
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3520127.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Gravity_Falls
  Relationship:
      Bill_Cipher/Dipper_Pines
  Character:
      Dipper_Pines, Mabel_Pines, Jesus_"Soos"_Alzamirano_Ramirez, Stanford
      Pines, Bill_Cipher, Robbie_Valentino, Wendy_Corduroy
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Sex_Magic, Virgin_Dipper, Scheming_Bill, Bill_showing
      off/courting_Dipper, Human_Bill_Cipher, Get_ready_for_too_much_sexual
      tension_for_a_children's_show, Swearing
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-10 Updated: 2015-06-16 Chapters: 6/? Words: 12220
****** Like a Red Cloth Ceremony ******
by foxwedding
Summary
     It's their seventh summer in Gravity Falls, and Bill is up to
     something entirely new. Dipper's confused and Bill is going to use
     that to it's furthest extent- if he can persuade him correctly.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
The summer after their seventeenth birthday, Dipper and Mabel returned, as per
their annual tradition, to the Mystery Shack in Gravity Falls. It was their
seventh successive year and the duo had grown significantly since that first,
eventful summer when they were twelve.
Mabel had grown into a fortuitous set of buxom curves. She wasn’t exceedingly
slender, but she was healthy, with flushed cheeks and thick, glossy hair. Never
having entirely grown out of wearing sweaters, she had kept most of her
favorites over the years. They now fit much more snugly across her bosom, and
she had long since swapped out her knee highs and skirt for high-waisted jeans.
She constantly wore chunky, geometric earrings and necklaces, homemade scarves,
and an eternal, braces-less smile.
Since the end of junior high, Mabel had maintained a steady stream of two-week
boyfriends, which amounted to an enormous quantity of exes that Dipper never
seemed to be able to get away from. Miraculously, she had managed to stay
friendly with most of them. Mabel had blossomed into a considerably talented
artist as well, face constantly shoved into a sketch book as she simultaneously
drew and chatted away.
Dipper, for the most part, hadn’t changed much either. He’d sprouted up into a
tall, slender young man. Jeans, ratty sneakers, and his iconic bubble vest had
all stayed the same. He wore graphic t-shirts of independent bands about which
he was ready to discuss, at length and in enormous detail, the second anyone
made the mistake of asking. He’d outgrown his hat, but Mabel had preserved the
pine tree patch and re-sewn it onto his vest.
Unlike Mabel, Dipper had not managed the same dating proclivities, despite
having what many of his peers described as an attractive face and introverted
demeanor. But this was more likely due to his mounting confusion about where
his attractions lay. At seventeen, he felt he should know where his sexuality
stood, but chalked it up to lack of experience with any gender. Still, he shied
away from interested female parties and gravitated towards spending platonic
time with male friends. If Mabel noticed his growing distress concerning his
sexual orientation, she didn’t mention it.
As always, the two shared the attic in the summer. Mabel was absent the
majority of the time, preferring movies and art performances with Candy and
Grenda. Dipper split his time between failed DIY adventures with Soos and
sitting in on jam sessions with Robbie’s band. Wendy had left for university-
Dipper hadn’t seen her in two summers. Mostly though, Dipper wandered around
the surrounding forest on his own, book in hand, backpack full of water,
granola, various stones and talismans. That, and he waited for the inevitable
need to put a pin in the schemes and dealings of one Bill Cipher.
Every summer, without fail, at least one oblivious citizen of Gravity Falls was
ignorant enough to make a deal with Bill Cipher. These ill-advised transactions
ranged from the well-intentioned- ‘please heal my aging grandmother’s brittle
hip in exchange for my human face’- to the downright moronic- ‘please secure me
a date with a Northwest in exchange for my mortal happiness’ (this one was
self-fulfilling). Dipper tended to hear about them through the grapevine, and
once the situation had become sufficiently dire, he was asked to step in.
The first few encounters with Bill left Dipper disoriented with rage and
terror. However, as they continued, time tempered his fears into a more blasé
attitude towards the demon. It usually happened as follows: About two weeks
after Dipper’s arrival in town, rumors about strange happenings with so-and-so
would begin to percolate. Dipper would deliberately ignore them. Subsequently,
Bill would up-the-ante: nightmare-inducing hallucinogenics in the water, man-
eating trees, turning the lake into blood (evidently, he took much inspiration
from the old testament), and that sort. If this still didn’t get Dipper’s
attention, the demon would fall back to a last resort of plaguing Mabel with
some minor case of boils or other. In recent years, Dipper had learned to
intercede before Mabel got involved.
Finally, when enough was enough, Dipper would pack his books, anointed water,
vials and herbs into a knapsack, and head into town. Bill had a flair for the
dramatic, typically showcasing his array of awful talents in the town-square
while holding some quantity of citizens captive. Dipper would arrive, he and
Bill would banter heatedly, Dipper would lay down his sigils, his blood and
herbs, his crystals and holy water, while Bill watched on amusedly. Bill would
pester and correct Dipper at every step of proceedings- ‘you laid the
nightshade down counterclockwise, you moronic sapling’ or ‘Come on, Pine Tree,
we both know the blood has to be tossed north first. Get it together kid.’
Dipper would huff and growl and scream in frustration, which only served to
further encourage the demon. Eventually, it would devolve into Dipper reciting
slightly incorrect Latin at the triangle until he decided to depart, although
lately, the boy had actually succeeded in forcibly exorcising the demon. It was
no small feat, and Bill would proudly commend Dipper on his performance, which
annoyed him to no end.
And then, like clockwork, two weeks later the process would begin to repeat
itself. Which is how, presently, Dipper found himself in front of the townhall
steps, tattered scrap of Latin runes in one hand, glowing violet expelling
crystal in the other, screaming nonsensically over Bill’s maniacal laughter.
“Well, if it isn’t the littlest pine. Welcome back, sapling.” The demon
practically vibrated with unrepentant glee.
“Cut the shit, Cipher. You knew I’d show up eventually. What do you want?”
Bill gestured to a man curled up in fetal beneath his absurdly shaped body.
“This meat bag owes me his first born! We struck a deal three summers ago, and
now it’s time for new daddy to pay up!” Bill’s voice dropped several octaves as
he spoke, and his enormous eye flashed crimson. The man whimpered and curled
his body tighter around the bundle in his arms. Dipper squinted to get a closer
look, realizing with muted horror that the man was clutching a swaddled baby.
He sighed and wished, for the dozenth time this summer, that he had stayed
home.
“The fuck do you want with a kid?” Dipper asked, trying to mask his annoyance
just enough to not escalate the situation.
“Babies are the most tender and tasty of all meat bags!” Bill chuckled and the
father and infant wailed in unified misery.
“You don’t even eat, dumbass.”
“You caught me. I dunno. I’ll train him up, have him work around my
dreamscape.” Bill replied carelessly.
“Yeah, it must be really rough, already having whatever you want, whenever you
want. I can see how you might need help with that. That baby won’t be of
functional use to you for another three or four years, you know that right?”
The demon’s eye widened in surprise and he drifted closer to inspect the tiny
human, who released an ear-splitting screech in response to Bill’s proximity.
“What? Meat bags really take that long to sprout?” Bill’s limited facial
expressions conveyed upmost disgust.
Dipper used the brief distraction as an opportunity to prick the tip of one
ring finger with a sterilized needle and flick his blood onto the demon’s
triangular body. Apathetically, he recited the particular Latin exorcising
spell he knew would sever the agreement between the Bill and the distraught
father. On cue, a thin string of golden symbols flickered to life, an intricate
knot binding the two entities together. Dipper watched as the knot shattered
like glass, the residual strings of the bond disintegrating into the ether.
The two of them watched the man scramble to his feet, infant cradled in one
arm, and dash away in spluttering fear. Bill sighed in utter boredom.
“This is getting too easy for you, kid.”
“Maybe if you didn’t fuck things up so often, I wouldn’t be this much in
practice. Ever consider taking a break?” Dipper asked with sly hopefulness.
“And rob myself of the intense pleasure of making you scream? I don’t think so,
Pine Tree. Don’t you worry, kiddo. I’ve got something in the making- you and I
are going to have so much fun.”
“What? No-” Dipper seized in fear, but Bill was already beginning to fade into
the dreamscape.
