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Chapter Text

As much as he covertly and, sometimes, blatantly studied Wirt, he would still miss some cues every now and then: the first sign of anxiety; his sense of danger ringing off the hook; and when he would clam up about any mention of the B.E.A.S.T before taking off to sulk in the forest were the most frequent, but what caught him unaware every year was the molting.

Though Dipper could justify it from here to Timbuktu, the fact remained that he forgot about that little piece of Wirt's biological processes. The contributing details to this annual mess were simply the small things, such as his want for privacy and how he kept his wings tucked under the largest shirts available or under that WWII cape he adored so much, or hid them behind his back and turned in accordance to a gaze's angle. The guy was really insecure about his appendages, despite the acceptance he received from his friends. It stood to reason that only Greg and Wirt himself looked for any problems they might have, and, unfortunately, they were untrained in proper feather maintenance. However, after three long years of being unprepared for the fallout, Dipper was determined to aid the hybrid in his plight.

Now he just needed the stubborn airhead to agree.

"Wirt! Bring down the ladder!" barked Dipper, tapping his foot impatiently and shifted his bucket of various products to his other hand. He glared up at the annex; a relatively new addition to the twin's attic bedroom that he sorely regretted agreeing to if all it was used for was a hiding place.

Soft sounds of fabric shuffling greeted him as he was answered with, "I'm fine! Just a little- um, well, not a little, but everything's fine. No need to help at all."

Dipper sighed, massaging his forehead with his free hand. "Wirt, you broke a pin feather during the one time of year where your wings are nothing but pin feathers. Vets aren't an option, so you need either Ford or I to check it out. And don't even think about lying; I saw the blood."

Silence reigned, then the wooden ladder rumbled down to the floor, the bottom smacking the ground as the top rattled against the loft beam. Dipper startled at the abruptness, but squared his shoulders, set the metal bucket down, and climbed the rungs. At the sight greeting him, he soften at how miserable his friend looked; molted feathers everywhere, Wirt's face strained and pale, wings little more than spiky hides of porcupines from what he could see, blood staining the blankets both under and on his wings. Synchronous molts took all the feathers at once, leaving the bird stranded and in need of safety, and Dipper couldn't imagine how it must be for avian-human hybrids.

He gestured to the floor high enough for Wirt to see. "C'mon, Wirt. We need the space for those adult evergreens on your back."

The human climbed down, followed by the hybrid after he scoffed at him. Wirt plodded to the middle of the room and sat down heavily, but conscience of his feathers as he spread them out. Dipper dragged the bucket and dropped down in front of the right wing. He analyzed the pale brown quills for discoloration, smoothing and separating them, and occasionally using the spray bottle from the bucket to wash the blood. It amazed him how much blood a single feather could release if broken while it was developing. He tried to be gentle with the sensitive blood feathers as he searched for the hurt one, but he saw Wirt fidget, wings flinching away at a particular touch. 

He was sure they both would be glad when the feathers mature, free of the waxy coat and unfurled to their full length. The color deepen to a rich russet brown speckled with white all across the back of his wings with amber primaries and tawny secondaries. They were beautiful yet a source of great discomfort for the owner. Dipper moved to sit behind Wirt, bucket following as he settled to inspect the scapular feathers that covered his upper back. There, on the left wing close to the shoulder was an immature down feather leaking blood. He sprayed some water on the area, taking a cotton ball and dabbed on the protective quill. Holding the ball to the shaft of the broken pin feather, he popped the cap of the antiseptic bottle and splashed some on the cotton, Wirt letting out a hiss and the limb jerking away from him.

"Sorry. Should have warned you."

Wirt glared at Dipper over his shoulder. "Yes, you really should have."

"Well, you're not going to like this," said Dipper, putting styptic gel on a clean cotton ball and nudged the wing back to him. He held it loosely on the wrist and placed the ball against the injured quill, applying pressure on the spot. Wirt was tense, but sat there still like a statue. After two minutes passed, Dipper swapped the ball for another to test for blood flow and it came back relatively clean as the vital fluid staining the feathers was old.

"Okay, Wirt, it's clotted. I'll check again in a hour, but I'm sure the feather will be fine now." Dipper worked on gently cracking some of the quills, rolling the ones that looked ready to be preened off between his thumb and pointer fingers.

