Chapter Text
“Dipper!” Ford called, quickly striding across the study.
The boy had barely lifted his head from his book before Ford dumped his load upon the desk with a THUNK!
Dipper leapt a mile, heart thumping in terror. He blinked a couple times, quietly huffing through his nose. He cleared his throat and scooted his chair closer, eyeing the considerably large stack of paper that Ford had placed on his desk.
“What’s this?” Dipper inquired, voice strained in an attempt at calmness.
“I’ve spent the last five hours at the library,” Ford exclaimed, an almost insane light in his eyes.
Oh great, Dipper thought in amusement. It’s one of those days.
Ford patted the stack of paper, a prideful grin on his face. “I’ve researched any accounts about attacks of the undead and copied down various Latin phrases that I felt might be appropriate for spells–though, if that doesn’t work, I’ve created a new language based upon a combination of Spanish and Italian, should the need arise. I’m hoping all this will be useful for our…”
Ford hesitated. “Situation.”
Dipper casually glanced over his shoulder.
Outside the study/kitchen window, a horde of zombies staggered around, moaning, screeching, eating a couple of hikers, and generally being annoying.
“You want me to perfect these?” Dipper guessed, turning back to Ford. “And meanwhile, you’ll…?”
Dipper wasn’t really worried that Ford would flake out and laze around while the seventeen year old did all the work; that wasn’t how his great uncle rolled. Dipper just wanted to know what Ford was up to.
“I have an idea for zombie repellent,” Ford responded promptly. “Assuming that zombies are related to vampires, a gel made of pickled garlic should ward them off. If it works, it’ll also keep away the living.”
Dipper clicked his tongue in agreement, pointing at him. “I’m all for that.”
Ford smiled dryly. And with that, he left, presumably to search the basement for leftover garlic from the vampire incident. No extra words, no bells and whistles; just a simple, quiet, albeit sudden departure.
Stanford Pines. What a guy.
Dipper slipped his bookmark between the pages of The Sibling Brothers: The Red Herring of Misdirection and slid the novel to the side. He slid a pen out from behind his ear that his didn’t recall putting there and began to chew on its end, pulling Ford’s papers towards himself and reading the first page of notes:
- Books w/ Ltn Phrases o/ Death
- Latin Phrases on Death! by Caryn McCorkle [It caught my eye, alright?]
- Memento Mori (McCorkle 52) [Rgh trans/: Remember, you will die]
Unlikely, Dipper thought dismissively. Zombies already know they’re dead; shouting it at them as a spell is unlikely to have any effect.
He crossed it out, leaving a little notation as to why he figured it wouldn’t work, and moved on.
“Mors omnibus?” Dipper thought disbelievingly. Let’s not give the zombies any validation!
Dipper quickly scribbled his pen over the phrase, leaving a note (“Death to all”, Ford? Really?) and scanned the page for the next phrase–
He blinked in surprise.
Gone were Ford’s papers, Dipper’s desk, even the kitchen where Dipper had resided; his entire surroundings had been replaced by an empty void, reminiscent of deep space. Dipper didn’t appear to be standing on anything, but he felt grounded as if he were. Around him floated an amalgamation of objects: all three of Ford’s journals, Dipper’s own, silvery blue journal, VCR tapes, blackboards with complex mathematical equations written on them in chalk, and–was that a stuffed bear wearing a sweater?
Dipper froze.
Wait. Was this–
“Well well well well well well well well well!” a high voice exclaimed behind him.
Dipper whipped around, eyes wide.
Behind him hovered a strange being: it was quite literally a yellow triangle made of bricks, wearing a top hat and a bow tie. Two black arms and legs dangled off of its body, and a single eye was embedded just above the creature’s center, which had a slit pupil; like a cat’s eye. Actually, it looked a lot like the pyramidion from the dollar bill.
As the triangle loomed over Dipper, impossibly large, its eye seemed to shimmer with glee.
“Nice of you to finally visit, Little Dipper!” it exclaimed. It was as if the triangle was communicating telepathically; it had no mouth to speak of, but its body flared in a yellow light with every syllable the creature uttered.
It… knew his name.
Dipper’s heart stopped.
“You!” Dipper exclaimed, pointing at the triangle. “Ford told me about you! You’re Bill!”
The triangle bowed, tipping its hat to Dipper. “That’s me!” Bill exclaimed, eye slit in an almost appraising manner. “Bill Cipher! Demon lord, code cracker, and muse of the worthy!”
Muse… or demon? Dipper wondered.
Bill plopped his hat back onto his tip; in a blink of an eye, he’d shrunk down to half of Dipper’s height. He circled the human almost excitedly, glowing as he spoke: “And might I say, you and your–warden? master? overlord?–are most definitely worthy!”
“Worthy of what?” Dipper asked suspiciously.
“Boy, am I glad you asked!” Bill exclaimed, eye widening impactfully. He snapped his fingers.
Suddenly, Dipper was yanked into the air. He panicked for a second as he hung almost as if from a string. What was going on? Was Bill attacking him? However, just as quickly, Dipper was lowered into–he looked down to check–a wooden chair.
Dipper clutched the seat of the chair as it zipped forward, stopping just in front of a wooden table. Bill floated down from above (had he been above the table before?) coming to sit in a chair of his own on the other side of the table. He seemed to grin at Dipper.
Out of the cosmere around the two, pieces of paper flew in an arrow, almost like a flock of geese. Dipper watched in fascination as the papers soared and dipped, spun and looped, before coming down and circling the table at which Bill and Dipper sat.
Photos, Dipper realized. They’re developed photos!
Of… all the creatures of Gravity Falls!
“As I may have mentioned before,” Bill said, tearing Dipper’s attention from the photos, “I’m a muse. An informant. A…” He twirled his hand in thought.
