorically #(〃ﾟ3ﾟ〃)

1K notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 7 months

Text

484 notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 7 months

Text

#d'awwwwwwwww #billdip #this is so nice

556 notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 8 months

Text

Blame the arson for the fire

#he stubbed his toe on a piece of dead branch #oh #i didnt see dipper there #this is awkward

841 notes · View notes

kitty-serenade · 8 months

Note

Lol omg at your last ask because imagine dippers under some truth spell and ends up spilling a bunch of secrets that Bill already knew and had stashed to use for later

This is no longer 'last ask' relevant because I had this partially written in my drafts for like a million years - but a Truth spell on Dipper would be very interesting!

So I took this prompt and didn't really answer it except in some ways.

Here's a thing!

“You never bring me any souvenirs.” Bill complains. In an all-too-whiny tone, and an all-too-close lean into Dipper's personal space.

Plus, it's a blatant lie. One Dipper shouldn't respond to.

He does anyway. “I literally brought you harpy feathers last week.”

“Doesn’t count! That was for a ritual you wanted to pull off!” Bill sounds miffed, though he also plants a palm on Dipper’s head and starts ruffling hair. “Now where's the emerald from last March? Or like, the headdress from that cult with all the rabbit bones? The good stuff."

Dipper grunts. He focuses on navigating back out of the cave, turning the clay tablet over in his hands.

Figures Bill would remember all the times he did get something. His memory is excellent. And he’s greedy, because a new toy every time is a big ask.

What does Bill expect, anyway. Not every situation Dipper gets into has something to bring back. What could he even offer? An ear taken off every monster he has to fight?

Wait, no. Bill would love that.

Dipper makes a face. “You've just proved that it's not ‘never’. With examples."

"Sure, but when’s the last time it was cool?”

Dipper sighs. No point in arguing. Bill could go on forever about how 'unfair' it is that he doesn't get trophies from every trip, or trinkets from conquered lands, or, again, ears from every enemy. When he’s decided to complain, no reasonable argument will shake him out of it.

“Too bad, then. You’re only getting some gifts.” Dipper shakes his head rapidly to dislodge Bill’s hand from his hair. "It’s hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to you."

“Hey! I could argue that it’s related! In fact -”

Dipper tunes out the rest of Bill’s ramble, rolling his eyes. Listening with half an ear to Bill's ongoing tirade about being a poorly kept man, and unappreciated in his time.

Despite how much he already has, Bill always wants more. Somehow he sniffed out Dipper’s latest excursion, showing up right at the end and looking for ‘loot’.

Which Dipper, by all rights, should prevent.

Anything magical falling into Bill's hands can cause chaos, no matter how innocuous it seems. The flower incident alone is reason not to hand Bill anything, ever, and the fact that Dipper still does sometimes should be appreciated, damn it.

Bill's complaining on and on, but whatever. Eventually he'll get bored.

In the meantime, Dipper turns the clay tablet around again with a frown. He found something interesting, at least.

Whatever this is, it’s definitely not a language he recognizes. The script is strange, scrawled in different directions. For all he knows he’s holding it upside down. He hopes Bill doesn’t notice until he’s figured out -

"Whatcha got there?" Just as expected - and right on time.

Dipper feels the tablet yanked out of his grasp, unfazed. He doesn't break his stride.

"I found it in the lair, after... you know." Charred bones, explosions - Dipper wishes he could use, like water, or something, but mastery over even one element is powerful as is. "Anyway, that monster was collecting a lot of weird magic stuff, and this was the only interesting thing it had." He shrugs. Then, because Bill will like it, adds, "So... to the victor go the spoils?"

“Now that’s the spirit!” Bill gives him a grin, holding the tablet up to squint at it. Thankfully not turning it around. One point for Dipper, on not looking incompetent.

Still, if anyone can read it…

“What language is this?” Dipper not-so-subtly leans over, trying to peek around Bill’s arm.