Wirt sighed in relief as the glossy coatings were eased off. "Thanks, Dipper."

He smiled, happy to comfort his friend. "Anytime."

Chapter Text

Doe eyes shifted from pages held in clenched hands to the gravestone erect in the earth. The Latin of "Rest In Peace" was engraved into the black marble, horizontally across the middle of the cross. At the foot of the five foot tall stone was a slab with the name, date of birth and death, and four lines beneath those. Thunder cracked a distance away from the graveyard the young man was frequenting at the moment. This man in mourning was Dipper Pines, visiting the grave of his departed great uncle and silently swearing vengeance on his murderer.

Ah, yes, the murderer, he thought, and smoothed out the wrinkles from his grip the pages. Then he began to read them again, skimming throughout the papers.

June 11, 1923.

At long last, I finally have the poison in possession to "help" Sir Stanford Pines to his final resting place - six feet in the ground! ... Big Sixer never liked me and he sure didn't take my friending his only nephew too well either. Heh, who knows what the old bird would do if he finds out about what we've really been doing in Pine Sap's room. Now I need to dispose of Shooting Star so Pine Tree can inherit every penny... noticed a fine young man goes to the same church as me. I might "persuade" the boy to come for a dinner and show at my mansion later. 

July 3, 1923.

Now that the old man is gone, I can have the whole fortune to myself as soon as Pine Tree writes me into his will then take the kid out for a little ride... The kid's really becoming quite the Pill with his mourning and all his spooning about moving in with me. Ever since Shooting Star was admitted to the hospital last week because of the mercury overdose I slipped her (Curse that woman's iron stomach and knowledge of detoxing with charcoal!), kid's been alone in the Pines Manor and putting up a fuss about it. At least, I can neck some with Quill Pen...

That was enough Dipper could bare to read as betrayal stroke its pins into his heart and his vision blurred by tears. He folded the papers and stuffed them into his coat pocket. He couldn't believe that for a month he had been sleeping with Grunkle Ford's killer -- or even that Bill Cipher was capable of being such a man. Sure, the blond was eccentric with his many moods, taste in fashion, the people he kept as company, the many, many hunting trophies and weapons...

Okay, so it wasn't that hard to believe in retrospect.

The affair, though, that was the difficult part to choke down. Did the poor guy that caught Bill's interest have rich relatives and/or money himself? Or was he a passing fling like Dipper was becoming? He scrubbed his eyes, sighing aggravatingly as he rid those questions from his mind. There was no use dwelling on the issue when Cipher would be dead soon enough. 

His lips quirked up in smirk as he reviewed his decision to commit murder and found that he was still onboard with it. He just needed a plan, maybe somebody to frame, and Dipper can wash his hands of Bill. He received an invitation to a gathering hosted in Cipher's manor, a place located deep in the woods of Gravity. It was the perfect place for his former lover's final moments. Dipper clasped the left arm of the cross, solemn and resolved.

"I won't let that man get away with what he's done to our family, Grunkle Ford. I swear that on your grave."

 Dipper politely smiled at Pyronica as he took off his coat and handed it to her for storage. "How has your employer been, Ms. Pyrite?"

"Master Cipher has been absorbed in his work lately, Mr. Pines." She turned to the foyer closet and placed the clothing alongside other coats. "You're the last guest to arrive. Master Cipher is in the second floor library, last I checked, if you should see fit to find him. I'll have dinner ready by the next hour."

He watched the woman walk down the hall and disappear around the left corner, musing on how well she could actually see with one eye. He has known the red haired maid since his first visit to the manor and still he was not used to her perfect depth perception. Though, Bill could have taught her a trick or two, considering his own half blind status, and maybe more than that. Dipper mentally shook off that train of thought, stepping forward to the stairs off to the right side of the room before halting his tracks as an idea came to him.

Any man kept his personal records in a private safe, but Bill just had his in a lockable cabinet desk in his study. It was how Dipper came across the man's disgusting memoirs of greed, selfishness, and hedonism. Perhaps the desk hid something he could use to his advantage? That in mind, Dipper swept down the hall at a steady pace, passed the parallel doors to the ground floor library and parlor room, and nearly collided with a stranger after turning the right corner at the end, both of them recoiling from each. He gasped out an apology before the man's appearance registered. Then, well, he was shocked to say the least.