“Until next time, sapling.” Bill’s forceful laughter echoed off the buildings
and faded into the night as the light of his residual magic disappeared.
In the darkness of a moonless night, Dipper dusted himself off and packed his
things away. Once again, everything was quiet and still, disturbed only by the
quiet click and soft illumination of Dipper’s flashlight turning on. He sighed
and began his two mile trek back to the Mystery Shack.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The next couple of days following Bill’s latest spectacle were slow and
uneventful. One side effect of being in the demon’s proximity was a hazy memory
of the encounter, or lost time altogether. None of the townspeople seemed to
recognize Dipper as having achieved something incredible for the dozenth time
in half as many years. Dipper himself, having run into Bill more times than he
cared to count, no longer experienced this particular effect.
Lazy Susan’s diner was fairly busy by mid-morning, when Dipper, Mabel, Soos,
and Stan arrived for breakfast. Stan usually wasn’t one to take everyone out to
a meal, but the twins had been in town for nearly three weeks now, and he still
had yet to shell out some sort of effort in the name of family bonding. Sliding
into a booth by the window, Dipper saw the young father and his infant son,
accompanied by what he assumed was the man’s wife, across the diner. The three
looked pleasant enough, no sign of recent traumatic encounters whatsoever.
Mabel immediately caught sight of the baby and starting cooing loudly at it.
The infant gurgled and clapped it’s filthy hands together, propelling mashed
baby food onto his own smiling face. Mabel laughed delightedly.
“Hey little guy! Dipper! Dipper, look at the little guy.” Mabel kept nudging
him even after he acquiesced and looked over. He made brief eye contact with
the father, who smiled back at the twins without an ounce of recognition.
Dipper sighed and waved half-heartedly at the family.
They were interrupted by the waiter, who turned out to be one of Robbie’s band
mates- Evan? Kevin? The man immediately smiled at Dipper, and reached down to
ruffle his hair as if he was still twelve years old.
“Hey Dip, how’s it hanging, man?” Dipper made some sort of neutral response as
he studied the way that the waiter’s v-neck revealed clavicles and just the top
bit of his chest hair. Just as quickly as he realized what he was doing, he
averted his gaze down to the table top.
“All good man, you?”
Stan interrupted the two of them, his gruff baritone listing off the specials
that they would all share. Mabel immediately protested, insisting they needed
to start eating healthier, individual portions. Dipper intended to input his
two cents, but was distracted by their waiter’s toned hands and forearm as he
scribbled down the order. Dipper swallowed down shame about the fact that he
couldn’t control his attention. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of himself, per
say, it was more that he desperately didn’t want to be different.
When he glanced up, he met Soos’s concerned expression.
“You okay, little man?”
“What?” Dipper forced a neutral tone. “I’m totally good, Soos.” Soos’s half-
smile informed Dipper that the man didn’t believe him in the slightest. To his
right, Mabel and Stan sounded as though they had come to an agreement. Under
the table, Dipper pinched at his inner wrist to keep himself from looking at
their waiter as he walked away.
Later in the afternoon found the twins holding sparklers off the side of the
roof as they sipped at pilfered cans of beer. Mabel grimaced every time she
took a swig.
“Tastes like pee, I don’t understand the appeal.” She announced while waving
her sparkler in a figure eight.
Dipper shrugged and gulped down more in the hope that its appeal would become
apparent if he just kept drinking it. Mabel started chattering on about
potential summer flings. Dipper tuned in and out, catching bits and pieces.
“...and the new lifeguard, I mean, have you seen him? I know I’m not supposed
to be attracted to bro-types, but his arms! I wanna drown in that pool just so
I can wake up to him putting the kiss of life back in me.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works, Mabel...” Dipper trailed off and let
the comment hang. Then, “Why do you say you shouldn’t be attracted to him?”
Mabel shrugged as her sparkler guttered and died. She let it fall from her
fingers to the ground below. “I dunno. People usually have types, you know?
Kind of like, I have a certain type of personality, and should therefore want a
guy with a complementary personality. That’s what mom says, anyways.”
Dipper felt light-headed with a sudden rush of courage.
“But what if what she thinks your type should be is different from what your
type actually is? Like, what if your type is different than everyone expects?”
Dipper blurted then felt himself flush with embarrassment and nerves. Why had
he even said that?
“I think that someone’s type should be whoever makes him or her happiest.”
Mabel’s tone was light, but she was speaking in a staggered manner and Dipper
could tell she was choosing her words carefully. Out of the corner of his
sight, he could see her studying him intently.
Dipper was suddenly overcome with a powerful sense of agitation. He stood
abruptly and nudged an empty can off the roof with his foot.
“Dipper-” Mabel began quietly, but was interrupted.
“I’m gonna go take a walk.” Dipper rushed back into the shack.
Dipper walked along a familiar beaten trail until the golden rays of the sunset
glared directly into his eyes. He slumped down onto a mossy rock and used a
nearby twig to carve meaningless drawings into the dirt. Eventually he just let
the stick clatter to the ground, hanging his head between his knees defeatedly.
It wasn’t fair. Growing up was hard enough already. Why couldn’t he just be
like everyone else?
“Little sapling is going to be eaten up by wild animals if he doesn’t get back
before dark.” Bill’s voice emerged from nowhere. Dipper yelped and fell off of
his rock. The demon laughed at his clumsiness.
From the golden light filtered in streaks through the trees, materialized an
equally golden triangle, hovering several feet above him. Dipper didn’t even
bother sitting up from his position face up on the ground.
“I hate you so much. What do you want?” He muttered apathetically.
Bill’s delayed response immediately garnered Dipper’s attention.
“Suppose,” the demon began slowly, “that you had something I wanted. In return,
I would have to give you something that you desired equally as strongly.”
“Can you even conceptualize the meaning of an equal exchange?” Dipper inquired
scathingly and sat up. Bill ignored him.
“I do believe that I have situation from which we can both mutually benefit.”
The demon announced.
“I’m not making a deal with you, Cipher. Do you think I’m a total idiot?
Besides, you have nothing that I want.” Dipper rolled his eyes at the notion of
Bill trying to talk him into a deal after all their previous encounters.
“I believe that all human meat bags are idiots, but that’s neither here nor
there right now. And I’m not trying to make a deal with you. I just think we
could both help each other out.”
“You want me to ‘help you out’” Dipper quoted back the demon’s words in
deadpan. “I still don’t see how I’m benefitting.” He stood up with the
intention of putting more space between him and the triangle.
“You’ll grow to see. How about this. You come take a look at the situation with
me. Then you can decide whether you want to help me out.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you give me a choice like that?” Dipper could
feel his curiosity slowly undermining his rational resolve to stay the fuck
away from Bill Cipher.
“I guess I’m just a nice guy, sapling.” The condescending nickname snapped
Dipper back to rationality.
“You’re a fucking triangle, Bill!” He screeched, confounded and having run out
of sensible things to say. “And you’re a demon! I’m not working for you- with
you! Whatever!”
The demon seemed to consider this momentarily.
“I can see that my form is a serious hindrance to your trust, Pine Tree. Maybe
I should take the form of something more appealing and familiar in order to
persuade you.”
“Wha-” Dipper began, but the air around Bill had already begun to shimmer and
spark.
Bill’s golden triangular body rotated counterclockwise one-hundred-eighty
degrees so that that his apex pointed to the ground. His flimsy arms, now
beneath his legs, elongated and thickened, his elbow joints reformed into
knees- cracking and shifting so that they hinged in the opposite way. His legs,
perched atop the base, slid to either point and elongated in a similar fashion
to become arms. His upside-down triangular form became a human torso with a
slender waist and impossibly broad shoulders with long, wiry, well formed
limbs. Bill’s singular all-seeing eye, now implanted at the center of a human
torso, flattened and dulled into a faded tattoo.
Dipper watched in unmasked horror as the stump of neck and head burgeoned from
the top of this newly formed torso. From tanned, golden flesh emerged two eyes
and a nose. One particular divot became the cavern of mouth, and two others
were sculpted into ears by unseen forces. Blond hair sprouted from the top of
the cranium.
Dipper swallowed dryly and stared incredulously at Bill’s finished creation.
The dream demon now stood at equal height to him, stark naked, with predatory
eyes and an intensely keen smile. Dipper inhaled shortly at Bill’s closeness
and inched backwards, averting his gaze. Bill had created a rather attractive
form for himself.