“A source of afflatus?” Dipper offered.
“Genius!” Bill exclaimed, clapping his hands together. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Speaking of geniuses, sorry I took a while to get to you; ol’ Fordsy needed a liiittle bit of attention beforehand.”
Did he just call me a genius? Dipper thought, wonder creeping into his thoughts.
Dipper cleared his throat, trying not to let his pride show in the name of professionalism. “Wh–what are you here for?”
Bill stuck his hand out to the side. A gentleman's cane appeared in his fist; Bill proceeded to twirl it nonchalantly. “Well, for starters–”
Bill snapped his fingers.
In front of Dipper, a small stack of papers burst into being. It was almost like combustion in reverse; the flame appeared, (it was blue, for some reason?) and the paper flew out of it, perfectly white and clean. The papers fell into Dipper’s lap.
“Those’re all the zombie spells I know,” Bill said. “I was interrupting your flow, right? Might as well give you a treat.”
Dipper blinked in shock. He picked up the paper; on the front page, was a short sentence: Ex Deo ad Stellam. That was a little presumptuous of Bill, but… spells!
“You were right, by the way,” Bill said, making Dipper lift his head. “Tweak ‘Mors Omnibus’ a bit and you got yourself a spell that sends zombies into a frenzy! Fun, amirite?”
Dipper started. “Oh, uh–no, n–not really. We, uh–F–Ford and I are– uh, trying to get rid of the zombies, not make–make an army out of them.”
Dipper cursed silently. He hadn’t stuttered that badly in years!
Bill seemed amused. “Yeah, well, I’m just preparing you for the logical next step. Veni, vidi, vici?” Bill stretched. “Well, besides that little gift, I just wanted to make my existence known! Because–let’s be honest–you thought your old overlord was absolutely insane, right?”
Dipper opened his mouth to retaliate. Then he paused. He bit his lip, looking down.
After Ford had told Dipper about his vision, all those months ago, Dipper… had not believed him. He thought it was just a dream, induced by the cave paintings they’d found, dating back tens of thousands of years. All the magic they’d encountered in Gravity Falls hadn’t been anything like that cave. But Ford had insisted that the incantation they’d found had summoned Bill, who had spoken to him while he slept.
Dipper found his belief in the event grow (come on, this was Gravity Falls; what was a slightly more diverse magic system?); along with his distrust of Bill. I mean, the inscriptions they’d found literally warned Ford not to summon the triangle, and the cave paintings did not shine a positive light on Bill.
However, all that paranoia almost seemed to melt away, now that Dipper was meeting the real thing.
“Sorry,” he finally apologized, unable to think of anything else to say.
Bill waved a hand at him. “Ha, it’s nothing! To be honest, it’s not the first time that unfounded accusations stood in the path of greatness, am I right?”
Dipper blinked. “…Yeah. I guess.”
Bill let go of his cane; it floated in the air. The demon leaned onto the table, studying Dipper. “Come on, Little Dipper! You’re one of the smartest people on the planet! People have tried to stop you before!”
Dipper frowned. “N–no. Not–not really.”
Bill’s body bent and stretched to the side, in an imitation of a cocked head. His gaze almost seemed tense. “Or maybe they just laughed at you. Mocked you. Doubted your greatness.”
Dipper’s mouth flattened into a line.
Headbands. Glitter. Sweaters. Blissful disregard.
A fez. A face old, but familiar. A jesting, jeering gaze.
No words. No true memories. Just flashes.
After all these years, it was easier to think of them that way.
“Yes,” Dipper said flatly, pushing the images from his mind. “I get what you mean.”
Bill almost seemed to relax, leaning back in his chair and resting his folded hands on his… front. “Well, kid, you’re not the first, and you’re definitely not the last. Best to leave the past in the past, I always say.”
Dipper gazed at him. He snorted.
Bill stared at Dipper as clapped a hand over his mouth, desperately trying to muffle his laughter. Dipper bent over, chest heaving with glee as he giggled at the irony. After several moments, Dipper tentatively lowered his hand, mouth spasming as it struggled not to stretch into a grin.
“Okay,” he choked out, tears of mirth in his eyes. “Past in the past. Got it.”
Bill slowly leaned away from Dipper, confused eye locked onto him. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you are messed up, Little Dipper.”
Shaking with withheld laughter, Dipper falteringly nodded.
Bill’s cane reappeared in his hand. He used it to point at Dipper. “I like you, kid.” He saluted Dipper cheekily. “See ya, Little Dipper!”
Dipper’s eyes widened as Bill disappeared. Reality seemed to disintegrate around him; the photos circling the table and the objects floating in Bill’s pocket universe fell out of the sky, shredding into bits as they went. The entire place seemed to shake, and the distant stars swelled in brightness and size, as if billions of supernovas were happening at once.
Dipper screamed as the stack of papers he held burst into flames. Blue fire shot up his arms and glowed brightly, creeping up his neck, crawling into his eyes–
Dipper slammed his head against the table.
He shot upright with a yelp, breathing heavily. He shakily lifted a hand up to his smarting forehead, blinking rapidly.
Dipper was back in his study–or, er, the kitchen. The room was lit with that orangey glow of the evening. The counter on the other side of the kitchen was cluttered with tubes of water, from Dipper’s latest check for hallucinogens in the water supply (just in case). The zombies outside were moaning as they crawled back into their graves, and the glowing sun was beginning to dip behind the treetops of the grove. Papers slipped off of Dipper’s desk and fluttered to the ground, disturbed by his rude awakening.
Everything was quiet.
Gradually, Dipper’s breathing slowed and his heart went back to his normal pace as he realized he was safe. It was just a dream.
…
Right?