He was of much the same coloring as Dipper with pale skin and brown hair and eyes, but the similarities tapered off from there. His facial structure was different, and he was taller. The stranger wore a warm orange sweater vest, white sleeves revealed the shirt underneath it, and black slacks in contrast to Dipper's more formal dress shirt and pants. He forced a small smile and held out his hand. "Good evening, I'm Dipper Pines."

"Wirt Palmer, it's nice to make your acquaintance." Wirt stiffly shook the offered hand and the men went off on their separate ways, cheeks faintly pink at the awkward meeting.

I think I just met Quill Pen, Dipper remarked as he entered the main study. After searching through the unlocked desk, he discovered a particularly incriminating letter. The sound of a gong bid him to the dinning room where the host and guests trickled into and sat at the table. They were served plates with well done steaks upon them and large bowls of salad, mashed potatoes, and various fruits with smaller bowls of vegetables were spread out to fill the plates. Dipper leaned in front of him to snag a bread roll from the basket and noticed Wirt staring at him to his left and across the table. He looked away as soon as Dipper turned his questioning gaze to him.

A light ding of fork against glass cup quieted the idle chatter at the table. "Well, now that we're all here, we can talk of why you're here." Bill was dressed in his formal, figure flattering suit that usually meant he was a man on a mission. Now what could that be?

"I have brought you here to celebrate my newest friend's first novel that was a roaring success. Mr. Palmer, everybody!" Here, he gestured grandly to Wirt, causing the young man to blush at the attention before Bill redirected it back to himself. "And here to see into the future is Seer Wendy." The aforementioned person raised her glass in salute, silver bangles on her wrist jingling at the movement.

Soon, the table was cleared, the lights snuff out except for a few candles, and Seer Wendy shuffling a deck of cards at the head of the table. She asked, "Who shall be the first fortune?

From Wirt (interestingly Death, the reversed Three of Cups, and the Lovers) to a man called 8 Ball then Kryptos to Tad Strange, she finally turned to him, flicking her cards facedown with great skill after a thorough shuffle. What came up was the Emperor, reversed Devil, and the Sun. Wendy eyed him, as did several of the party members, but she ultimately handwaved it away and turned to Bill. If Dipper's cards raised some eyebrows, then Bill's had everybody's jaws near dropped on the table; reversed Magician, reversed High Priestess, and reversed Death.

"So... is the last one good?" Wirt ventured.

"No. You see, where Wirt's Death symbolizes a transformation, Bill's focuses on something that will keep him from transforming. Maybe because of the hidden agenda the High Priestess is warning about?" As the people debated about their fortunes and the meanings, Dipper saw Bill swirl the wine in his glass with far off look in his eye and take a sip.

He had been awaiting the moment Bill started choking and finally dropped dead ever since he slipped a dose of potassium cyanide into the cup while everyone was setting up the stage for Seer Wendy. A little extra revenge for his sister's poisoning.

The detective eyed everyone in the parlor room, shifting his gaze from person to person until he settled on the weeping Pyronica sitting on the loveseat with the butler comforting her. He'll question her first since she found the body, Dipper suspected. As the policeman brought all the gathered guests and present servants one by one to the library across the hall, the young man steadily ignored the gaze attempting to bore a hole into his head. He got off the chair tucked in a corner when the detective came back and gestured for him to follow. 

Dipper recounted all that he could remember of the evening to the man, careful to show surprise that 8 Ball had a threatening letter from Bill in his bag. From the detective's spoken out loud reckoning, 8 Ball must have fed up with Bill ordering him around to do the leg work of his dirty underground dealings with the mob. The police arrested him on the spot, the man resisting arrest as much as he could before being knocked unconscious. Dipper watched the spectacle from the foyer window and heard footsteps come up to him.

"You did it." Once his attention was on him, Wirt quarried, "Right, Pine Tree?"

Dipper nodded, an easy smile curving his lips. "Correct, Quill Pen. Are you going to turn me in?"

He seemed to mull over his answer, downturn gaze troubled but soon cleared. "No, I think won't."

"In that case," Dipper came closer to Wirt, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Want to go to my manor and speak ill of the dead?"

"Sounds like the cat's meow to me, Dipper."