“Alright, Pine Tree,” Bill crooned and placed a hand on either hip, “I present
to you a meager human form. I’m a meat sack now.” He seemed inordinately
pleased with himself and stepped closer, yet again, so that Dipper could take
in the detailing.
Even Bill’s abrasive, nasally tone couldn’t rouse Dipper, who was concentrating
fiercely on a patch of fungus near one of his dilapidated sneakers. He could
feel Bill’s warmth as the demon pressed closer, and tried to divert his
attention from what he could only assume was the gentle pressure of Bill’s male
endowments against the side of his clothed thigh.
“Pine Tree!” Bill shouted in one ear, unhappy that Dipper was inattentive to
his considerable talents.
Dipper jumped back and covered his eyes. “Put some fucking clothes on, you
dumbass!” Then, after several moments, “What the fuck, Cipher, you can take a
human form?”
The demon looked down at his naked body, as if it now just noticing its
undressed state. He snickered and snapped his fingers. Tight black pants and a
dress shirt materialized upon it. Out of thin air, Bill appeared to pluck a
black bowtie, loafers, and a black vest embroidered with thin, geometric shapes
of gold thread. He hummed a nameless tune as he maneuvered into his new
apparel. Dipper scoffed at the absurd sight of watching Bill Cipher leaning
down to tie his dress shoes.
Feeling unusually agitated, Dipper plunged his hands into the pockets of his
bubble vest.
“Yeah, great ensemble for trekking around the goddamn forest. I hope you slip
in your pretentious shoes and kill your new form.” Dipper wished that comment
had come out considerably less horsely, and way more heatedly. He sighed and
turned his back on the demon, decidedly heading back towards the shack. He
felt, rather than heard, Bill catch up to him.
“You say the sweetest things, Pine Tree.” For a magical entity newly inhabiting
a corporeal form, Bill seemed to be getting around quite fluidly. Dipper huffed
in annoyance and tried to outpace him. It didn’t work. Night was descending
quickly, and Dipper doubled his efforts to get back to the shack. Bill strode
alongside effortlessly, whistling foreign tunes into the downstream wind.
Once they reached the clearing that held home, Bill halted and caught Dipper’s
elbow. His heat seared through the thin cotton of Dipper’s shirt.
“Think about what I said.” The demon stated with a smug smile and a wink. Then,
with a snap of his fingers, he vanished into the night, leaving Dipper with a
racing pulse and head full of contradicting thoughts.
Chapter End Notes
     Please review- it motivates me to write faster!
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The following night, Dipper was roused from sleep by a well-dressed and smiling
figure. He was prevented from gasping out in surprise by a large hand clamped
firmly over his lips. Dipper struggled weakly as his vision adjusted in the
dark room. Once the realization struck that the shadowed figure was, in fact,
Bill Cipher, Dipper groaned in exasperation and relaxed back onto his bed.
“What ever it is, no.” He whispered out and turned onto his side and tried to
resume sleeping.
“Pine Tree, there’s something I want to show you.” Bill hissed back gleefully.
“In the forest- creatures that are no where in your journal.”
Dipper opened his eyes, instantly alert. Bill’s own eyes, side-lit by the
waxing moon, glinted with the promise of something wild. Dipper held his gaze
suspiciously. A loud snort and the sounds of bedsprings creaking interrupted
them as Mabel stirred lightly in her sleep and adjusted herself to fit more
snugly against Waddles.
Dipper closed his eyes and counted to ten in his mind. This was such a bad
idea. Going out into the forest alone with a dream demon? Bill could kill him
with the snap of his fingers, Dipper knew this with absolute certainty. But...
what if he wasn’t lying? Creatures not recorded in any of the journals?
Dipper’s gut itched with burgeoning excitement. When he open his eyes again,
Bill was glancing around the room disinterestedly. Soft light caught the
contours of his well-formed torso. Dipper swallowed- how much harm could Bill
do to him in a human form, anyway?
Dipper kicked the covers off of him and sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from
his eyes. Reaching for a pair of sweatpants at the foot of his bed, Dipper
grumbled, “I already regret this decision.”
He pulled the pants over his boxers and plucked a random shirt from the floor.
After sniffing it gently, he pulled it over his bare chest, followed by an
equally random hoodie.
“Make no mistake, sapling. You disgust me.” Bill huffed out.
Dipper didn’t even bother replying as he stepped into his ratty sneakers and
tugged his knapsack over one shoulder.
“Come here- if you hold onto me, I can teleport us.” Bill ordered, impatiently.
“Absolutely not. Don’t touch me. It’s walking or nothing.” Dipper stood his
ground. Bill looked about ready to combust. Finally, the demon deflated and
sweetly acquiesced. They crept downstairs and made it about ten steps from the
Mystery Shack before Bill looped an arm around Dipper’s waist from behind and
teleported them without a word.
Teleportation, Dipper found, was vastly unpleasant. Traveling space and time
compressed his lungs, made his head pound, and gave all his limbs pins-and-
needles.
When they popped out of their wormhole, Dipper gasped and fell to his knees.
Beside him, Bill looked no worse for wear.
“What the fuck, Cipher! I said ‘no touching’.” Dipper rasped out. The demon
rolled his eyes and sized up their surroundings. They were deep into the
forest- deeper than Dipper had ever explored. Columns of trees reached up
towards the stars, so high that Dipper could hardly see where they ended. It
smelled of wet underbrush and rot and sounded of crickets. A translucent fog
hovered above the ground. He shivered and shoved his hands under his armpits.
Bill surveyed the trees with slow, deliberate inhales. He appeared to be
sniffing out their next direction. After a half-minute, he narrowed his eyes
towards the west.
“Let’s go,” was all the demon murmured. Dipper struggled to his feet, trying
not to slip on the beds of damp leaves and silt. They crept along in the night
for at least an hour. Every so often, Bill, who seemed to able to move with
making a single sound nor footprint, would turn around and fiercely order
Dipper to walk more stealthily.
Eventually, they arrived at the edge of a clearing. Bill levitated his body to
a high branch in a nearby tree, and gestured for Dipper to do the same. The
brunet huffed and grabbed at the rough bark of a lower branch. Perched side-by-
side on the sturdy branch, Dipper could see directly into the clearing and
miles out to all sides. The dim gleam of Gravity Falls glowed in the far
distance. Dipper wondered exactly how far Bill had taken them out of town.
All at once, he felt Bill go abruptly still beside him. In the clearing below,
several hooded figures were amassing in the center, emerging slowly from the
trees. They hobbled slowly, with stiff, noticeable gaits. From his position,
Dipper couldn’t hear them, nor could he see any part of their bodies and faces.
Hidden within the trees, Dipper and Bill watched as the creatures slowly,
tediously painted out an enormous sigil onto the wet dirt. Candles were placed
in the four corners, and herbs were scattered around the circle. They gathered
at the edges of the sigil, spacing themselves evenly. Dipper heard the high
keening of an animal, and glanced around trying to place its origin. One of the
hooded figures was dragging a leashed creature. The poor creature was frantic,
gasping as it tugged at its collar trying to escape. Dipper squinted, trying to
get a better look.
The animal was unlike any he’d seen before. Its limbs were arranged in a
humanoid fashion, walking upright on two legs. It had long, thin clawed
fingers, a skeletal face, and what appeared to be buffalo horns. It gasped and
clawed and wailed in its desperate efforts to get away from the sigil. One of
the figures grabbed the animal by it’s neck and shoved it inside the circle
just as the collar was removed.
The creature circled the inside of sigil, trying to find a flaw that would
allow it’s escape. Finally, when it seemed to realize its own fate, collapsed
to it knees in the center and emitted what, to Dipper, sounds like the cries of
a scared child.
From up in the treetops, Dipper could hear the low rumble of the hooded figures
chanting in unison. The animal hid it’s face in it’s knees and its anguished
cries because increasingly louder. Dipper felt sick as he watched one figure
step into the sigil, dagger in hand, and force the the animal’s head back,
exposing its neck. With its face upturned, Dipper could see wetness in its
impossibly dark eyes and gleaming tear tracks down its face.
