Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, Bill?” Mabel poked her head out from the kitchen. “Is there anything else you need us to grab from the store?”

“Nope! Think that's all we need, Shooting Star!” Bill exclaimed.

“Alrighty, then! Thanks again for letting us stay here for winter vacation, that was awfully nice of you!” Bill waved at her as she went back to her list, quickly scanning it one final time. She headed for the door once she felt satisfied with her list. “We’ll be back in an hour or so!” 

“Mabel, hurry up! Shermie wants to come back BEFORE winter break is over!” her twin yelled from the car, waving at her to hurry up. 

Mabel waved one final time at Bill, slamming the door before running to the car. Bill peeked through the window, watching as the car slowly left the snowy driveway and headed into town. Once they were far away, he walked back to his room, ready to execute his plan. 

Sitting on his bed were Carla and Crampelter, who were chatting quietly. Coughing, Bill quickly caught their attention, pulling out the note he had written. “So you remember the plan, correct?” 

“Yeah, I mean it’s not hard to remember. Just hide in a closet and laugh at someone.” Crampelter huffed in annoyance. 

Carla chuckled, “Knowing you, maybe it is.” she said, laughing harder as he gently pushed her. 

“Alright. Settle down, you two.” Bill crossed his arms, “I’m going to talk to Stanely and leave the note. You two go hide in the meantime. Got it?” 

They both nodded. Bill smiled wickedly before turning and walking away. Outside his room, he tried to remember where Stan’s room was. After the first time the Stan twins had visited Gravity Falls, Bill had offered to let them stay in his cabin anytime they decided to come visit. Every vacation since then, they had roomed together in the attic, until last summer where Stan had asked for his own room. Of course Bill had no problem with the demand. After all, his cabin was rather big, with plenty of room to spare. Accommodating Stan would be no issue, so Bill offered him the second room in the attic, that way moving Stan’s bed and belongings would be easier. In other words, Stanford kept the same room in the attic while Stanley moved into the other room. 

This time around, however, since there were more people staying with him, the twins had decided to give up their rooms to their younger cousins, Dipper and Mabel. Something about how Ford had been having more “minor accidents” due to his all-nighters and Stan wanting to be closer to the bathroom to take care of his brand new tattoo. Bill decided not to question it. Fiddleford—or Specs, as Bill liked to call him—had volunteered to buddy up with Stan, which was fine with Bill, making it much easier to assign rooms. Fiddleford was a Southern kid who had recently moved to New Jersey a year ago, where he quickly became friends with Stan, and later, Ford. He was lanky, nerdy, and, if Bill was quite honest, he was annoying, especially with how jumpy he seemed at times. Yet Stanley clung to him, always being near him, wrapping his arm around him or just touching him in some shape or form. 

For complete and utter opposites, he didn’t understand how Stan got along so well with the guy, and he couldn’t understand why Ford seemed to like being around him so much. But he couldn’t really complain too much, as he was ultimately the one who had told Ford that they were allowed to invite anyone they’d like this year. So along with Specs, the younger Pines twins, Shermie, Crampelter—who once again had no choice but to come this year—and Carla, there was yet another guest who had made her way into his cabin; Emmamay Dixon, a young, dark-colored, Irish woman with a soft voice and strong personality. She was almost as tall as Specs, which was saying something, considering he was taller than Stan and Ford, with messy dark curls that mostly covered her eyes. Despite wearing a thick sweater, Bill could tell she had a strong build. From the few minutes they interacted Bill felt, oddly enough, both calm and slightly threatened. Her firm handshake and her hazel eyes screamed bloody murder if anyone were to mess with her. Bill liked her. Carla and Emmamay were roomed together in the first floor, clearly a bit dissatisfied from the decision, but not as much as Crampelter was dissatisfied about being roomed with Shermie on the second floor so that the older man could keep an eye on him. The boy made it obvious the way he mumbled under his breath, cursing his father for once again forcing him to go with the Pines on vacation. 

It was rather entertaining to see Crampelter try to fight the decision, saying he wouldn’t try to sneak out, his voice squeaking at the obvious lies. If the last couple of times proved to be false, why would this one be any different? 