Chapter Text

"I have to enter. I have to enter! I HAVE TO ENTER!"

Wirt leaned away from the brunette bouncing in the seat next to him despite how much closer it brought him to the boy on his right, nervously eyeing her almost maniac expression of pure excitement and want. He knew as soon as the guest speaker said "pageant" Mabel would want to enter and win it immediately.

"Mabel, you're scaring Wirt! And she hasn't finished speaking, so hush!" The twin brother of the excited teen whispered, his glance on the teacher that started watching them after his sister's outburst. Wirt silently sighed in relief when she calmed down and he gave Dipper a grateful smile.

"This pageant will be unique in that the judge will be one of you lucky boys! Now, stand up and show me what you got." Some of the less enthusiastic teens groaned as they stood up, but the chipper black-haired woman on stage seemed to ignore the muttered protests.

Wirt watched with rising apprehension as the woman circled the edge of the stage, scanning the crowd from end to end. Then, out of nowhere, he shivered and his next breath fogged out.

Dipper noticed the unnatural drop in temperature his friend had experienced. "Why would a ghost be at the auditorium of the local high school during an assembly for a beauty pageant?"

"No idea." He ducked down, the twins shielding him from view as best they could as he transformed from Wirt Fenton to Walter Phantom. "I'll ask after I'm done packing them into the Pines Thermos."

The sixteen year old halfa turned intangible and sunk down into the floor, reaching the basement where the ghost signal was strongest. He could see nothing at first, but he'd long since learned that sight wasn't always reliable.

Just like how as soon as he turned his back, an arrow zipped an inch away from the side of his head and embedded itself into the concrete wall in front of him. Wirt spun around and got into a fighting stance, hands glowing green from the prepared ectoenergy. His opponent was an archer from Medieval times, judging by the style of his clothes. The ghost was buff with large musculature around the chest and arms, and all Wirt could see of his face through the shadow of his hood were red eyes.

With gulped. "This might take longer than I thought."

"Think Wirt's doing okay?" Dipper asked Mabel, shifting to and fro on his feet. "Geez, how long does it take for a judge to be pick out of a crowd this huge?"

Mabel didn't look up from her (stolen from Dipper's pocket) notebook or stopped her furious writing, but did (unhelpfully) answer, "Dunno, Bro-Bro. Hey, would adding sparkly sequins be too much?"

Dipper, and pretty much everyone else, jumped when a body was flung out from the crowd and landed on the stage. There was Wirt on his back, dazed from the force behind an exploding arrow that had shot him clear to the auditorium and left him hardly any time to change back after coming out of the floor.

In the more coherent part of his mind, Wirt prayed everybody would assume he tried to get closer and ended up in a jock's way. Right now, though, he just focused on getting vertical again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have your judge!" He was bodily lifted up by the arm and wedged into a one-arm hug from the pageant planner.

As he stared at the group of disgruntled teens in frozen horror, Wirt was surprised he didn't turn invisible right then and there. 

Wirt stuck close to Dipper like glue, maximizing as much space between him and his fellow students as possible. Whenever a girl popped up to bribe or flirt her way to first place, Dipper was there to shoo her away in Wirt's steed. Everybody knew the male half of the twins got lessons on boxing from his great uncle and that he wasn't afraid to use them if people mobbed his shy best friend, so the smarter girls remained at a distance.

Watching Dipper politely fend off another queen hopeful, Wirt thought, "Ah, my knight in a puffy vest, trucker hat, and khakis." He immediately slapped a hand over his mouth to stop his giggles.

"You have ghost powers and yet I, a mere human, have to protect you from ruthless pageant contestants. In what universe does this make sense?" The twin grumbled, eyeing a brunette that looked like she might try something.

This time Wirt didn't hide his laughter. "Maybe the one where everyone knows my night job?" He checked his watch. "I think the pageant training is starting soon; we'd better get to the football field."

Later, the boys were reclining on the top of the bleachers to watch Mabel outshine the other girls. She already had perfect balance from her karate training, so walking around with a book on her head was no big deal. At least, it looked like that to Wirt. He was sure if someone told him to do it, the book would fall off on his first step. Next, the girls did each other's makeup.

"So are you gonna pick Sara?"

The orange juice the tall teen had been drinking spew everywhere and he started coughing, but managed, "What? No!"