He was unable to look away as the figure drew the blade across the animal’s
neck, which began to choke and gurgle on it’s own blood. As the blood hit the
lines of the sigil, they began to glow like embers until the entire symbol was
alit like a neon sign. The animal took a final shuttering, wet gasp, and
collapsed limply, eyes wide but dull with death. Splayed out like an offering,
the figure with the blade doused the carcass with ceremonial oil. It took the
candle from the south station and lit fire to the body.
Dipper nearly gagged at the smell of cooking flesh that wafted up to him. Dark
smoke made his eyes tear and sting. He felt Bill grasp his elbow firmly, and he
nodded blindly in the demon’s direction for him to take them home.
They reappeared on the roof of the Mystery Shack. Just like last time, the
effects of the travel brought Dipper to his knees. He was shaking and coughing,
eyes stinging as they tried to flush out the charred particles of that animal.
“What was that?” Dipper gasped out. “Those things, what were they?” He wiped
the tears from his cheeks, only to have them freshly replaced.
“Creatures older than Gravity Falls itself. They steal the earth magic from
living forms.” Bill’s tone was uncharacteristically grave and Dipper studied
the demon’s closed off expression closely. “They’ll be coming after me
eventually, once they run through all of the other creatures here.”
Dipper seized in fear. He couldn’t even fathom witnessing another atrocious
scene like that again.
“Then why don’t you leave? Get away from them?” He asked, voice shaking with
the effort of repressing rising hysteria. Bill held Dipper’s gaze for a moment,
and then his face relaxed into something Dipper had never seen before,
something unguarded and sad.
“I’m bound to Gravity Falls. I can’t ever leave.”
Dipper’s eyes widened in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but was
interrupted.
“But those creatures, we can stop them. You can choose to stop them, Pine Tree.
Otherwise, they’ll come after everyone- including your Shooting Star.”
Dipper swallowed down a rush of anxiety at the thought.
“Is this what you wanted me to help you with? Why me? Why don’t you do it
yourself?”
Bill shrugged and spoke carefully. “The spell we need can only be achieved by a
person with certain... traits. You have them. You also know blood magic-
powerful blood magic at that. You can exorcise me, and that’s no small feat.”
Dipper nodded and seemed to consider this. Out of the corner of his eye, he
could see Bill staring intensely at Dipper, presumably awaiting a response.
Dipper wiped at tear trails that had already dried up.
“Ok,” he croaked out with a sniffle. “Ok. I’ll help.” Bill seemed to exhale a
sigh of relief.
“Come on, sapling. Let’s get you back to bed.” The demon held out his hand to
hoist Dipper from his knees. Dipper took it and let Bill guide him back inside.
The brunet climbed weakly into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He
glanced briefly at Bill, a question niggling at the back of his mind, but the
dream demon snapped his fingers once and Dipper fell into dreams.
~+~
Through out the next couple days, Dipper began fevered and thorough research
into his new quest. He knew it was pointless (not to mention extremely ill-
advised) to summon Bill for answers, so he continued rifling through various
sources until the demon decided to pop by.
Bill stopped by one particular afternoon when Mabel was out with Pacifica.
Dipper immediately bombarded the demon with question after fruitless question.
Bill ignored him in favor of inspecting the bedroom. Eventually, Dipper gave up
trying to garner a response and turned back to one of his numerous journals.
The demon strolled leisurely around the room as if he owned it- picking up
things here and there, setting them down in different places, inspecting and
knocking on the walls and windows. This went on for at least an hour until Bill
decided to break the comfortable silence.
“Have you ever been taken, Pine Tree?”
Dipper looked up from the journal blearily and squinting in confusion at the
blond demon. In the afternoon light, Bill looked impossibly golden and warm.
“Taken where?” He asked horsely, not having used his voice for the past hour.
Bill was studying him with a palpable intensity and Dipper felt himself flush
under the attention.
“That’s not what I meant.” He started towards the bed. Dipper sat up straighter
and shut the journal.
“Well that’s unhelpful,” Dipper replied, trying to encourage the demon to
elaborate.
Bill walked up between Dipper’s knees where his legs dangled off of the
mattress. He pulled the heavy tome from Dipper’s grasp and placed one hand
squarely onto his sternum. Dipper’s eyes widened as he let Bill push his upper
torso down until he was pressed against comforter. The demon hovered above him,
still standing between his parted knees. Dipper was worried Bill might be able
to feel his heart race through his chest where Bill pressed down on him. He was
also slightly concerned that Bill might take the opportunity to strangle him.
“Taken. Like this. Having someone inside of you.” Bill softly annunciated each
word.
Dipper could feel his entire face and upper chest flush.
“Oh. Um. No.” He averted his gaze from Bill’s and stared resolutely at the far
wall, willing his body not to have a reaction to this proximity.
“Why not?”
Dipper glanced back to him. Bill’s brows were furrowed in an expression of
genuine curiosity.
“I don’t know.” Dipper whispered by default. He could even think straight like
this, and he couldn’t have made his voice come out stronger even if he had
tried. Bill seemed to consider this response at length.
In an effort to distract his own body from becoming more interested, Dipper
turned the question around on Bill.
“Have you ever been taken?” The words felt ridiculous and awkward coming out of
Dipper’s mouth, but he welcomed the immediate de-arousing effect of
embarrassment.
Bill looked down at him once again.
“Yes,” he replied distractedly. Evidently he was still contemplating. “And I’ve
taken many others.”
Dipper swallowed dryly.
“In this form?” He croaked out.
“Similar ones.” Bill shrugged. “I’ve been around since man invented dreams and
demons. I’m timeless, kid. You don’t exist that long and not try a few things
along the way.” Then, seemingly coming back to himself, a wide maniacal grin
split his face.
“Untouched sapling.” He hissed out with a chuckle.
Dipper groaned in irritation and pushed Bill off him and back to a standing
pose. He placed one foot onto Bill’s chest- where he hoped was the dilated
pupil of the eye tattoo- and kept Bill at bay this way. With one arm, he
reached out blindly for the journal, squirming around on the comforter until
his fingertips brushed it. He pulled it to himself and flicked through the open
pages.
“I think I may have found some related information.”
Bill grinned broadly, dimples at each corner of his lips, teeth gleaming,
eyebrows raised.
“Oh?”
He and Dipper settled onto his bed side-by-side, books and papers spread across
their laps.
Chapter End Notes
     Too long of a scene for one chapter, so I split it and will continue
     the rest of scene in the next chapter. Please comment constructively!
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The golden afternoon light streaming in through the attic window caught
suspended particles of dust, making the air scintillate in its wake.
Dipper and Bill, side-by-side on the brunet’s bad, were pouring over piles of
tattered, aged papers and leather-bound books. Or rather, Dipper was
methodically skimming through them while Bill conjured flames from his
fingertips in utter boredom.
“Alright fuckface,” Dipper announced, “I’ve found a few runic ceremonies that
might be related to stealing life energy. If we can’t figure out what these
things are, at least we can understand which spells they’re using and how we
can reverse them.”
Bill hmmm’ed in a non-committed manner and glanced down at the papers scattered
across Dipper’s lap. The brunet leafed through the massive stack near his
thigh, before selecting a few and holding them up for Bill’s viewing. The
papers were stained and faded, brittle with age. Bill traced his fingers
lightly over the mess of scribbled sigils.
“This one.” Bill tapped one symbol in particular.
Dipper leaned closer to Bill to inspect it. It was thoroughly unfamiliar to
him.
“Are you sure?” Dipper asked with palpable disbelief. “I mean, there are
literally hundreds of sigils and ceremonies in here- how can you know just like
that-”
“Seen it before- a long time ago. Pine Tree, I’m absolutely certain this is the
one.”
“...Alright, whatever you say.” Dipper conceded and shifted the rest of the
papers and books into a pile and slid it under the bed. The brunet set the page
onto his lap and tried to smooth the crinkles out of it.
“Well, the instructions are in latin- it’s going to take me some time to
translate them.” Dipper sighed.
“Don’t bother- here,” Bill interjected. “See this symbol here?” the demon
asked, pointing to a particular set of lines within the sigil. “It’s the
reverse of the dominant symbol in that ceremony the other night. That one was
for taking earth energy- this one is for creating and releasing it.”
Dipper watched Bill’s long fingers trace the intersecting lines. He had very
nice hands- tanned, well-toned, short nails. Dipper could feel heat seeping
from wear the demon’s shoulder was pressed against his own.