With that being said and done, Bill still had to place the remaining three in their rooms, however his decision was made for him when Stan said he would pick his own room. “After all, I’ve been around this place, I know where all the good shit is,” he had declared, dragging Fidds to the second floor. Now all that Bill needed to do was find out which room Stan was in, and talk to him without the southerner being present. 

Bill began walking upstairs when he heard a crash from the kitchen, followed by cursing. Bill snorted, making his way downstairs and watching as Stan cleaned the floor. Water was spilled everywhere, but thankfully no glass was broken, as the cup Stanley had been using was a metal one. A very expensive metal cup. 

“You doing alright there, Mac?” 

“Huh?” Stan looked up, his pants soaking wet from the spill. “I mean, yeah, doing just peachy. Just taking a late night shower, ya know?” 

Bill hummed, taking a couple of towels from one of the cabinets. He crouched down, handing one of them to Stan before joining him on the floor. “I have a favor to ask you.”

Stanley glanced up at him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I need some alone time with Ford. I want to speak with him in private.” Bill looked over at Stanley, watching his eyebrows raised in shock, his eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing. 

“Uh, yeah- I can- uh, like right now?” Stanley stammered out, cursing as he slightly slipped.

“Yes.” 

“Uh, yeah, okay. I’ll just head upstairs with Fidds and Em.” Both rose from the floor, Stan’s face showing something between excitement and awkwardness. “You need me to get him or-” 

“NO-” Bill exclaimed, then coughed. “I mean, no need. I can do it myself.” 

“Alright! Well,” Stan jabbed Bill in the stomach with his elbow, winking with a toothy smile on his face. “Have fun, but not too much fun.” 

Bill’s face flushed, stuttering, unable to say anything before Stan walked away. He slapped his cheeks, returning to his plan. He couldn’t fail. Bill walked upstairs once more, this time walking over to Ford’s room. Taking out the note, Bill reread it for what felt like the 12th time that night, hands shaking as he thought about the plan. Who knows, perhaps Ford would think of it as some type of joke and completely blow off the thing, or maybe even jokingly flirt back? Maybe he would laugh, or smack Bill for such a lamely done joke and tell him to try harder next time? 

Realistically, Bill knew that that wouldn’t be the case. The way Ford looked at him, the subtle touches that lingered far too much, the entries Ford wrote about Bill in his research journal. Everything made Bill’s heart flutter. The note made it ache. Deep inside, a voice cried out not to do it, to burn the note into ashes and tell the others that the prank was off. But what then? Would he continue to lie in bed at night, wondering how it felt to hold a six-fingered hand? Stare into the dark brown eyes that captivated Bill’s very soul? Would he continue to ache for a person whose love is so close, so right yet so wrong? Knowing that the more he loves Stanford, the more he’ll hurt him in the end? 

Bill glared at the note. Maybe this wasn’t just for Bill’s own goals, but also for his best friend’s own good. To love Stanford was to let him go, to have him understand that being with him would be a life of pain, to know the further ridicule he would have to withstand just because of who he chose to love. This was for their own good, for Ford’s own good. 

Bill just hoped Ford could forgive him one day. 

He slipped the note underneath Ford’s door, knocking twice before returning to his room. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ford observed himself in the mirror, feeling his body flush as he adjusted his green shorts. A soft nervousness fluttered in his stomach, Bill’s note staring back at him. 

Meet me in my room @ 3am for some chemistry sixer ;) 

-Bill 👁️

Stanford might not have had the best social skills and perhaps an even worse romantic life—although the second one could be summed up to a number of reasons out of his control—but even he understood what the note meant. Never in a million years would he have thought that Bill would reciprocate his feelings, much less act upon them. But tonight was the night that Ford’s prayers would be answered. 

Tonight would be the night that everything changed. 

He flicked the lights off, slowly making his way towards Bill’s room, his heart racing out of his chest. Ford ruffled his hair, smoothing out his shirt making himself as presentable as possible before knocking lightly on the door. 

“Come in,” a slightly screechy voice answered from the other side. 

Ford took a deep breath, calming his nerves. He turned the knob and stepped into the dimly lit room. Blood rushed to his face, the atmosphere far more romantic than he expected. He smiled softly, of course this was Bill we were talking about, someone who always went all in when it came to his goals and dreams, a person who always reached for the stars. If anything, Ford should have expected this from him, perhaps even roses. 