"Old Draconic," Bill says, without missing a beat. Humming to himself as he apparently reads the text. Perking up a bit, smile widening. "Oh, hey! Iambic pentameter."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, sapling. I just wish when people did the whole 'ancient poetry curse' thing, they'd get a little more creative. You never see hexameter! Or tetrameter! Not even a tasteful use of spondee.” Bill sticks his tongue out. "Come to think of it - I don’t think anyone’s done a prose epic that made the reader wanna tear their eyes out since Joyce."

Sometimes with Bill, you have to read between the lines. The long, irrelevant babbling lines.

"Just tell me if I need to get Ford or not." Dipper says, flat. He rubs at the bridge of his nose.

Among all the other stuff, Bill said ‘curse’. Never, ever a good sign.

Though the monster he just took down wasn’t a dragon, and that wasn’t really a ‘horde’ so much as something resembling the contents of the Mystery Shack, there’s absolutely no good thing about a curse. If Dipper somehow triggered it -

Great. As if hanging around Bill alone didn’t invite enough bad fortune, he’s picking up parts of his own stupid curiosity.

"Nah, don’t bother with the loser uncle!" Bill waves his concern away, amused. “This is just purple prose! Buncha ‘oooh, bad things’ll happen if you mess with my stuff.’ Totally boilerplate spellcraft with some flowery wording.”

With a shrug, Bill dismisses the whole thing. Which includes chucking the tablet over his shoulder, but Dipper manages to snag it before it falls and shatters into a million pieces.

“Typical dragon horde enchantment. All bluster, no burning.” Bill keeps walking without a care in the world. “They’re full of hot air!”

“So I’m not cursed,” Dipper prompts, catching up to him. “Aside from you, I mean.”

“Flatterer,” Bill says, slightly warmer. He continues, shrugging. “No reason you would be! No dragons in the area, and the warning sign there’s too old. By my guess, the original horde was raided centuries ago! Just another piece of random crap that got dragged into that junkyard." And he ruffles Dipper’s hair again, in the second-most annoying way. "You’re stuck with me, though.”

Dipper ducks and twists, thus freeing himself from the minor torment. “I think I can live with that.”

One would think that chatting with a demon - one as cryptic and ominous and aggravating as Bill - would only cause irritation, at best.

It still does, of course. But when it comes to Dipper, Bill… sometimes lays things out straight. On occasion. Especially when he’s instructing, doubly when it comes to magic. Like he’s trying to pour all the facts he can into Dipper’s brain, overfilling the cup.

If his goal is to overload this one mortal mind, though, he'll have to work a lot harder.

Dipper gets out his notebook, while Bill looks away, and pretends he didn’t see it. Yet another poorly-veiled lesson, with Bill obviously trying to plant seeds re: actually casting curses. Tough luck managing that. His subtle lean towards chaos might escape the unwary, but to Dipper? Bill’s way too transparent.

The fact is, that Dipper absorbs things fast. Even Bill will admit it, sometimes without being prompted.

That Includes stuff Bill doesn't even know he's teaching.

Bill’s also rambling on about historical curses, and how often these things backfire, or misfire. It’d almost sound like a series of unconnected, gossipy anecdotes, if it weren’t for the extra technical details.

And Dipper’s not falling for it. As far as he's concerned, his first curse was his last one.

But then…

Even if he’s not going to use the knowledge, there's no reason not to learn it. Knowledge about making curses can also be used to break them, after all. Taking all the facts Bill smacked a ‘For Evil Purposes Only’ sticker on and using them to shatter an evil plan would be very satisfying.

They’re nearly out of the cave at this point, so Dipper figures it’s fine to let his guard down a bit. The monster's dead, all the traps were cleared out on the way in - everything should be fine.

He clicks his pen a couple times, and asks Bill to repeat that last thing, about the life drain. It gets a snort of amusement, but Bill’s more than happy to elaborate at length. Dipper struggles to keep up with Bill’s rapid-fire speech; he's trying to make this intentionally difficult, damn it.

Bill leads on with careless gestures and an uninterrupted stride. Getting ahead of Dipper by several meters, but Dipper’s got to note down what he says before he has to do something awful, like ask Bill to repeat himself.