“...Earth energy?” Dipper murmured.
“Life force, life energy- meat bags of the religious persuasion fancy it for a
soul. It’s all just earth magic and energy cycles.”
“Oh.” Dipper replied absently. Under Dipper’s keen watch, those sly fingers
were inching closer to the edge of the sheet. “So what do we do with it?”
“It powerful blood magic- similar to how you exorcise me.” Bill’s fingers toyed
with one corner of the page resting on Dipper’s thigh, bending it back and
forth between his thumb and index. Dipper deliberately averted his gaze to the
window.
“Oh-h kay.” Dipper faltered as Bill’s hand unfurled from the sheet and pressed
flatly and warmly against Dipper’s clothed thigh. “So that’s all we have to
do?” Bill’s hand slid inwards on Dipper’s thigh, his thumb rubbing back and
forth.
“Not exactly- there are some... notable additions,” the demon purred back. Bill
tugged outwards on the brunet’s thigh, forcing Dipper to bend out his knee
slightly. The brunet swallowed and rubbed one sweating palm on the comforter.
“Like what?” Dipper croaked out.
“In order to reverse a spell that takes life energy, you have to give some life
energy back to the sigil.”
“Life-wha-,” Dipper seized up. “I’m not killing something!” Bill tightened his
fingers around the brunet’s thigh to keep him in place.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, sapling.” Bill crooned. The demon’s fingers
inched upwards until they were barely grazing the copper button of Dipper’s
threadbare jeans. “Look at me, Pine Tree.”
Dipper forced his head away and squeezed his eyelids shut. He could feel Bill
shift closer until the demon’s warm breeze was gusting on his neck.
“Pine Tree. Look at me.” Bill repeated, murmuring right into Dipper’s ear. The
brunet exhaled, audibly shakily, and twisted very carefully to look at the
demon. Bill’s golden eyes were glinting and wild. Dipper couldn’t seem to
exhale.
“It requires a talisman of life energy,” Bill whispered and flattened one hand
against Dipper’s crotch. “What better than the seed of life itself?” With his
hand, he pressed down with deliberate gentleness.
Dipper’s eyes widened impossibly as he tried to inhale into his already full
lungs. Bill snickered.
“Breathe, sapling.”
Dipper flushed as his eyes fluttered shut and he released a mewl like a gasping
kitten. He could feel his pants tightening and his toes curling. He fisted his
hands in the comforter and tried to control his exhales. A gentle hand turned
his face and Dipper could feel a nose bump against his own, soft breaths
against his lips. An inexplicable bubble of panic flared up within Dipper. He
turned his face away hastily.
“No,” he gasped out, then steadied himself. “No, I’m not- not like that.” With
tremendous effort, he maneuvered his body away from the demon’s, repositioning
himself on the other side of the bed. He chanced a glance at Bill. The blond
demon, instead of sporting the angry expression that Dipper expected, was
looking rather amused.
Bill looked at Dipper meaningfully, then shrugged.
“Pity,” he replied loftily, “We’ll have to find another way.”
Dipper swallowed down a bitter and unexpected sense of disappointment. Beyond
the window, dusk was settling across the trees. Dipper felt Bill rise from the
bed.
“No long faces, Pine Tree,” Bill chirped. “We have plenty of time to feel this
out.” Standing in front of the brunet, he ran one nail along the ridge of
Dipper’s jaw. Then, he stepped back with a haughty smile, snapped his fingers,
and was gone.
Dipper collapsed sideways onto his bed and held his hands over his eyes for a
long while. He was so confused. Bill wanted to do- those things- with him?
Could Bill even have sex? For that matter, did Dipper want to have sex with
Bill? How far was Bill talking? Like mutual handjobs or like full on
intercourse?
The brunet dragged his hands down his face as if trying to wipe away the
distress. His gut churned with an uneasy mix of anxious confusion and unwelcome
arousal. Dipper groaned, but knew what he needed to do- which was,
incidentally, what he did best. Research.
~+~
The next evening after dinner, Dipper strode to the shower with deliberate
purpose. Under the relaxing stream of warm water, he let his mind wander to
those thoughts and scenarios he usually tried to keep tightly under lock and
key. His first instinct was, of course, to think of Bill, but he forcefully
pushed the demon from his mindscape. What about that waiter- Evan? Kevin? Yeah,
that would work.
He thought about strong arms pressing him up against the tiled wall of the
shower, the pressure of a erect penis against his thigh, bumping and nudging
his own. Though there was no one else in the bathroom, Dipper was still a
little self-conscious of how quickly those thoughts were affective on his body.
He gave himself a few quick strokes, then, steadying himself, coated one finger
with Mabel’s expensive conditioner, and reached back between his buttocks. The
flesh in between was puckered and curiously sensitive. Dipper muffled a gasp as
he pressed against that muscle with his fingertip. He willed his body to relax
as he wiggled a finger in. It was tight- really tight- and hot, and kind of
burned with the stretch of intrusion. What the heck? This was supposed to feel
good. He stroked himself a few more times, letting his body adjust, before
plunging in deeper. Suddenly, Dipper’s finger pressed up against a spot that
was a bit more sensitive. Applying pressure there made him feel sort of
...ticklish inside.
Dipper bit his lip, one finger inside himself, the other hand stroking, as he
imagined the sensation of being pressed down upon and into, over and over. With
just a few strokes, he was coming with an intensity that bordered on painful.
Panting, he let the shower wash away the evidence of his deeds, as well as a
burgeoning sense of shame. He toweled off and joined Mabel in their bedroom.
In the attic, Mabel had set up an array of snacks, two dented cans of beer, and
her laptop. Evidently, it was impromptu movie night for the twins.
Dipper shrugged into loose pajamas and slumped down next to Mabel on her bed.
She rested her head on his shoulder as she chatted away about her day.
Meanwhile, Dipper focused on trying to balance a snack bowl on either knee so
that he could maintain a savory-sweet snack loop. He let Mabel pick the movie
while he popped open the two cans of flat beer. They settled in under an afghan
and watched the film- staring two male protagonists- unfold.
Through out the movie, Dipper noticed Mabel trying to surreptitiously glance at
him. He became increasingly weary as the two male characters grew steadily
closer. When the film climaxed in an explosive reveal of one of the character’s
homosexuality, Dipper choked a little on his beer. He must have had a more
visceral reaction as well, because Mabel paused the film to look at him.
In the ensuing silence, Dipper refused to make eye contact with Mabel. She
cleared her throat nervously.
“Well,” she started, referring to the film, “he’s having a ridiculous reaction
to the other guy coming out.”
Dipper closed his eyes and mentally pleaded that Mabel would drop this train of
thought. She didn’t.
“If someone I loved came out to me,” she continued, “literally nothing would
change. Because it doesn’t even matter. Because there’s nothing- nothing- wrong
with being gay.” Her voice was shaky but direct, and Dipper could tell she had
rehearsed this.
He could feel Mabel creep up to him.
“It’s okay, Dip,” she whispered, and he could feel himself start to fall onto
her. “There nothing wrong with you.” Dipper screwed his eyes shut, but tears
squeezed out despite his best efforts. He turned and buried his head in her
shoulder.
“You’re my brother,” she whispered, wrapping both arms around her twin. “You
think I haven’t known for forever?”
Dipper shuddered as the need to sob racked his body. “I’m so fucking confused,”
he rasped out.
“It’s okay, Dip,” she repeated. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” And in the
quiet darkness of the attic, Dipper sobbed out years of repression and shame,
secrecy and struggle and fears into his sister’s shoulder.
Chapter End Notes
     Please review guys!
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     One of my reviewers pointed out something pretty important- I said it
     was their seventh summer in GF, which would have made them 19. Dipper
     and Mabel are 17, so this is their fifth summer. I guess I don't
     basic math.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Later that week, Dipper was grunting and sweating, helping Soos and Grunkle
Stan re-tile the roof of the Mystery Shack. Being a Monday, the stream of
tourists had dried to a trickle, so Stan had put Mabel in charge of the gift
shop while Dipper was reluctantly recruited to do hard manual labor. The
brunette had been sticking close to her twin for the past few days, trying to
rope Dipper into various arts-and-crafts shenanigans. Thus far, they’d pranked
their grunkle five times in the past two days.