“Nice to see you made it, Six.” Bill gave a crooked grin, stepping into the light closer to Ford. He wore a plain yellow shirt and his black pants from earlier that day, his eye patch still covering his right eye and his hair in a messy bun. He looked perfect. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ford responded, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

“Well?” Bill sat down on the bed, never breaking eye contact with Ford, his voice low and sultry. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Ford blushed brightly, his six fingered hands shaking as he slowly began to lift his shirt; the hem didn’t even reach past his stomach when he stopped, hearing quiet snickers coming from behind the closet door. Shyness turned into humiliation as he pulled his shirt down swiftly. The closet door opened, revealing Crampelter and Carla inside. Bill stood up, mockingly wiping a fake tear from his eye, as they all laughed hysterically at him. 

“What did I tell you? Even with all his genius, good old Sixer is still so gullible.” Bill smirked. 

Stanford’s ears began to ring. In the background, he heard the creaking of a door followed by a booming gruff voice, but Ford couldn’t find it in himself to pay attention to what was happening. His mind raced through a million thoughts, different scenarios, but most importantly, three newfound facts. 

Fact: Everyone knows. They know how much of a freak he truly is—how not even his preferences could be normal. 

Fact: He really was so gullible to have fallen for a trap like that—to have so easily given in when the opportunity was offered to him without thinking about the consequences thoroughly. 

Fact: … 

Bill didn’t care about him. Bill betrayed him. 

He felt a hand grab his shoulder, snapping him out of his daze. His instincts kicked in as he made a run for the front door. He didn’t care that it was snowing heavily or that he wasn’t in weather appropriate clothing. He didn’t care that Carla tried to justify herself by claiming that this was a “prank.” He didn’t even care that he would have to eventually go back to the cabin and face the consequences of his outburst and possibly face the worst humiliation of his life due to his reaction. All he cared about was being as far away from everyone as possible. He just needed some time to collect himself and come to terms with what had happened. 

Tears streamed down his face, making it much harder to see where he was going. Running turned into jogging, which finally slowed to a walk. With shaky hands, Stanford removed his glasses to wipe the tears away, his face sticky and cold. A disgusting feeling. Although he could argue that his whole body was cold and sticky with sweat; his clothing (or rather, the lack thereof) made the sensation far worse. . . 

“STANFORD!” 

Ford jumped, cursing as he dropped his glasses into the thickness of the snow. “Shit-” 

“There ya are!” Stanley exclaimed, relief flooding his face before he began to panic slightly once more. “Geez, ya must be freezing in those—here.” His twin quickly shrugged off his jacket, draping it over Ford. From what Ford could tell, Stanley still had a thick long-sleeve shirt and his snow pants, a far better outfit than the one Ford was currently wearing.

Stanley took a look around before his eyes returned to Ford. “You okay?” 

Ford opened his mouth before closing it again. He wasn’t okay, far from it. But where to even begin? The fact that his secret had been exposed? That even his preferences in romantic partners weren't normal? While he wasn’t fond of Crampelter and Carla, still having been outed as queer in front of them was humiliating! Worst of all it was done by one of the most important people in his life who had trust! Ford felt betrayed, ashamed. And for what reason? How could Bill do this to him? To top it all off, he ran out in his bare shorts and a thin t-shirt like a heartbroken girl in a shitty cliche romance movie. Except that he didn’t get the guy at the end, and instead of his love interest going to comfort him, it was his twin brother, looking like he’s about to murder someone. Ford shook his head, words feeling like too much and yet not enough to explain what he was feeling. 

“I should’ve gotten there sooner. I knew those three were planning something when they kept crowding around the table.” 

“It’s not your fault, Stan.” Ford whispered, his voice hoarse. 

“Maybe. Doesn't mean I can’t feel bad that I wasn’t able to help you in time.” Stan replied, rubbing Ford’s arms to try and warm him up. “I swear when I get my hands on that one-eyed bastard I’m going rip it right-” 

“Lee, just drop it.” the older twin sighed, stretching his fingers before curling them. “Can we just go back? Deal with it in the morning?” Ford looked up, his eyes wet with fresh tears. “Please?”

This time it was Stan’s turn to sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Alright, but don’t expect me to go easy on him just cause he’s your crush.” Stan faced away, muttering under his breath before chuckling, “More like, going to be crushed. Hah! Nice one, Stan.” 