Dipper is, in fact, so busy trying to write in shorthand, and walk, and not hit a stalactite with his face, all at the same time, that he sort of loses track of where he is.

And okay, maybe he trips over a rock slightly, and nearly faceplants, bonking against the sudden curve of a wall with a swear.

Dipper takes a step back, rubbing at his forehead. Annoying, but, whatever. There were a few traps around, but he pretty much cleared out the cave on the way in, so it’s probably - oh, hell.

Not fine, he dropped the stupid tablet.

Great. The only really interesting object, shattered into half a dozen pieces. So much from saving it from Bill; Dipper himself fumbled the bag.

He backs up to evaluate the damage -

The stone sinks under his foot, and something goes ‘click’.

With a start, Dipper raises a shield without thinking, arm jerking up as he wills his magic into the gesture. It's solid enough for something done on reflex, but an impact hits hard on his side, with sudden, stinging pain.

And a pretty hard impact, at that. He didn’t get it solid enough, damn it, wasn’t expecting something physical -

Dipper wheezes out a breath, slumping to the ground and clutching his stomach.

Alright. So. He got most of the traps.

He sits down, and lets his head thump back against the stone, teeth bared in a grimace. Stupid. Should have been paying attention.

The commotion makes Bill turn his head, blinking at Dipper sitting on the ground.

Then - because he’s an asshole - he starts laughing.

“I know I’m fascinating, sapling, but really?” He tuts, setting fists on his hips. “Not sure if I should be flattered that you’re obsessed with me, or disappointed that you’re dumb enough to walk right into a wall.”

Dipper sucks in a breath, gingerly touching his side. Doesn’t seem like - he glances down. Sure, it stings, and his shirt’s torn, a long, shallow cut on his stomach, just near the old scar. But that’s about it. Over to his side, an arrow rolls against the ground, stone head clicking against the ground.

Over by the cave mouth, Bill’s cackling. God, he’s a jerk sometimes.

But he must not have seen the trap set off, too wrapped up in his own stupid bullshit, or he’d be less of one. Dipper knows that for a fact. Though he’d really, really prefer he’d never had that experience.

“C’mon, kid. If you’re not even more brain damaged from your bump, let’s ditch this joint.” Bill jerks his head over his shoulder.

Dipper hugs himself around the torso, grimacing. Not bothering to respond. His heart is still pounding, or he’d have a retort ready. Adrenaline’s helped him out in a lot of situations, but not with talking. He’ll get up when he’s ready.

“What, you smash your skull open or something?” Bill raises one arch eyebrow.

Though Dipper knows why Bill’s like this, it’s still deeply annoying. He shakes his head in lieu of a reply. In a second, he’ll be calm enough to tell Bill exactly what he thinks of his incredibly poor bedside - and cave-side - manner.

“Figures. Can’t leave you alone for five minutes without your guts spilling everywhere.” Bill clicks his tongue, folding his arms and stepping forward. “What’s the damage?”

“It hurts.” Dipper says, through gritted teeth. Then pauses. Wait, he meant to say - He shakes his head rapidly, only for more words to force themselves out, unbidden. “I got cut again.”

Again, not what he intended. Dipper lowers his chin, teeth clenched. What the hell, he shouldn’t have said that. Bill’s mocking aside, maybe he did hit his head a little too hard. Once Bill gets the mockery out of his system, he’s going to be a total pest about it, too.

With a huff, Dipper slumps. Settling in for a sulk, waiting for the next jab - But there’s no insult forthcoming. Or argument.

In fact, Bill’s gone totally silent. Which is super weird.

Dipper looks up at the cave entrance, expecting a comment or a question, or at least a huge grin. He tenses up, hunching over.

And meets a frozen, unsmiling face.

Bill dropped his arms, they hang limp by his sides. His expression’s gone blank.

The next moment, he’s right in front of Dipper, kneeling and tugging at his arms with alarming urgency.

“Alright, lemme see.” Bill’s face is very close. Though he’s trying to pull his arms away, Dipper resists out of sheer surprise. Bill growls, eye darting around until it lands on the arrow. “Oh for - Really can’t leave you alone for five minutes. Move.”