For their efforts, Stan had repaid them in kind with double shifts in the
store, as well as forcing them into uncomfortable get-ups designed to stun
gullible tourists. Yesterday, Mabel had been forced to attached goat hair to
her chin (“Step right up, folks! See our own bearded lady!”), and the day
before that Dipper was held down as Mabel took body paints to the entirety of
Dipper’s torso, back, and arms (“Here we have our tattooed man, ladies and
gents. Don’t get too close, he once killed a man with his big toe!”).
Dipper and Mabel had then pooled their collective tips from this venture and
had convinced Soos to go into town and buy them a pack of cigarettes.
Subsequently, the three of them lounged on the porch in the twilight and tried
to form a smoking habit. It went like this:
“I don’t know, dudes. I mean, this stuff is pretty bad for you,” Soos informed
them while holding up one cigarette for inspection.
Mabel took a whiff from the inside of the pack and tried to conceal a grimace.
“It’s doesn’t smell that bad, kinda like raisins, I guess. Look, I don’t need
to like them- I just need to be able to smoke one with that new lifeguard when
he goes on break! It’s the perfect opportunity to get some one-on-one with
him!” Mabel exclaimed.
Dipper told the pack from Mabel and turn it over in his hands, examining the
warnings.
“Mabel, don’t you think that’s a little bit overkill?” He sighed while
frowning. “I mean, if the guy likes you, he’s not gonna care if you smoke with
him or not. Just go and talk to him- that’s what you always told me about
dating.” Dipper trailed off.
“Yeah, hambone. I think Dipper’s right.” Soos put his two cents in.
“Arrgh, you guys just don’t understand. Pacifica’s been moving in on him! She
didn’t even know he existed before Grenda blurted out that I think he’s a total
hunk! God, she’s the worst!” Mabel groaned out, angrily flicking a lighter on
and off.
“...So, this is actually about Pacifica then?” Dipper teased. Mabel didn’t
respond. “Mabel?” Dipper nudged his twin.
“Whatever,” Mabel huffed out in a tone of atypical defeat. She reached for the
pack in Dipper’s hands. “Alright, let’s do this.”
The three of them lit up and took hesitant drags- and then promptly started
choking.
Soos’s eyes were tearing up with the force of his coughs- they rattled his not-
insignificant body with quaking convulsions.
“Dudes,” he choked out, “This was such a bad idea. I immediately regret this,”
he got out between wheezes. Mabel and Dipper weren’t fairing much better.
“Holy shit, it’s like my lungs are on fire!” Dipper cried.
“Wait, wait! It probably just takes practice,” Mabel reasoned after her
coughing settled. The three of them got about a third of the way down their
respective cigarettes before calling it quits.
“Well, this wasn’t fun at all,” Mabel announced, stomping out the embers with
her boots. Soos’s face was still red from his bout of coughing. They dropped
the butts into a rusty can of water that was collecting runoff from the roof.
“Don’t worry, hambone,” Soos reached around and patted Mabel’s shoulder. “We’ll
think of something else- that pool hunk won’t know what hit him.” He finished
confidently.
Mabel sighed. “Thanks, Soos.” A comfortable silence overcame the three for a
long moment, interrupted only by the chirping of crickets and distant calls of
owls.
Now, Dipper struggled to pull a tile loose from the roof. He and Soos had a
contest going for who could pull the most pieces by the end of the day. The two
had long since abandoned their shirts and were sweating profusely under the
intense summer sun. Grunkle Stan had kept his undershirt-probably in a futile
attempt to keep his tattoo concealed- but wasn’t fairing much better.
Dipper leaned back, wiped the pooling sweat from his brow, and redoubled his
efforts with the stuck tile. Niggling at the tile with the nail-removing end of
hammer, he finally wiggled the piece loose. It came flying off and clattered
down the roof, sliding to a stop at the gutterpipe.
“Fifty nine!” He shouted triumphantly in Soos’s direction.
“Nice, dude. I’m a sixty-two, dawg. Better catch up,” Soos replied, chuckling
in a good-natured manner.
Grunkle Stan lumbered off the roof and into a nearby window. When he returned,
he was cradling three sweating cans of beer in one arm. He tossed one to Soos,
set one by himself, and handed the third to Dipper.
“Here ya go, kiddo. You’ve earned yourself one.” Stan rasped out. Dipper smiled
at his grunkle.
Down in the clearing, the three of them could see a man approaching the shack.
He was young, tanned, and wearing a lifeguard ensemble and fannypack. Dipper
raised his eyebrows with interest as he took an icy swig from his can. This
must be the lifeguard Mabel was on about. The brunet nodded to himself
appreciatively- the man was pretty good-looking. From the roof, they watched
the stranger enter into the gift shop.
Soos turned to Dipper with a wide, dopey smile. “I put Mystery Shack
advertisements with Mabel’s face near the community pool!” He whispered
conspiratorially. “But don’t tell no one, we didn’t pay to get permission for
that.”
Grunkle Stan hmm’ed in blatant approval. “Nice work, Soos.” Stan turned to
Dipper. “Kid, you gonna bring home a special lady sometime soon?”
Dipper’s stomach dropped into a free fall. His hands started sweating more than
he thought possible and his throat dried up and tightened. He took a uneven sip
from his beer while quickly shaking his head. He made a decision. His toes
started going numb and his heart was in his ears.
“Not a lady,” he murmured into his can, simultaneously hoping Stan had and had
not heard what he said.
Stan looked entirely unmoved. “Special guy then, whatever,” he groused out.
Dipper shook his head again, feeling like the foundation had been taken out
from under him.
“Hmmm. Later bloomer, just like me. It’s better that way, kid. Don’t wanna get
settled down too early.” Stan gulped down the last of his beer, crushed the
can, and chucked it at a squirrel that was scaling a nearby totem. He laughed
heartily when the animal scampered away. Dipper, wide-eyed with beer-can frozen
half-way to his lips, couldn’t process what had just happened.
Stan stood up, hand on his hips, as he surveyed their process on the roof. The
hottest parts of the afternoon were giving away to a gentle breeze that felt
heavenly on Dipper’s disgustingly sweating back.
“Get back to work, chumps. I’m gonna go scare off Mabel’s new beau. She should
be working, not flirting.” Stan announced, leaving Soos and Dipper alone on the
roof. Dipper, having just recovered from the shock of a perfect anti-climax,
choked down the rest of his beverage. Had Soos heard what he had said to Stan?
From the other side of the roof, he heard Soos laugh delightedly.
“Sixty-nine dude, I’m at sixty-nine,” he laughed harder at his own joke, and
threw a moldy tile in the general direction of Dipper. The teen avoided it with
ease and reached for his own hammer.
“Loser has to drink the cigarette water straight from can, man!” Dipper cheered
and resumed his tile-pulling with gusto.
“Oh my god, dude. I think I’d rather die,” Soos said, quite seriously. They
worked into dusk, clearing the whole roof of its rotting wooden tiles until the
asphalt felt was completely exposed. Resolving to install the new tiles in the
morning, Soos and Dipper rejoined Mabel and Stan for dinner and poker.
~+~
 
Later that night, after falling into a restless sleep, Dipper was plagued with
a slew of unsettling and erotic dreams. He dreamt of running. His throat was
dry and sore with each icy inhale, and he told taste blood at the back of his
mouth. His face was numb, his ears stung and his heart was pounding out of his
chest. Each footfall forced an exhale as dark columns of trees flashed by him.
There was something behind him- oh god what was it? He didn’t dare glance back,
but instead tried to urge his screaming limbs to move just a little more
swiftly. It didn’t work- he seemed to slow down instead, despite frenzied
bursts of adrenaline.
Claws sank into his shoulder and lurched him backwards. Hot panting gusted
across the back of his neck, and he could feel the rumbling vibration of a deep
animal growl reverberate through his chest. Hands (hands?) pushed him down into
the dirt, face down grinding his hips and crotch into the hard, unrelenting
ground. Teeth fastened themselves at the back of his neck.
Dipper turned his head to one side to avoid having his nose smashed into the
rocks. He struggled backwards against whatever was upon him to no avail. Around
him, countless eyes were peering out from the brush and branches, all watching
his struggle. He felt nipping at the side of his neck, wet bites made by knife-
sharp teeth. His legs were kicked apart and knelt between, and god help him, a
spike of arousal shot through his groin. The feel of something hot and hard
nudging at his most private areas made Dipper instinctually lift his hips back
to give more access. His entire body flushed with arousal and utter shame. The
eyes kept watching.