Ford snickered, rolling his eyes. 

“By the way,” Stan said after a moment, looking around the snow, “Where are your glasses?” 

“I dropped them by accident. It's alright though. I have an extra pair somewhere in my luggage, I can acquire them after we go back.” 

“Alright, just don't trip on the way back,” Stan joked as he lightly pushed Ford’s shoulder. 

Before Ford could reply, a howl was heard in the distance. Both twins froze in place. They looked at each other, their eyes wide enough to communicate without words. Stanley's eyes showed confusion, hoping that perhaps Stanford could identify what animal or anomaly the sound came from, but Ford shook his head. Stan’s eyes widened slightly, fear chilling the twins to the bones as they heard a sickening crunch followed by the sound of an unknown liquid gushing. Another howl followed soon after, much closer, ripping through the silence. Stan didn’t hesitate to grab Ford’s hand, forcing them to begin running. 

“GO GO GO!” Stan screamed as they ran. He could hear it, although what exactly it was, he couldn’t say. All Stan knew was that it was jumping from tree to tree and catching up to them fast. Too fast. “FORD! WE NEED TO HIDE!” 

Ford looked back at Stan, stumbling momentarily, losing the jacket before nodding. “FOLLOW ME!” 

Stan followed Ford to a clearing, sweat dripping down his forehead. Stanford abruptly stopped, looking around for something. Nervousness began to gnaw at Stan as he heard the beast howl once more, sounding even closer this time. The other twin fell to his knees, brushing off the snow on the floor in a hurry, searching for the hatch he had discovered during one of his walks last summer. His fingers were freezing, body shaking with cold and fear. He mumbled to himself, praying to find the latch. Anxiety started to overcome him. He barely noticed as another body joined him on the ground, the two of them shoveling snow with their bare hands—until at last, they found the latch. Ford could cry in relief. He grunted while hauling the door open between both of them. The loud and clear creaking sound it produced made both of them flinch slightly. 

Stan stood up, turning just in time to see it. A large creature, over six feet tall. Its limbs were lanky, a ghostly white that shimmered in the moonlight. Its teeth, razor sharp, dripped with blood. Its eyes stared straight at them with a deadly glare that sent chills down Stan’s spine. He stumbled back, grabbing onto Ford’s hand as the monster began to approach them. 

Ford yelped as he fell into the opening. Stan fell in right after him as he grabbed onto the broken ladder at the last moment. Both twins dangled in the air, screaming as they looked down at the dark void. Stan looked up to see a bright orange glow above him, which then disappeared just as quickly as it appeared. An outstretched hand reached out to Stan, a masked figure behind it. 

Stan glanced between the hand and his brother, tears prickling in his eyes. Stan tried to lift up his brother, salty tears spilling from his eyes.

His hand slipped. 

A scream ripped from his throat as they fell. 

A thump was heard. 

Then another, followed by a crunch. 

Stan's eyes became glossier as he looked at his twin one last time. 

Everything went dark.

Chapter Text

One year later

“I don’t know how I didn’t realize this before, but there can only be one explanation.” Bill stated, his hair tangled and disheveled, his eye bloodshot, and his shirt stained with mystery food.

He sorted through the photographs and papers before pointing at a page with the word “Vampire” written at the top. Beneath it was a poorly-drawn picture of a vampire. It wore a black hoodie, standing hunched over with its exposed fangs dripping blood. Or jam, depending on who you asked.

“Seriously, Bill? Are you trying to say that our friends just disappeared off the face of the earth because vampires got to them?” an annoyed Carla asked.

“Your friends, not mine,” muttered Crampelter, earning him a jab in the ribs. 

“Look, this is really the only thing I found that could explain why no one can find them. I mean, they found Stan’s jacket and Sixers glasses, but they can’t find a body?” Bill gripped his hair, his eye drooping with exhaustion. “I’m sorry, but I refuse to believe they’re dead. And with the weirdness in Gravity Falls I could at least assume they're in some type of frozen state that just requires them to, I don’t know, be thawed out or something!” 

Carla shook her head, exasperated. “Did you see what Ford was wearing? He didn’t even grab a jacket. And in that type of weather, no one could have survived for long. Not to mention that without his glasses he’s as blind as a bat!”