Another pull, less hard this time. Like he’s trying to ease Dipper’s arms away.

“Wh- Hey!” Dipper plants a foot against Bill’s chest, but that hardly stops anything. He raises his arms. Holding them up, in fact, like he’s at gunpoint. Where’d this come from. “Don’t get upset, I’m fine.”

“Ha! Good one, sapling. Who’s upset, exactly?” Bill says, teeth bared, and in a deeply upset way. He tugs Dipper’s shirt, up, fingers tracing the cut before pressing into his stomach. “I’m just wondering if I need a replacement mortal this soon into your miserable existence. No big deal!”

Okay, this is too much.

Dipper struggles up, despite Bill trying to shove him down again. Bracing himself on the cave wall, and glaring. “Calm down already.”

“I’m perfectly calm.” Bill says, through gritted teeth. At best he looks miffed, but he’s at least stopped trying to make Dipper lie down in the recovery position or whatever. With a glare, he tugs up Dipper’s shirt, prodding at the shallow cut. “What the hell, kid. I thought you said it hurt!”

“Ow.” Dipper’s stomach jumps at another poke. He smacks Bill’s hand away. “It does, alright? Quit poking.”

Bill doesn’t seem impressed. His fingers trail over the larger, older scar on Dipper’s left side, then glares at Dipper’s stomach like it’s insulted him. A beat, then - “You don’t usually complain.”

“I-” Okay, true. Dipper glares anyway. “Shut up.”

He doesn’t complain because it’s the only option. For all that Bill whines and teases and taunts Dipper, all the time, about being some ‘fragile mortal meatsack’, already rotting before his eyes, he really doesn’t like it when it’s brought forcefully to his attention.

God, he shouldn't have said anything. Ninety-five percent of the time, there isn’t any harm to mention. But when Dipper does ends up showing he is kind of… mortal, and it’s small, he just. Doesn’t bring it up. For all that they bicker all the time, he doesn’t like to make Bill upset.

Bill grunts, mouth turned down at the corners. He stands up quickly, folding his arms. His lip curls up in a sneer. “If you wanted attention, kid, there are way better ways to-”

Oh, fuck that. Dipper flips him off, and starts storming off.

God, this is stupid. Whenever Dipper ever breaks a bone or something, he gets teased about being so weak and vulnerable. Which he is, but neither of them like the reminder.

These days, it also comes with some weirdly maybe-sincere ‘kiss it better’ thing that Dipper then has to disinfect. A lot of hovering, and rambling commentary. Sometimes creative descriptions of how much worse it could have been, and Dipper never needed those, at any time. Bill gets oddly fixated on such random little moments, and it’s just -

Dipper doesn’t like it, is all. Bill gets the way he gets, it’s a lot, and it’s easier just to avoid it. If he were a different guy - a human guy, or even mostly-human monster- Dipper might try to talk to him about it.

But Bill’s a demon. Not normal, barely sane even on his best days, and worse, he’s Bill, so. That conversation would go precisely nowhere.

Behind him, he hears said demon approaching, fast. Stupid jerk. He should be as tall as his real form. That’d be fair. More accurate, too, and then Dipper could properly stomp off without Bill catching up so easily.

Already the bastard is by Dipper’s side. A tall, irritating presence. Hovering close without grabbing on, which adds to said irritation.

Dipper leans away, but Bill catches him around the waist and drags him in.

“Don’t get so grumpy, sapling, you’re fine! A little nick in the outer layer rarely killed anyone since they invented antibiotics.” Though he pinches Dipper’s cheek, he yanks his head away with a grunt. Bill sighs. “Everything’s a-okay here! Looks like I don't have to find a replacement just yet.”

Bill’s an idiot. Dipper scoffs, though an unpleasant feeling crawls in his gut. “Oh yeah? Who would you replace me with?”

“Eh, not like I got anyone specific in mind.” Bill waves that off, nonchalant. “But I have options! Lots of options.” He bumps a hip against Dipper. “Keep that in mind before you go charging off into obvious traps.”