Bill’s voice echoed in his head and all around the small clearing of trees.
Dipper could place where it was coming from. The demon whispered non-sensical
bits into Dipper’s ears as he continued to be ground into the dirt. The teen
clawed at the ground with bitten-down nails, trying to reach his climax despite
the rough, scraping friction.
“Let me eat you up, sapling.” Bill crooned, hovering nearby in his classic
triangular form. “I’ll take you and gobble you up and leave nothing left
behind.” The demon’s eye was blood crimson and even his maniacal laugh couldn’t
dampen Dipper’s building climax. He squeezed his eyes shut and gasped out
breathlessly as he came, Bill watching every movement with keen eyes. The demon
grinned with sharp teeth and lowered himself to the teen’s prone form.
“Until next time, Pine Tree” He sang out, reaching for Dipper’s head. Dipper
frowned in confusion but couldn’t muster the energy to move. Bill flicked his
forehead and all at once, the teen was flying back into the world of the awake.
Dipper gasped awake in his bed, sticky with sweat and cum, face down in his
pillows. He changed his boxers with shaking hands and curled back into bed
after wiping himself off. He didn’t fall back asleep that night.
Chapter End Notes
     Please review guys!
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Dipper half-heartedly chased the last bit of soggy cereal around his bowl of
milk with a plastic fork. The dish washer had finally shuddered and died this
morning, with an entire week’s worth of dirty dishes remaining uncleaned in
it’s bowels. Thus, Mabel and Dipper were left with the mismatching plastic
party utensils they’d dug out of one of the pen drawers. It was either that, or
take-away chop sticks.
Mabel had wolfed down her breakfast and was now drawing milk portraits on the
wood grain of the table, while intermittently checking her phone. She’d
confided in Dipper that, while he, Stan, and Soos had been re-tiling the roof
the previous day, the new lifeguard had come into the shop to chat her up.
Apparently, they had arranged for date at the drive-in theatre this evening.
Mabel was practically vibrating in her seat with barely-contained giddiness.
Dipper, who had witnessed all of the Mabel’s previous dating habits, knew
better than to invest interest in her new exploits. If the guy made it to a
third date, then Dipper would reconsider meeting him. But, he had absolutely no
intention of living in an ocean of awkward acquaintanceships with her ex’s in
Gravity Falls. He lived enough of that back home.
Mabel’s phone released a shrill ping as a text was received. She grabbed at the
device with gusto, thumbs flying furiously over the touch screen as she
responded.
“We’re officially on!” Mabel squealed, pushing her cereal away so forcefully
that milk leapt over the rim.
“I’m calling Candy for outfit advice! I’m thinking old-Hollywood, since it’s
the drive-in. Do you think Candy and I could make a boa? Or would that be over
the top do you think?” Mabel chattered aloud, not entirely caring whether
Dipper responded, or was even listening.
Dipper hmm’d in a non-committed manner and scooped the remaining piece of
cereal into his mouth. It was soggy and overly sweet, saturated with the
crushed cereal bits from the bottom of the bag. He listened to Mabel scramble
up the stairs as he pushed his own bowl away. He rubbed his hands over his
face, then dropped to lean his forehead against the cool surface of the table.
In his mind, he could still hear Bill’s nasally drone and cooing whispers from
the previous night’s dreams. Dipper groaned and tapped his forehead against the
woodgrain, as if the physical act would shake those dream memories away. He
clenched his jaw against a sense of hopeless, aimless anger.
He wanted to plunge his fists into Bill’s perfect face again and again, to
retaliate for plaguing him with such confusing, such appealing visions. The
demon had violated his dreams, his private mental space where he kept all his
nameless secrets under lock and key. Desires that Dipper never knew he had came
percolating up to the surface as he agonized.
Rough. It had all been so primal- the creature holding him down, the faceless
voyeurs intently observing, the smell of dirt and the press of cold underbrush
against his cheek. In his previous journeys to the mind-scape, everything was
typically muted and bleak, so impersonal and cloaked in shadows. But this dream
had been so vivid, a lifelike assault on his senses- Dipper hadn’t known Bill
could create a dreamscape like that.
Dipper bit his lip and pressed his legs together as he mulled over the
violation. A sudden shock of icy horror passed through him as a thought
occurred to him.
What if-
What if that dream hadn’t been Bill’s creation? Dipper inhaled sharply in
through his nose, sitting up and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.
His heart felt as though it was dropping into his stomach.
What if this dream had been his, and his alone? The idea was repulsive to
Dipper, and he pushed back from the table so with such momentum that his chair
toppled behind him. Aggravated, he slung his backpack onto one shoulder, not
bothering to change out of his pajamas, and stomped outside into the woods.
~+~
A few evenings later, Wendy had surprised Dipper and Mabel at the gift shop,
subsequently dragging them out to a jam session with Robbie’s band. The
redhead, who neither Mabel nor Dipper had realized was in Gravity Falls, was
back for the summer after a marine biology internship at her university had
fallen through. With her classic brevity, she seemed entirely at ease with the
situation, and fell back into her usual cycles within town. Mabel took the
opportunity to arrange another date with her lifeguard, convincing Wendy to
pick him up on their way to the venue.
The venue, as it turned out, was an old garage shed at Lee’s parent’s house in
the boonies. They piled out of Wendy’s rattling sedan and into the garage,
making themselves comfortable on the ratty furniture. Bare lightbulbs hung from
fasteners on the ceilings, and the walls were smothered in tattered concert
posters. Dipper worried briefly about the possibility of inhaling asbestos.
Besides the four of them, a small number of strangers were standing about,
smoking cheap cigarettes and drinking even cheaper beer. They all looked to be
collage-aged, every one of them displaying an impressive collection of
piercings and/or tattoos.
Dipper ended up crammed onto a beaten sofa, pressed snugly between Wendy and
the armrest. He picked at a loose thread in the faded patterned upholstery,
while Robbie and his band mates argued over which covers to perform. On the
make-shift stage, which consisted of several two-by-fours propped on cinder
blocks, a tangled web of cables dripped off of every corner. There were amps
stacked on either side of the stage, and the front edge was littered with a
line of pedals so long that the entire get up mimicked some sort of industrial
church organ.
Sequestered around the drum kit, Robbie, Nate, and Lee were deciding upon a
line up. Robbie, guitar already strapped firmly around his torso, was
gesticulating wildly with a pick between his thumb and index. Lee, one hand
propping up his bass, sported a deep-set frown as he aggressively chewed his
gum and interrupted Robbie at random intervals. Nate was slouched lazily behind
his drum set, ignoring both his bandmates and focusing on perfecting his
drumstick twirls.
Next to Dipper, Wendy, pressed up warmly and smelling of earthy perfume,
chatted with Tambry, who, despite her apathetic demeanor, had worked hard to
get into a school of design and fashion in Portland. Tambry was lounging in a
patterned silk dress, a black wide-brimmed hat, leather ankle boots, and
obscenely large and opaque sunglasses, despite being in the dim garage. Wendy,
in complete opposition, was wearing her iconic blue flannel with a hole in the
armpit. Her jeans and sneakers were ratty from dirtbiking, face red from the
sun, and hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, all the while never looking
happier.
The pair were so intensely engaged in conversation that Dipper didn’t bother
trying to butt in and join. He glanced around the garage. Mabel and her
lifeguard were squashed together on a chipping leather armchair on the far side
of the room. Dipper watched as the guy leaned into his sister. Apparently, the
guy must have made a funny comment, because Mabel tossed her head back and
laughed, slapping at his arm. The handful of strangers scattered about the
space clung to each other in exclusive clusters.
Dipper winced as a loose thread caught on a hangnail, and glanced down to find
that he had picked the couch threads down to the fluff. WIth no one to talk to,
he considered digging an old paperback out of his pack to pass the time. He was
interrupted by the sounds of the amps crackling, to life, indicating the
commencement of the show. Dipper spent the next hour or so being pounded by
auditory assaults of overdriven, clippy guitar and furious drums. Sometime
during the middle of show, Wendy had pressed a warm soda bottle into Dipper’s
hand.
