
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9408038.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gravity_Falls
  Relationship:
      Dipper_Pines/The_Author_|_Original_Stanford_Pines, Bill_Cipher/The_Author
      |_Original_Stanford_Pines
  Character:
      Dipper_Pines, The_Author_|_Original_Stanford_Pines, Bill_Cipher, Grunkle
      Stan_|_Stanley_"Stanford"_Pines
  Additional Tags:
      Rape/Non-con_Elements, Possession, Post-Canon, Violence, Bad_Decisions,
      Trauma
  Series:
      Part 1 of shatter
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-21 Words: 3136
****** and, like that, we shatter ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     It should be his first clue. It isn’t. After all, he trusts Dipper,
     would trust him with his life, with the world. He has. And Bill is
     nothing but crumbling stone and faded dreams. Ford is tricked. Set
     several years after Bill’s defeat.
They are alone, and the house is very quiet. The only light is from the waning
moon outside and the fridge, where Ford still stands. Dipper’s head is low,
most of his face masked by the brim of his hat, but his shoulders are straight.
“It’s not a joke,” Dipper says. He puts a hand on Ford’s, which still rests
over the fridge door, and shuts it. Dipper is taller than he used to be, shot
up as tall as Ford, and he has surprise on his side: He blocks Ford in against
the fridge. Ford’s heart immediately begins to hammer. There are a hundred ways
Ford could escape, at this point, but half of them are overkill and the other
half are unnecessary – for now. “I’ve always wanted you.”
Ford swallows. “Have you been out at the sundown glade? I have reason to
believe there’s – Dipper.” Dipper’s hand is between Ford’s legs, unabashed,
cupping the warm weight of Ford’s dick. Ford jerks hard, his elbows banging
against the fridge. He lowers his voice and grabs Dipper’s shoulders. “What are
you doing?” he asks, angling up onto his toes, but Dipper’s hand remains, his
thumb rubbing along the line of his zipper, slowly. “I’m – you’re not thinking
clearly.”
“I am,” Dipper says. He rests his mouth and nose in the crook of Ford’s neck,
his breath warm and wet. “Ford, you’re so smart, and strong, and brave, and
I’ve always wanted to be like you. Always. You’re my hero.”
Ford’s resolve begins to melt at that; he eases down onto his heels again, heat
blooming through him, pride and desire and an old, old need to be loved, to be
valued. It should be his first clue. It isn’t. After all, he trusts Dipper,
would trust him with his life, with the world. He has. And Bill is nothing but
crumbling stone and faded dreams. Dipper is warm, and alive, and kissing his
way up to Ford’s mouth.
“You’re my favorite thing in the universe,” Dipper murmurs, and kisses Ford.
There are many reasons Ford should put a stop to this: He is young, and he is
family; almost all of the power between them rests on Ford’s end of the court.
This is the wrong place to do it. Dipper has a tendency to get lost in romantic
entanglements, and stop thinking clearly. It is very likely he is compromised
right now, emotionally, though Ford isn’t sure why that might be.
Ford knows all of this, keenly.
Ford cups his face and kisses back. Dipper moans into his mouth and presses
tight against him; Ford’s shoulder blades dig into the fridge. Dipper’s belt
grinds against Ford’s cock, his hips already moving in shallow thrusts. He
slings his arms around Ford’s neck and opens his mouth, begging without words
for Ford’s tongue. Ford obliges with a shudder, tasting Dipper, surprised at
how the slickness of Dipper’s spit on his mouth is making him ache.
Dipper pulls back just enough to speak, his voice rough and low. “You’re so
amazing,” he says. The praise runs through Ford like wildfire. He cups the back
of Dipper’s head and yanks him into another kiss, his other hand catching
Dipper’s ass and pulling their hips flush together. “Ford,” Dipper gasps,
“Ford, please.”
Ford can’t say no to Dipper. He pushes him back, half-carrying him, kissing his
cheek, his jaw, nipping at his bottom lip. Just before they hit the table, he
picks Dipper up; Dipper slings his legs around Ford’s waist with an excited
noise that is almost childish. “You’re so strong!” he says, and yanks Ford’s
face around for a deep kiss right as Ford drops him on the table.
Ford doesn’t know if it’s been so long that he is desperate for any touch or if
Dipper is that quick, but every touch, every tug, every surge of Dipper’s hips
against his is intense.Dipper keeps his ankles tight around Ford’s waist, even
when Ford’s hands start to fumble for Dipper’s belt. His hands skate through
Ford’s hair, down his neck; one of them slips under his sweater and scratches
along his ribs and down his side, making Ford gasp.