“Techinically bats aren’t blind and have good eyesight,” Dipper murmured sassily as he glared at Carla, who just rolled her eyes in response. 

“Just leave it. They probably just, I dunno, ran off. Or maybe a bear got to them.” Crampelter chimed in as he leaned back in his chair, uninterested. 

“That’s the thing,” Bill ignored his tone, pulling out pictures from the police file. “Just look at the snow. If it was a wild animal then there would have been animal prints in the snow, but there was nothing that indicated that near their belongings, and-” he shuffled through the pictures, placing one in the center of the table, question marks drawn on the side in bright red marker. “There were only human footprints. But then they just suddenly stopped at the edge of the woods.” 

“Almost like som’thin’ just grabbed em’ outta plain air,” Fiddleford pointed out, taking a hold of one of the pictures. 

“Exactly! You get it, Specs!” 

Dipper and Mabel glanced at Shermie, who watched silently as they discussed their theories. They both couldn’t help but feel like this was some sort of mockery towards their family in a way. Afterall, it had been their cousins who disappeared, it had been them who had to comfort Shermie during a funeral with two empty caskets. That night had led their eldest cousin to spiral, having returned from the store to find two less people than when they had left. Two hours was all it took for their lives to change forever, for loss to consume their family over what the rest had  considered a harmless prank. The wail of the police sirens still haunted Mabel, still lingered in the back of her head anytime she looked into the dark void that were now Shermie’s eyes—once so full of love and life, now empty. Mabel reached out her hand, offering it to Shermie who silently held and squeezed it, never looking away from the others.  

“So let’s say we believe you,” Dipper started, clearly fed up with whatever Bill was saying, “What then? Are we just supposed to believe you and head out there and risk our lives to fix your mistake which could’ve been completely avoidable had you not been a dick?!” 

“I-” Bill frowned, his gaze distant. “I don’t know.”

“It’s been a year.” Emma spoke softly, sadness coating her words. “They might not be alive.” 

Bill slammed the table, hands shaking as he clenched his fists. “No! They’re alive, I know it!”

Crampelter rolled his eyes. “Why do you even care? I mean, you were the one who suggested the prank in the first place. Dipshit over there is kinda right,” he looked at Bill, smirking cruelly, “It’s your fault this happened.” 

Shermie's eyes slowly moved, looking over at Bill, then Crampelter.

“You,” Bill spoke through gritted teeth as he pointed at Crampelter, face red with rage, “Had as much to do with this as I did, so don’t try to act innocent you fat stupid pig .”

The teen quickly stood up, chair creaking against the wood. “Who the hell are you calling a fat pig you one eyed fr-”

“ENOUGH!” 

Everyone turned to Shermie in shock, his voice booming throughout the room, silencing everyone else. It had been the first time he had spoken since his arrival. The oldest Pines’ member had remained quiet even when he was spoken to, his vacant gaze made it clear he just wasn't present, except as a grieving brother. Bill’s request to have a reunion to grieve over his brothers had been a motivator, but not the reason he came. Mabel had been the only one aware of this fact; one look and she had hugged him, whispering praises of how strong he was. Others had tried to speak with him, including Carla who tried to make small talk with him until eventually giving up at his lack of response. Even Crampelter, a kid who was as dense as a rock, understood to back off and not bother the man.

The tension was thick in the room. Everyone stared at Shermie, waiting for his next move. They flinched as he stood and walked away into one of the rooms, lingering at the door for a second. “I’m going to bed.” He announced before slamming the door, locking it with a soft click. 

“That went well.” Carla joked half-heartedly, her own heart racing as she stood up for a glass of water. . .

Bill looked over at the pictures once more, scanning over every last detail. But he was sure there was nothing he was missing. After all, he had stared at and studied every last picture, every last note and letter, for hours upon hours. Perhaps it was a tad bit weird that he was doing this, that he spent a year searching and researching anything that could help learn about the twins’ whereabouts, moreso considering he’s the one who caused the domino effect that led to their tragedy. Only he knew why he was doing it. Guilt, his oldest friend and companion, the one who worsened his insomnia and fueled his nightmares on the occasional night where his body forcefully shut down. Sleep deprivation was no joke, a fact he had learned the hard way. 