“Drink it!” She shouted delightedly over the music. Her chest was flushed and
eyes alive, but relaxed. Dipper took a swig and almost immediately spat it out.
He resisted the urge and, with watering eyes, choked down the burning soda in
what he hoped was a manly fashion.
“Oh my god, no,” Dipper rasped out between coughs.
“Just a little whiskey, Dip! It’ll warm you up!” Wendy took back the bottle and
took her own long swig. But she was right- Dipper could feel the whiskey-and-
soda mix hitting his stomach and warming him with gentle coals. Intrigued, he
reach out for the bottle again and took one more cautious pull before Wendy
pulled it from his lips.
“Take it easy, tiger. Slow up.” She ruffled his hair affectionately and screwed
the top back on.
By the time the encore was wrapping up, Dipper felt mighty loose and agreeable.
As soon as the amps had been unplugged, someone dragged out cardboard boxes of
24 packs. As Robbie and Lee were putting their instruments away, Nate popped
away from his drums and jumped down from the stage to get in on the action,
wiping sweat from his brow and clavicles. Dipper’s eyes followed those
movements appreciatively.
Sometime later, after an hour-or-so of awkward mingling with strangers, Dipper
found himself standing outside the garage shed with Robbie and Nate. The summer
night was warm, sounding of crickets, occasional owls, and the soft rustle of a
breeze through the bushes. From outside, the music inside the garage was
reduced to fuzzy beats and muffled vocals. A loose string of white christmas
lights was strung along the top edge of garage shed, illuminating the boys with
soft, ember-like light. Above them, the night was clear and speckled with
stars, no moon.
The two older boys each grasped the neck of a craft beer bottle in one hand, a
lit cigarette dangling from the fingers of the other. Dipper sipped on a can of
cheap ale, and tried not to grimace everytime smoke wafted into his face.
Crushing the glowing butt of his cigarette into the side of the shed, Robbie
turned to Dipper with the expression of an older sibling about to create hell
for his younger one. Dipper had known this would come.
“Aight, Dip. You’re what- seventeen now? You must have gotten in with the
ladies by now, yeah? Shit, remember how you used to drool after Wendy?” Robbie
cackled at the memory, snorting ungracefully into the mouth of his beer.
Dipper, who had long since recovered from his pre-pubescent infatuation with
the red-head, was completely unfazed by the comment. Probably also because
Robbie brought it up every summer without fail. The brunet made of show of
sighing.
“Yes, Robbie. We all remember that. How could any of us forget? You literally
bring this up every summer.” Dipper punctuated his exasperation with a long
draw from his can.
“That was goddamn adorable,” Nate chimed in, smiling warmly at the teen. Nate’s
eyes were clear, full of amusement, and his jaw darkened with stubble. The
effect was enough to make Dipper force back a blush and throw his energy into
relaxing into a coy and unaffected posture. For his efforts, Robbie snickered
yet again and ruffled Dipper’s hair aggressively.
“So, you gotta girl, Dip? You done the nasty yet?” Robbie pressed onwards,
unrelenting. Dipper, too buzzed to decide upon the manner in which he wanted to
respond, settled for a simple shake of his head.
“Naw.” Dipper forced out casually. Robbie’s eyebrows lifted in apparent
surprise.
“Really? A looker like you,” Robbie reached forward to grasp Dipper’s jaw
gently. He pressed Dipper’s cheeks together in one hard and turned the brunet’s
head towards Nate. “Look at this, Nate. Kid’s got some goddamn lucky sleeper
genes right here. You seriously haven’t gotten laid yet, pretty boy?” Robbie
snorted in amusement and released Dipper’s face.
Nate was gazing at Dipper with a fond, curious expression, and Dipper could
only hold eye contact for a second before glancing away.
“Lay off the kid, man,” Nate chuckled as he drained the rest of his bottle.
Robbie huffed in bored annoyance.
“Whatever,” he sighed. “I’m going to find Tambry. Fuck, did you guys see her in
that silk dress? Shee-it,” Robbie hoisted open the creaky door, letting a wall
of sound erupt out into the open, and stumbled back into the shed. Once the
silence had settled again, Nate turned back to Dipper, cheshire grin forming.
“Wanna re-do the lights to look like a dick?” He asked excitedly. Dipper
matched his smile and set down his beer to look for a step-ladder.
Several minutes later, Dipper was perched, tip-toed, on the top step of a rusty
step-stool. Nate spotted the brunet with both hands on his waist, both boys
laughing breathlessly, teetering drunkenly to and fro. Finally, Dipper hammered
the last nail into place, looping the wire of the christmas lights around it to
keep the phallic form static.
“Beautiful. Absolutely stunning work,” Nate laughed out, his breath hitting
between Dipper’s shoulder blades. The brunet leaned back into Nate’s grip in
order to admire his handiwork.
“Well, the shaft’s a little wobbly, and the ball-sack is definitely
asymmetrical, but it’ll do,” Dipper voiced his observation before he could
register the ridiculousness of those words. Nate barked out a delighted laugh
in response.
Without warning, the door of the shed busted open, pushing the step-ladder away
from the wall and sending Dipper toppling onto the grass.
“What the fuck!” Dipper cried out with Nate’s simultaneous “Jesus Christ, what
are you doing?”
Framed in the doorway was Mabel’s lifeguard boytoy, Mabel herself peeking
around from behind him. Immediately, the guy crouched to help Dipper up,
apologizing profusely.
“Sorry, Dip!” Mabel chirped. “We were looking for you- didn’t know where you
had gone! Ready to go soon?”
Dipper grumbled but acquiesced.
A half-hour later, after Wendy had taken the time to sober up, they re-piled
themselves into her car. On their way out, Dipper had glanced around the garage
to see Robbie and Tambry embracing in a dark corner of the room, and Nate
making out with a pretty blonde girl against one of the stereos.
The ride home was contentedly quite, backed by the soft murmurings of late-
night radio. When Wendy slowed the vehicle to drop Mabel’s lifeguard off, Mabel
slid out as well.
“I’m staying at his place tonight, okay Dip?” Mabel yawned, smiled, and waved
goodbye as she shut the car door. From behind the window, Dipper gave her a nod
and a salute to let her know he’d be fine on his own.
Dipper crept back into the mystery shack just as 1am rolled around. As he
stumbled tiredly into the dark attic, he was met with a dark figure resting on
his bed, legs crossed, arms behind it’s head. The brunet immediately froze with
mounting panic, then deflated and groaned when Bill’s voice cut through the
darkness.
“Greetings, sapling.”
The dream demon lifted one arm lazily and snap his fingers, the lightbulbs in
every lamp around the attic illuminating simultaneously.
“Seriously? No.” Dipper bit out. Then: “Did you fuck with my dream?”
BIll tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Which one?” He asked, teasingly.
Dipper briefly considered the consequences of describing his nightmare. On the
off chance that Bill hadn’t puppeteered the entire thing, Dipper decided to
save himself ensuing humiliation- not to mention how unbelievably vulnerable
imparting that information would leave him.
“Nevermind.” The teen sighed. The intense anger he’d felt the morning after the
dream had now dwindled to defeat.
“You know,” Bill began after several seconds, “I really wish you’d reconsider
your perspective. It really is going to be much more difficult to neutralize
our little problem without the utilization of your certain.. asset,” the demon
drawled out, picking dirt out from under his fingernails and not once looking
over at Dipper.
Dipper frowned at Bill’s elegant form and handsome face, lounging as casually
as ever across the faded comforter. The teen was exhausted. He thought about
Mabel and her current flavor-of-the-week. He thought about Robbie and Tambry in
the shadows of the garage, and Nate’s long eyelashes, eyes closed as he
embraced a nameless girl with frenzied passion. Would it really be that bad?
Bill seemed to sense the cracks in Dipper’s resolve, and pierced the teen with
an intent gaze until Dipper finally succumbed.
“Alright,” Dipper croaked out. “Alright. I’ll do it. But not tonight. I need- I
need a little time,” the brunet swallowed around his words.
A too-wide smile spilt the demon’s face, displaying more teeth than humanly
possible. His eyes were wide with obvious delight.
“Wonderful!” He hissed out. As Bill departed the realm, all the lights in the
room extinguished at once, leaving Dipper standing alone in the attic on a
moonless night.
Chapter End Notes
     Please review/constructively criticize!
End Notes
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