Dipper’s body is taut and slender and responsive, arching into every touch,
shivering with each of his gasps. Ford wonders if he’s a virgin. Probably – not
that he is that aware of Dipper’s private life, but his nephew is awkward and
nervous and fumbles so often. That he is confident now tells Ford only that he
trusts Ford as much as Ford trusts him, and is comfortable with him, even in
this.
Dipper lets out a noise like a laugh when Ford finally works Dipper’s pants
open and down; his hands tighten on Ford’s body, his nails scratching at Ford’s
back. “Yes,” Dipper gasps, “more, feels so good, Ford, more.”
Ford thumbs his own pants open and wraps his hand around them both. Dipper
moans,so loud that it echoes in the kitchen; Ford kisses him roughly to quiet
him. He rocks his hips into Dipper, jerking them off with quick twists of his
hand that is making Dipper whine and moan, little laughs echoing between them
as they kiss.
“Dipper,” Ford says, “my brave boy.”
“Fuck!Yeah, tell me – tell me how much you love me. Have you always wanted
this? Huh?”
Ford lays Dipper back on the table, kissing his throat. “Not always,” he says.
“But – I’ve thought…” He trails off with a soft grunt. The rest, he can only
show Dipper, kissing him deeply, stroking a hand through his hair. Pinning him
with the weight of Ford’s body, the intensity of his desire.
Dipper comes with a muffled shout, scratching Ford so hard that he thinks it’ll
bleed. It doesn’t take long for Ford to follow with a gasp; the sight of
Dipper, flushed, undone, his lips spit-slick and bruised, is enough.
Ford slumps against Dipper, wrung-out. They’ll have to clean, but Ford will let
himself have this for just another moment longer. Dipper’s hands slide up his
back and bury in his hair, cradling his head. One of his fingers finds the edge
of the metal plate and traces it. “I gotta say, Sixer, you’ve improved on your
technique. That or this body is super horny. That was intense. Almost knocked
me out!”
Ford freezes. His heart, his mind, his very soul freezes. Dipper gives Ford’s
hair a little tug, forcing him to lift his head and look into his face. “What,
did you really not figure it out on your own? I was really losing it towards
the end there! Hi.” He presses a wet kiss to Ford’s mouth, and the sensation is
so vile and violating that he almost vomits into it. Instead, he yanks back and
straightens to his feet. Bill sits up on the table, resting his hands behind
him, utterly relaxed. Dipper’s thighs and penis are still exposed; their come
cools on his rumpled shirt. “How’s that for a reunion?” he asks. “One outta
ten. C'mon! I think I deserve at least a 7 for longevity.”
Ford doesn’t think. He lunges forward and seizes Dipper’s throat and squeezes.
Bill doesn’t have the opportunity to start laughing, though his mouth splits
wide, wide, delighted and utterly in control. Always in control. He doesn’t
even struggle, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, his tongue lolling.
When he passes out, Ford has to force himself to let go, the process
mechanical: Loosen your fingers. Take your hands away. Back away.
Ford goes to the knife drawer as Dipper’s body crumples to the kitchen floor.
He tugs his pants up, yanks open the knife drawer, and grabs the first one he
sees. When he turns to face Dipper again, he is trembling so hard he can’t
contain it, so hard his teeth rattle in his skull. Dipper begins to cough,
rolling on the floor and wheezing. As soon as he’s able to, Dipper scrambles to
fix his pants; it’s only then that he pivots, half-sitting, to face Ford. “What
the hell, Ford?” he shouts, his voice hoarse. “What was that?! You think – you
think I want – you think I’d talk like that?”
Ford is breaking; he is flying apart. A door opens somewhere in the house, and
it is enough to spur him into action. He strides over to Dipper, bends down,
and hauls him up by his shirt. Dipper yelps and tries to push away (“Don’t
touch me!”), but Ford is still stronger than him, strong enough to shove him
into the wall. He puts the knife against Dipper’s face, just under his eye, and
reaches over to flick on the kitchen lights. Dipper’s eyes are wide with fear,
and they are white, with round irises and pupils. His eyes will never look at
Ford the same. Ford releases him just as Stan comes in.
Ford is relieved that Stan knows that it’s Ford he needs to grab and pull away,
that it’s Ford he needs to hold back. Stan grabs Ford’s hand, then slides his
grip down and takes the knife. “Alright, what the hell is going on down here?”