This goddamn liar. Dipper elbows him in the side, because the asshole deserves it.

Not that Dipper’s worried, or anything. From what little he’s heard of Bill’s exes in the demonic rumor mill - Bill’s been, as they say, less than successful. Already Dipper’s outstripped his longest by years.. Bill can lie day in and day out about his options, put on a brave face - but they both know he’s not going to find this again. Not easily.

“Good luck finding another husband, asshole.” Dipper says with appropriate derision. It’s annoying that Bill even brought it up. There’s a good riposte in there, somewhere - but while his brain is coming up with an insult, his mouth runs on automatic. “But I was really worried that you would last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day until you sent a dick pic. It was weirdly comforting.”

Bill turns toward him with genuine surprise. He even blinks a few times, no retort emerging, and Dipper looks back at him with equal surprise.

Until his mind catches up with what he just said.

Dipper digs his heels in the ground, slamming to a halt. Clapping both hands to his mouth, eyes wide.

Beside him Bill nearly trips at the sudden stop, flailing for balance with a swear.

Shit, shit shit. Dipper really didn’t mean to say that. He knows Bill’s not looking around, that he’s not interested. Cynically, that he couldn’t manage it if he was. Last week was just a one-off anxiety, like all the others Dipper’s brain comes up with when it gets too much free time. Totally irrational, and really hard to stop fixating on.

Bill keeps staring. Not angry, just confused, for long enough that Dipper wants to shrink into the ground and melt into nothingness.

Then he asks, “What the hell, Pine Tree?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I thought that. I don’t know why I said that.” Dipper cringes into himself, grimacing and ducking his head. He runs a hand over his slightly sweaty face. “I didn't even want you to know I got hurt.”

At that, Bill snorts. “Oh, please. I’d have seen that first time I got your shirt off. You can’t keep secrets from me!”

Dipper folds his arms, internally seething - and his stupid mouth moves to say, “I’ve done it before.”

This time, the silence is tense.

Dipper wipes his sweating forehead again, not daring to meet Bill’s eye. God he shouldn't have -

Before he can think, he blurts out, “I think something’s wrong.”

“Probably!” Bill agrees, with a smile just a little too sharp. He takes Dipper’s face in both hands, eye narrowed. “Hold still a sec.”

As Bill’s eye flickers blue, and the magic between them surges - Dipper squirms a bit, but. Well. If anything’s wrong with him - magically, anyway - Bill’s the best one to diagnose it..

Bill tilts his head to one side, then the other. After a moment, his mouth twists up into something unpleasant, eye glowing slightly brighter for an instant.

Then he sighs, and lets Dipper go. His expression is neutral, except for the slightest downturn of his mouth. His lips part like he’s about to speak, then twist up into a grimace.

Uh oh.

Whatever Bill saw, he didn’t like it.

“What?” Dipper pats his head, then his chest. If there was something weird, magically about him, he - wouldn’t be able to tell, actually. He’s too close to get a good look. Oh god, what if he did hit his head too hard, and something in his brain is bleeding, or worse. “Wait. Am I dying?”

“Worse! You’re telling the truth.” Bill claps his hands together. Though he’s smiling again, it’s brittle and annoyed. “Don’t suppose you know any curse breakers that aren’t your great-uncle?”

“Not really,” Dipper admits. Bill's words catch up to him, and he bites his lip. Then, because the situation deserves it, “Fuck.”

Protection curse. The tablet.

Damn it.

A part of a horde, from a long time ago. Messed with. It should have been something less awful. Like warts, or sprouting plants from his skin, or a big fireball. Pretty much anything else would be less awful.

Truth curses are rare, they’re difficult as hell - but judging by the words spilling out of Dipper, he’s caught a pretty strong variant.

Of all the curses that could hit him. Why this one.

Hell, maybe it’s intended to be the worst curse possible for the ‘thief’. That would explain how targeted this feels.

And knowing Dipper’s luck, that part was explained on, like, the back of the tablet.