Dipper watched the spit take neutrally, eyebrow raised in scepticism. "Sure you're not."

"Dipper, I think Mabel would actually finish what the ghost portal started. Have you even seen what your sister can do with knitting needles?" Wirt shuddered both at the mental image and a sharp chill, breath fogging at the tail end of his sentence. "Sorry, Dip, I'm gonna have to go."

He waved as the brunet ran down the stairs. "Don't trip."

"Ack!"

"Whoops, too late."

By the time the Miss Teenage Happy Princess Beauty Pageant (Mabel loved the name, though the boys tried not to gag) was ready to perform, Wirt's emotions were strained to the edge of a breakdown. He had to deal with not one, but two medieval ghosts and an army of crown hungry girls bent on swaying his choice. He was ready to hand Mabel the crown himself just to get it over with. It was only natural that when he heard his best female friend's cry of pain behind the stage, he shot out of the judge's seat like a bullet toward her location. In fact, he nearly ran into Dipper when they turned the corner.

The contestants got their own cubicles inside a large tent pitched next to the bleachers. Wirt wanted to head inside, thinking she was there, but Dipper took the lead to the seats instead. Good thing he did, or they'd have taken longer to find her.

Dipper crouched down to assess his sister's condition. "Mabel, what happened?"

"I tripped over something on my way to the tent and hurt my ankle." She rubbed the aching body part. She teared up. "I'm gonna have to drop out, huh?"

Seeing her brother busy judging the damage, Wirt stammered, "Well, you could still -- I mean, it's not too bad, right? A little rest maybe--"

"Wirt, it's sprained." Boy, he could cut through steel with how effective he cut down Wirt's rambling. "Sorry, but walking isn't an option right now."

Mabel took the news solemnly, a strange glint in her eyes. "There's still a way."

That confused the boys. Dipper ventured, "How?"

She looked her brother in the eye like her plan was to save an entire species, not win a beauty pagenat.

"You."

A beat of silence passed. Wirt wondered if he should say anything to the twins.

"What?"

 "We're identical twins. I just need to get you a wig or an extension, and we'll be all set."

Dipper frantically waved his hands as though waving away the idea. "Mabel, no!"

"Mabel, yes!" She sang.

"Well, this is awkward." Wirt mumbled, trying to look anywhere except the stage but make it seem like he was. The image of Dipper in a sparkly, poofy pink ball gown would not be something easily wiped from his mind.

Less so of the scene when L'il Gideon caught sight of "Mabel" and sickeningly crooned love poetry at "her". That little freshman just ruined Shakespeare for Wirt, which was a feat he thought no man could do.

Never mind the vicious stab of jealousy he felt at the wooing. He's just gonna pack that into a mental box and analyse it later.

Wirt watched all the girls (and one boy) perform, first walking down the catwalk in various outfits and then doing the talent they chose for that part of the competition. Dipper seemed to struggle with Mabel's talent -- she wanted to demonstrate her skill with a grappling hook, which her twin had no practice using to date. He managed a few acrobatic feats with a rough landing every time before he left the stage. It was a bit of a hard act to follow, as a nervous blonde with juggling balls could probably confirm when she came out next. Then, Pacifica Northwest presented her "Happy Princess" talent which was opera singing. 

She glared the whole time at the young judge, both daring Wirt to not choose her and promising grave consequences if he didn't.

After the blonde left, Mr. Lancer came out in an elaborate, if a bit cringe worthy, medieval bard costume. "Has the honorable judge chosen a fair maiden to be the princess?”

 "Yes, I have. The princess will be..." Wirt trailed off, spying Mabel waving her arms like crazy near the corner of the stage. "Mabel?"

A roar of applause jolted him from his distraction and he turned back to watch the onstage proceedings, dread rising as he saw the crown Lorna Mattingly held in her hands. It appeared to be made of real gold with actual emeralds on it and beautifully detailed scroll etchings. He could even swear the gems glowed. Lorna walked to Dipper's side and continued on until she was behind him with the crown held high above his head. An unseen platform the two had been standing on rose up from the rest of the stage, and the pageant hostess placed the tiara on the teen's head. Immediately, green smoke clouded the view of the top and the gathered crowd gasped as it cleared to reveal empty space where the two were standing.

