Chapter Text
She supposed that there might’ve actually been a /limit/ on the syrup-to-pancake ratio.
Even so, she would not be contained.
“Three. . .”
“Two. . .”
“One. . .”
“Syrup race!” Came Mabel’s victorious shout, her hand eagerly squeezing the easily manipulated plastic of the brownish bottle. Dipper’s fingers were equally flexed, both young faces scrunching into tight masks of concentration while their parents chuckled in the distance. The race was harsh, gritty, and just about as bloodthirsty as syrup races could come. Mabel’s stream of sugary goodness drooped precociously from the bottle, hardly taking the encouragement from its brunette host. Dipper’s own rusty prize was dropping at an alarmingly swift acceleration, only going faster, and faster, and faster, until it danced upon the young boy’s tongue in victory.
Mabel frowned in defeat, and slammed her bottle down with vigor similar to that of a hardy drunkard asking for another drink at the local bar, her hand wiping across her mouth despite nothing being there in the first place. “It’s just life, buddy,” She whispered dramatically, casting her gaze into the sunlit distance, or, in this case, the kitchen all and embarrassingly large collection of twin-filled baby photos and various Halloween misadventures. Dipper rose a brow, once he’d finished his victory chug of maple syrup.
“Mabel? Could you maybe /not/ give such a gritty look to our baby pictures? It’s really vague and really disturbing.” His voice didn’t really hold any concern, though, only good fun, the most ‘good fun’ that they’d had in a while. Mabel turned, and could barely keep her grin form her face for more than five seconds, her braces glinting in the light as she giggled. Dipper smiled, and his shoulders seemed to sag with relief. Why, though, she couldn’t be entirely sure.
“Okay, you two,” Came the gruff voice of their father, standing from the breakfast table and pulling the two kids from their chairs. They both laughed and agreed, though as Dipper ran to grab his schoolbag, Mabel’s arm was caught by the gentle hand of her mother.
She crouched down to be eye level with the young girl, brows knitting together. “Mabel,” She asked, tilting her head, “You’ve worn that sweater for a full week, darling, don’t you want to take it off? I understand that it may be one of your favorites, but. . . . “
Oh no. Oh freaking no. Mabel paled, but before she could answer, she felt her body go rigid and her soul yanked from its container. As she gazed to her body, now possessed by Bill, she could only hope that whatever he said wasn’t /too/ damaging. Biting her nails as she watched, Mabel floated closer, almost hiding her eyes as she listened to the conversation.
“Don’t worry about it, mother dearest!” Bill announced, posture still straight, leaned back, looking as inhuman as possible. Sheesh, you’d think he’d have learned to stand by now. He laughed, flipping his/her hair. “I fully plan to change my wardrobe soon enough, and engage in the human ritual of the ‘selecting of an outfit’. It will be a glorious experience, ha!”
“. . . .Dear,” her mother said, tilting her head. “You haven’t been getting into the sugar drawer again, have you? Gosh, I thought I kept that locked. Look, just go change, sweetie, okay? I’m worried that it’s beginning to smell, and you wouldn’t want that new crush of yours to be repelled, would you?”
“Nothing would please me more.” Bill responded immediately, his harsh tone visually shocking the woman in front of him. “But as you request, mother, I will change my apparel. To the bedroom!”
And off he darted, leaving the worried girl behind.
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“Bill, Bill, you can’t DO things like that!” Mabel yelled, tugging at her hair. “Come on, how long do you have to stand in the mirror? I’m going to be late for school! I’ve never been late a day in my life! Bill, what are you even DOING?” She floated down in front of the posing demon, who was currently changing from rifling through her wardrobe or staring at himself in the mirror. Bill only chuckled, holding one of Mabel’s purple sweaters in front of him.
“Y’know kid, you’re lucky that I haven’t forgotten the experience of heat stroke with one of my former hosts. Wasn’t pleasant, even less so than possessing your brother’s weakling body. So, I’m not going to pile on the yarn for the sake of pleasant your nagging parental unit.” Pursing his lips, Bill tilted Mabel’s head, holding the sweater out.
“Then what are you going to DO?” Mabel exclaimed, floating in front of him. “I can’t be late for school, you sweater-stealing weirdo, and everybody’s going to be suspicious if I keep wearing your—what are you doing?” The question was directed to Bill, who was currently shedding the triangle-printed sweater, dropping it on the ground and staring at the short-sleeved shirt critically.
A few seconds later, the top shifted to the same printed triangle, the image morphing onto the front of the shirt. Mabel groaned, and Bill laughed triumphantly. “Haha! See there? All fixed, kid, I’m not going away any time soon. Now you can wear whatever strange yarn monstrosities that you see fit. Plus, I’m closer to you, so possessing you will be a cinch!”
Nodding resolutely, he crossed Mabel’s arms. For a minute, the atmosphere was almost relaxed, until the door was burst open by the younger twin. “Mabel!” Dipper yelled, raising a brow, until his expression shifted into realization. “Mabill. Oh.” He groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Listen, Bill, can you please get out of my sister’s body so that we won’t be late to school? C’mon!”