“Welp! Good thing I’m not short on contacts, kid.” Bill grapes his shoulder, shaking him a bit, before he trails an arm over Dipper’s shoulders. “Who wants some fumbling idiot uncle to fix this kinda spell, anyway?”

Dipper would! If it was feasible. He makes a brief attempt at shrugging Bill’s arm up before letting his shoulders slump.

The idea of Ford hearing about this is….

Dipper sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Ford really would have a way around this. He'd certainly have the best intentions, Dipper’s certain. He'd...

Also not have the best sense of boundaries.

Though he'd be doing it for the right reasons, he'd ask the wrong questions. Out of concern, and arguably valid worry; he's never fully believed that Bill can't influence him. Despite how many times Dipper’s tried to explain it to him, Ford just can’t wrap his mind around certain truths.

With this curse, though. Between poor social sense, the Pines curiosity, and what Dipper might blurt out, while compelled to answer -

On this, Dipper agrees with Bill. They’ll have to find something else to break this.

In the meantime, he’ll manage, like he has all the other times his life has sucked. Hardly the worst case scenario. If Bill had been cursed - someone who lies like he breathes - Who knows? Give it a few days, and he might just explode from all the backed up bullshit.

“Wait.” A horrible thought strikes. Dipper reels on his husband, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“What, me? I’m a perfectly moral human man,” Bill says, resting a hand on his chest, lifting his chin with pride. “A boring sentient mammal who’s never found curses entertaining.”

Yep, Bill’s fine. As always, it’s Dipper who gets the short end of the stick.

He breathes in slowly, and lets it out.

Yeah. Still sucks. He’ll deal. Cursed, but not dead. In danger, but not the worst - and his husband’s being annoying, which means he’s perfectly fine. There’s a solution too - it’s just going to be a huge, annoying process getting to it.

“So,” Bill says, slowly. Drawing the word out in a long string, while he finger-walks his arm up around Dipper’s shoulder.

Uh oh.

Speaking of annoying…

“Watch it,” Dipper hunches his shoulders, not daring to look his idiot husband in the eye. “You’re this close to sleeping on the couch for a month.” Not a big enough threat, Bill’s still thinking- “Or for a year.”

“Oh, sure,” Bill says, in a distracted tone. His fingers pause on their walk, one ‘leg’ poised on Dipper’s clavicle. They hold the position for a long moment, tapping out a little marching step - and seconds later, his palm slaps down on Dipper’s shoulder. “So, Pine Tree! How do you feel about this ‘Bill Cipher’ guy?”

Though Dipper resists, and he really tries to, the words slip out past his teeth, his lips form the sounds -

“I love you.” God. Damnit. He clenches his fists, as Bill’s sheer smugness radiates from him like heat. “And I’m thinking about shoving you off a cliff right now.”

When Bill paused, Dipper thought he might have fended this off. Wishful thinking, really, Bill’s almost impossible to stop. Dipper used what leverage he had, but all he’s managed to avoid are the worst, most invasive questions.

When it comes to Bill, that’s pretty close to a win.

Not that it’s going to feel like one.

Bill has, in fact, been encouraged. Now that he’s heard something he likes, he leans in like a weird creep. Dipper can practically hear the leer in his voice. “And on a scale of one to ten, how handsome am I?

“Ten point five,” Dipper needs to loosen his jaw or he might break a filling. Being pumped for information is bad enough without pumping up Bill’s already ridiculous ego. “You bastard.”

Bill’s chest puffs out, there’s a strut in his stride. The grin is so wide now Dipper’s pretty sure it should hurt- and if he dares to pucker up, he’s not getting lips on his awful face. “And am I the most clever and sexually amazing guy in the universe or what?

This time, Dipper snorts.

“Definitely not.” He ignores the sharp, indignant sound next to him, tilting his head in thought. “For one, there’s succubi and incubi, so. Sexually, you’re not even on top amongst demons.” He glances over at the offended ‘o’ of Bill’s mouth. “And I know you’re not the most clever, because I win our debates nearly half the time. Maybe you’re up there, but not the most. And that’s just the surface level stuff.”