“He’s back,” Ford says, watching Dipper scramble to right himself, to put
distance between them, watching Dipper unravel. Knowing it is all on him. “Bill
Cipher is back.”
“What? Stanford, for the love of – we’ve been over this. He’s gone.”
You’re panicking, Ford thinks. You need to count your breaths. He’s not sure if
the thought is directed at himself or at Dipper, who has squeezed himself
against the cabinets and keeps tugging at his clothes, wiping reflexively at
himself. Suddenly, Ford is aware that one of his emotions is anger. Anger is
easy to hold. He latches onto it and lurches forward, but Stan’s grip on him
keeps him from doing more than taking an aborted step. “What were you thinking,
striking another deal with Bill?”
“What was I thinking? Are you serious?” Dipper sounds how Ford feels, past the
point of breaking, wild and desperate and furious. “He’s dead! I was dreaming!
I was barely even lucid! What’s your excuse? Because I’m pretty sure you were
awake!”
“Why’s everyone screaming?” Mabel says, stepping into the kitchen. Soos is
close behind her, Stan’s old fez still on his head at a cant. “Whoa, Grunkle
Stan, are we stabbing people?”
“Mabel!” Dipper fumbles along the counter, away from the doorway; his hands
close his jacket, trembling.
Ford wonders, distantly, if they can all smell sex. Ford still can. It’s
overpowering, so strong it’s making him dizzy.
“Okay, somebody is gonna start explaining, now.” Stan’s hand tightens on Ford’s
shoulder until it hurts. The pain gives Ford another point to focus on. He
turns and swings, shoving Stan off him. Just as quickly as his anger swelled in
him, however, it’s gone, leaving him hollow and shaky. Ford’s flight or fight
has turned on its heel and Ford follows the impulse, turning and striding
towards the door.
“Don’t leave!” Dipper says, cutting through the noise.
It’s the only thing that might’ve reached him. Ford stops. He can’t leave
Dipper to explain this on his own. He has to do damage control. He has to be
the adult, here. He takes a slow, steadying breath, and turns around. “Soos,”
he says, “Mabel, please go upstairs. Just for a few minutes.” He’s still
shaking so hard that the words come out strange.
“What?” Mabel says. “No! No way, what’s going on? Dipper…”
“Now,” Ford snaps. Soos yelps and hurries back out, but Mabel lingers, watching
Dipper with growing alarm.
“Just – just listen to him,” Dipper says. “We’ll talk in a minute.”
Mabel worries at her hair, then slowly scans the room. Finally, she sighs and
turns around. “Fine,” she says, “but it’d better just be a minute.”
The three of them wait in tense silence as her footsteps fade. Ford checks the
hallway to make sure they’re alone, then turns – and is immediately beamed in
the face by Stan. Ford staggers back with a groan. Before he can recover,
Stan’s grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him around. “What did you do to
him?” he snarls. He looks betrayed, more hurt and confused than angry. It makes
Ford want to disappear.
“Please,” Ford says, resting his hands on Stan’s wrists, “let me explain.”
“It was him,” Dipper says. He slides down the cabinets until he’s a tight knot
of limbs on the floor. He lowers his head and tugs his hair over his forehead.
“It was Bill. It really was, Grunkle Stan.”
Ford watches Dipper. It’s easier than focusing on Stan. “He tricked me,” he
says. “He tricked me, and I…” There’s no good way to say it. He swallows.
“Copulated with him.”
“…what?” Stan says. Dipper makes a soft retching sound; it wrenches the brutal
truth out of Ford.
“I fucked him,” Ford snaps. “Alright?”
Stan punches him so hard that he blinks out.
*
Ford comes to with the taste of blood in his mouth and a ringing in his ears.
He can hear shouting. He wishes it would stop.
“…doesn’t mean you should’ve knocked him out!This is bad! Really bad!”
“Would you worry about yourself?”
“Great Uncle Ford!”
Ford squints; it’s too bright. Someone’s hand is on his chest, heavy; the
figures above him begin to coalesce into people. Dipper is kneeling by him, and
Stan paces behind Dipper, flexing his arms, clenching and unclenching his
fists. Ford isn’t sure what’s happening. He has a concussion, he thinks. He
deserves it, but he can’t remember why.
“Are you okay?” Dipper asks, leaning forward. “How many fingers am I holding
up?”
It’s not about the fingers so much as whether or not Ford is seeing double, he
knows, and as such doesn’t feel particularly obligated to answer. He sits up,
slowly, and touches the back of his head. The room spins.