“Hmm. . . .” Bill tilted Mabel’s head. “It seems you’re both in dilemmas on your educational timing, Shooting Star, Pine Tree. Whatever shall we do? I honestly don’t know why you two are so dependent on such a shallow form of enlightenment—Shooting Star, whatever you’re doing, I don’t know, but I know that you should stop.”
He held up a finger, and looked towards the ghost-mabel, who was currently jutting out her lip, large brown eyes wide and worried. Her hands were clasped together, eyes practically sparkling, teeth ever so slightly pulling at the skin of her lower lip. Dipper, from the background, sighed, rolling his eyes. “She’s doing her Mabel-Face, isn’t she? No use, man. You’re trapped.”
“Oh, hush!” Bill snapped, “As if a mere human expression could even manage to. . . to. . .” He slightly faltered, staring at Mabel’s eyes, the way her head ever so slightly tilted. . . and broke. Perfect. “Ugh. Kid, I don’t know what spell you’re using, but it’s goddamn /terrifying/. “
Mabel gave a scree of joy, and before she knew it, had floated down, wrapping her ghostly arms around the demon’s neck. “I knew it would work! Thanks, Bill, you’re a dime!” Laughing, she was completely oblivious to the demon that had gone stick-straight, eyes wide.
“Shooting Star, explain this phenomenon to me.” He commanded. “My cheeks are feeling strangely warm. It’s not an enjoyable experience, what is the cause of it?” Turning, he was further surprised to see Mabel’s even wider grin.
“Just let me back in my body, dummy.”
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Once finally at school, the twins made their way to the home classroom, Mabel happily singing about something to do with yarns and skeletons, and Dipper’s nose stuffed deep into some half priced mystery novel that he’d picked up at a thrift store. Once the twins sat in their respective seats, and the lessons began, Mabel leaned over on her desk, fingers moving expertly across her notebook for premium doodling techniques.
“Psst. Tree-bud.”
It was comical, how quick she straightened and flicked her gaze to the seat behind her. “Jordan?” She whispered, eyes going bright. “Woah, look at this! How long have you been in this class? Did you just transfer? I thought you were in another class, because, like, you’re soooo smart.” She gave a dreamy smile, leaning on her hand.
“Well, y’know,” Jordan shrugged, giving that glittering, dark, enchanting smile. Mabel just about melted into the desk as he spoke. Heck, he could recite a recipe for cabbage-Brussel sprout soup, and she’d listen to it like he was reading Shakespeare. “I wasn’t doing too well in my other class, so hey! At least you’re here. Oh, wait, you’ve got something.” He leaned forward, so close that their faces were inches apart, and brushed his fingers along her cheek. “Bit of yarn.” He muttered, smiling. “Kinda bugging me.”
“Alright, alright.” Dipper interrupted, ‘politely’ grabbing the kid’s collar and yanking him back. “Cut it out, Romeo, we’re actually here to learn, if you haven’t realized.” His glare was more than a little irritated, and luckily, Jordan seemed to pick up on it. Mabel shot a small glare of her own to Dipper for running the moment, but shrugged it off soon enough.
“Oh, yeah, Mabel. Do you have a cellphone?” Jordan asked, still leaning forward. Mabel felt a small electric shock within her, like a shock of maturity. A /cell phone/. She’d heard of the things, seen the relics in the hands of technical teenagers, seen the nonchalant, smooth, suave way that they’d press it up against their ear, muttering the renowned ‘sup’.
“Oh, pfft, /do/ I?” Mabel asked, crossing her legs. “Let me tell you, I’ve got the MOST, uh, hip cell phone there is. Who’s the chairman of technology? This gal! That’s right. Yeah,” She gave an ‘uncaring’ sniff and shifted, tossing her hair. “I’ve /totally/ got a cell phone.”
“Great!” Jordan exclaimed, tilting his head and pulling a piece of paper from his notebook. “I’ll give you my number, here.” Scribbling it down, he ripped it from the corner of the paper, handing it off to Mabel, who’s hands were shaking like they were receiving the holy grail.
“Oh. My. God.” She whispered, eyes wide, and immediately opened it to read over those beautiful, beautiful digits. “911. . . 3851. . . 8514 . . . 15-23? What’s the 15-23 for?” She asked, raising a brow. Instead of answering, Jordan chose to stare at her sweater, pursing his lips in confusion.
“You changed your sweater?”
“Oh, yeah!” She exclaimed, nodding. “Do you like it? Made it myself, yes I did.”
“It. . .looks great!”
“Thanks!” Nodding proudly, she turned back around to the lesson, kicking her feet idly, ignoring the curse that came from behind her.
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“Just a little more time!” He pleaded, tightening his lips to keep from whimpering at the whip that cracked across his face. Though his skin healed instantly, it still stung, especially the poison that was now seeping through his veins. “I’ve almost got it finished, things like this will TAKE a little longer than you’re used to, master!”
“I don’t necessarily see why you need to excuse yourself. Haven’t I told you how much it bugs me?”
“Yes, but please! There’s nothing I can do!”
“There’s always something, child.” Came the chuckle, which then faded into a weary old sigh. “I am aging, son, and it is not a pleasant experience. The triangle man has secrets, secrets locked in his two apprentices, and the journal that they possess. Find it.”
“Yes. . . “
“Yes what?”
“Yes, father.”