Dipper doesn’t have a complete cosmological view of the multiverse, but he has learned a lot. Mostly stuff he picked up from his husband, and demonic gossip. It’s absolutely enough to go on a long, long ramble about how Bill most likely doesn’t rank number one in anything. If Dipper avoids the topics where he actually is.

He’s barely fifteen seconds in before Bill starts scowling, with a grumpy hunch to his shoulders - But screw him.

Dipper starts smiling, just a bit. Then, to be a dick, he adds,

“The ten and a half is just me, anyway. To the average human, you’re maybe an eight..” Dipper continues, over another spluttered protest. Again, true; not everyone likes the slightly inhuman maniac cyclops look. “Six with your personality.”

Bill groans. “Ugh, you pedant.” He squeezes Dipper’s shoulder, jostling him slightly. “C’mon, you know what I meant! What’s the real - “

“Don’t ask questions if you can’t handle the answers,” Dipper warns, jabbing Bill in the chest. So far it hasn’t been too much, but it could be. Time to draw a line. “I will suck so much fun out of this for you.”

Bill Cipher, unintentional teacher once more. Now Dipper knows the curse isn’t about perfect truth. When he can deliberately misinterpret a question’s intent, and can go on tangents - that means he has loopholes. There might even be more, if he tries.

And if they can’t get this settled soon, he’ll need every one of those he can find.

“Clever brat.” Bill’s frowning, but he can’t disguise the amusement in his voice. His eyebrows wiggle, his arm hauling him close - "Go ahead, then. Anything else you wanna share?"

"I know two and half ways to kill you, Bill Cipher." Dipper gets right up in his face. He won’t let Bill push this any further. "Don't tempt me to use them."

Being face to face like this, Dipper watches Bill’s eye go wide - ha, didn’t expect that, did he. With that threat, he’ll -

Start cackling. And weirdly, turn a little pink. Dipper feels all the momentum he had whoosh out of him like sad balloon animal.

“Boy, you are a saucy one!” Bill whistles, low. He places his hands demurely on his cheeks, fluttering his eye at Dipper with amusement. “Oh, yeah. Talk deadly to me.”

By this time, Dipper figures he should be used to stumbling into demonic flirtation. Only it turns out it’s basically fractal in nature, and he keeps running into new and newer edge cases.

“Fun as this is - we gotta get you cleared up, and no time like the present!” Bill’s calmed down enough to scoop an arm around his waist, leading Dipper onward. “Can’t have you babbling everything to everyone, y’know?”

“What, you don’t want me telling you everything?” Total bullshit. Dipper elbows him in the side. “I thought you wanted to get in my head.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask for our game to be set on ‘beginner’ mode. That’s boring.” Bill flicks his fingers - but he’s got his ‘evading questions’ look on. “You’re lucky I’m so- oof.”

Another elbow, harder this time. Bill grunts, but capitulates. Rubbing at his eye briefly, he sighs.

“So! How many of my secrets would you say you know, Pine Tree?” Bill tightens his grip on Dipper’s waist, tugging him closer. “And I’m talking about the ones that I wouldn’t enjoy getting out in the world.”

“More than I can count.” Dipper says without thinking. Then, with thinking - “Oh.”

Dipper hadn’t considered how much Bill’s taught him, before this exact moment. How much he’s learned. Even unintentionally. Especially unintentionally.

Crap, even his threat before was kind of -

Shit. There’s definitely, absolutely, no way can they go to Ford about this. Total recipe for disaster.

“See? We both got liabilities in play here.” Bill moves easily as Dipper picks up the pace. If anything he’s amused, and not feeling nearly as urgent. Another reason he’s an idiot. “All we gotta do is get you patched up quick, and no more loose lips sinking ships! Easy-peasy.”

“It better be,” Dipper mutters. Nothing ever goes right for him. And by extension, them.

“Trust me, kid! I got this handled!” Bill snaps his fingers - and smacks Dipper’s butt with a wink. “I know some guys!”

#billdip #delightful to read!!#as always

178 notes · View notes