“Get away from him, Dipper,” Stan snaps.
Ah. That’s right. It comes back to Ford in sickly waves: Dipper’s shirt hitched
over his stomach, Dipper’s legs tight around his waist. Dipper making a
retching sound. Dipper recoiling. Ford turns his head away and vomits on the
floor.
“Shit,” Stan says, and goes to kneel by Ford, a hand on his back. “Easy, easy.
God damn it, Ford. God damn it.”
Mabel’s voice filters into the room from the stairs: “I hear more yelling! And
it’s been longer than a minute!”
“Not now, Mabel!” Dipper shouts back. “Just – another minute, okay?” He stands
and starts to pace, putting distance between him and Ford again. Good, Ford
thinks. Good. Dipper shudders and scratches at his neck. “Fuck!”
“Dipper,” Stan says, one hand still on Ford’s back, “look at me.”
Dipper does, his shoulders high, head low.
Stan pats Ford’s back and stands, taking a few steps toward Dipper. “Here’s
what you’re gonna do. First things first, turn your shirt inside out. Then go
to the bathroom, take a piss or stand there for a minute if you don’t have to.
Flush the toilet, and take a second to wash your face and your hands. Don’t try
and clean your shirt – you can change it later. You tell Mabel that Bill
possessed you and Ford had a violent reaction to it. It scared the hell out of
you. You never really got over that time he possessed you, ‘cause you never had
to. Okay? You can tell her the truth when you’re ready, but first you just turn
your shirt inside out.” He gestures, mimicking the motion. “You do that and the
rest will be a lot easier.”
“But I…she’ll notice.”
“She won’t,” he says. “She’ll be thinking about Bill. Keep her thinking about
that. Tell her all about the first time he possessed you, if you need to.
Doesn’t matter if you already have. Just keep talking around it. Ford scared
the shit out of you ‘cause you scared the shit out of him, right?”
Dipper hesitates, then nods. “Turn my shirt inside out,” he repeats.
Stan nods. “And wash your face. Go ahead. We can talk more in the morning,
alright?”
Dipper shifts his weight from foot to foot. “What about Ford…?”
“He’s awake, ain’t he? He’ll be fine. Let me worry about him and Soos and
Abuelita. You just go wash your face and talk to your sister, now. Okay, kid?”
Dipper takes a steadying breath. “Okay,” he says. He hesitates another moment
longer, then turns and hurries out of the kitchen, leaving them alone.
Ford keeps his head down, staring dully at his vomit. “Are you going to hit me
again?” he asks.
Stan doesn’t answer right away, pacing. He makes several frustrated noises,
almostspeaking. Ford isn’t sure why he’s censoring himself. Finally, Stan goes
over and takes a knee. “Can you get up?” he asks.
“Probably,” Ford says. “It’s a concussion, not a broken leg.”
“Alright, smartass, then stop sitting on the ground like a beat dog and go sit
at the table. I’m gonna clean this mess up.”
There’s nothing for Ford to do but obey, standing on shaky feet. He sits at the
table and puts his head in his hands, so he won’t have to watch as Stan sets to
work cleaning up Ford’s mess. He hates that Stan does it silently, without even
his token grumbling; Stan’s silence is more damning than anything he could say.
Ford thinks he might vomit again, and thinking about it makes the urge
stronger; he finally staggers to the sink and upends the rest of it, which is
mostly bile.
Once he’s caught his breath, he says, “Are you going to hit me again?”
“Just shut up and sit down,” Stan says.
Ford does. He hunches forward again, and presses his thumbs into his eyes,
trying not to think about Dipper’s flushed body on the table, just to the right
of where Ford is now, trying not to think of the frantic way Dipper shut his
jacket when Mabel and Soos came in. “I didn’t know,” he says.
“Bullshit,” Stan says. He slaps his hand on the counter; Ford twitches.
“Bullshit,Stanford.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “I thought…” He expects Stan to interrupt, but Stan
doesn’t; Ford doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. The ugly truth of it
spools between them in his silence: He thought Dipper wanted him. He thought
being wanted by Dipper was more important than doing what was right for Dipper.
He hadn’tthought, at all, had only acted.
“Get out,” Stan says. His voice is shaking; he can barely get the words out.
“Get the fuck out.”
It’s not his house, not even Ford’s house, anymore. Stan has no power to make
Ford do anything.
Ford stands, and goes to the door, and walks, and walks.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