Wirt was halfway to the stage when he changed course to go to Mabel. Hopefully, the losing contestants would be too focused on the smokescreen to go after him for not choosing one of them.

"What's going on?" He asked her when he was in hearing range. "And weren't you supposed to have a sprained ankle?"

"That isn't important! Lorna is a ghost and she just kidnapped Dipper!" Mabel fussed with her hair as she paced a tight circle in front of Wirt.

He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be fine, Mabel. I'll get him."

"You have a plan?"

"Of course I do."

Wirt paced circles in front of an older man. "I don't know what I'm going to do! Just what can I do anyway?"

The one-eyed blond leaned against a table and watched him panic with a smirk, finally answering, "Well, this sounds more like a 'you' problem than a 'me' one."

"Dipper is lost in the Ghost Zone and I have no idea where to start looking, Bill." The teen stopped in his tracks to glare at the man. 

Bill reached down, pulled open a drawer, and took out a rolled up paper. Wirt watched as he turned around and smoothed out the paper on the table. The brunet neared the table and spied the map before Bill's hand came up and blinded him. 

"Hey!" Wirt grabbed the older halfa's wrist and tried to pry his hand off his closed eyes. "Cipher!"

"Tsk, tsk, Quill Pen. You should know by now that I give nothing for free."

He could reasonably imagine an outright grin on the smug blond's face.

"What do you want?"

"If you can manage it, grab Bellring's amulet. It should be identical to Lorna's necklace."

Wirt shrugged, but felt uneasy about giving the blond a necklace that turned the wearer into a dragon. "Sounds easy enough, I guess." To his relief, the hand was removed and Bill moved aside to let him view the map.

He tapped an image of a castle. "This is Dragonsgem Castle, a land trapped in time by Bellring's decree long ago. The path to it from my Ghost Portal is pretty straightforward, so use mine instead of the Pines'."

The younger halfa studied the map, memorized the route, and then flew into the portal. It didn't take too long to reach the castle and surrounding land cloaked in olive green clouds. He came across a forest burning in blue flames and two dragons fighting in it. Riding on the back of the blue dragon was Dipper, as dressed for war as a princess could be.

Trust Dipper to start a rebellion not three hours after getting kidnapped.

The black with purple accents dragon grabbed the snout of the blue one and swung his other claws at the human. Wirt flew down and ripped the gold necklace off of the winged lizard's neck before he could do any damage. Instantly, Bellring changed back to human form while still holding onto Lorna's snout. She flicked him off like she was merely swatting a bug.

"Now for some light." She breathed her own blue fire first at the forest fire to dispell it then at the green clouds. They cleared away as sunlight came and the people near the castle could be heard celebrating. 

Wirt stashed the amulet into his pocket and flew to Dipper's side. "Three hours, Dip. Not even three when you helped redecorate an entire ghost lair."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" He was helped to the ground by Lorna's wing. She flew to her home with a promise to return soon after. "Marry that abusive bigot? I think not!"

"Marry? Just what happened?" Wirt couldn't tell if his head was spinning because of smoke inhalation or the powder keg of emotions he'd been going through for the last week.

Before Dipper could rant about his rebellion's start, Lorna came back with a pile of clothes secured in her arms.

"Sir Dipper, I have brought some comfortable clothes for you. I was afraid the dress and corset were causing you trouble." She handed them to him. Dipper went behind a tree to change, so she addressed Wirt, "It is nice to see you under these favorable circumstances, though I am to blame for the capture of your friend."

 Wirt reassured, "Oh, no, I don't blame you at all. Though, your brother..."

"Is an awful person and shall never be king for as long as I reign." She nodded to herself, looking strong and determined. 

They exchanged smiles as Dipper walked back to them, dress replaced by a brown tunic and green tights.

"Not a word about the tights, Wirt." The shorter boy eyed him like he would crack a Boy Wonder joke, then turned to Lorna, "Thank you for the clothes."

"You most welcomed, but I must return to my people now. Farewell." Lorna curtsied and left them.

Wirt nudged Dipper. "Tell me the crazy details while I fly us back home please?"

"With pleasure." He laughed, taking the hand offered to him.

They flew away from the floating piece of land as Dipper spun a (most likely) dramatized tale of his three hour stay at Dragonsgem Castle and his encounter with its selfish, evil king.