Although that was nothing new for him. Bill did not live a good life despite the fact that he’d only been alive for 19 years. A rare deformity mixed with the fact that he had no living parents, and the shit foster system causing him to be on his own by the age of 15? It was a perfect recipe for trauma, and an even better one for the way he turned out to be. Hunt or be hunted; either he became stronger and wittier than everyone else and protected himself, or he would be consumed by the evergrowing fire that turned out to be his life. 

Then he showed up, Stanford Filbrick Pines, with his stupidly perfect dark curls and golden brown eyes, his shy smile and incredible mind, and of course, those freakish hands. He was like Bill in that way; a freak of nature born from their mother’s womb and their father’s seed. A rarity of genetics that created something that instilled fear or discomfort in others, despite it only being nothing more than an abnormality—a birth defect. Then again, that was one of humanity's biggest flaws—the fear of the unknown. The two kindred spirits had accepted being the monster in everyone else’s stories, and found comfort in each other in a way that only they could understand. 

And while Bill had been born with one eye, he wasn’t blind. He didn’t just see Ford, but he saw his counterpart, Stanley Caryn Pines. Despite almost being identical twins, Stan had been born normal, with five fingers on each hand. People didn’t look at Stan the same way they looked at Ford and Bill. Stan was free from the chains of ridicule and fear. And yet he was always around, always choosing to be the protector of his brother and face that same judgement, despite having no obligation to put up with any of it, a privilege that Bill was envious of. To have the choice of how people will see you, to at any given moment just go on about your life without stares and snide comments, without parents who hide their kids behind their back when they see you coming, to be able to socialize without it being linked to pity and without making the other person uncomfortable. 

Bill envied Stanley’s freedom, but he also admired and thanked him eternally for keeping Ford safe—and by extension, keeping Bill safe—during the times they hung out together. He thanked him for being one of the few people who could stand to look at him without being repulsed, for being his friend despite their rocky start, going so far as to comfort him during the anniversary of his parents’ deaths. It was no wonder that their connection would become their downfall. It happened with his own parents, after all. Bill’s love was a conflagration, destroying everything he loved too much, everything he ever cared for. That’s why he had chosen to be alone, why he had to be okay with being alone. Not only to protect his heart, but to protect those he cherished. Then those twins came, ruining all of Bill’s hard work, wiggling into his life like maggots to rotting flesh, sinking their teeth into his heart—especially Stanford. 

Over the last year his attachment grew into something less platonic and more romantic. He harbored that feeling deep inside him, its roots gripping tightly inside his chest. It terrified him, fearing what that meant for them, for him. The thought of having been born an even bigger outcast then he had originally believed sent him spiraling downward. For weeks he chose to keep his distance, his heart throbbing painfully every time he saw the hurt in Ford’s eyes or the way he shrunk whenever Bill pushed him away. He almost gave in, should’ve given in. Then the other two came. They were normal; the basic pretty girl with a flirty attitude, and the family friend’s son who happened to be a jock. He saw them as his ticket to normalcy, to protect himself—and by extension, Stan and Ford. It was supposed to be a small prank, a way to prove his worth to the others and finally put his feelings to an end. He was so caught up in his plan, he didn’t realize the smoke of the fire was suffocating him, blinding him from what was in front of him. 

He never meant for this to happen, not to his Fordsy. Not to Stanley.

He sighed mournfully. “I don’t care whether or not you believe me, and I don’t care if you think I’m a bad person. I already know I am,” he stood up straight, feeling determination running through his veins. “But I’m going to try to make it right, for Stanford, for Stanley.” 

“What are you going to do?” Dipper questioned suspiciously. 

“I’m going to look for them.” He pulled out a map filled with crossed out areas and a big red circle near the bridge. “Earlier this summer, I found this hatch that was covered in moss. It was welded shut so I couldn’t open it. I’ve lived here almost my whole life, hatches in the middle of the forest shouldn’t be something I should just now be discovering. I started digging into it when I realized that this whole thing is a lot bigger than I thought, spreading beneath a large portion of the forest outside of town.” Bill’s finger began to trace a path till it reached the area where Stan and Ford had gone missing, “I found a latch near this area—the last place they found their footprints—but it's welded shut too. Recently, from what I can tell. If my theory is correct, which it will be, then I have suspicions that they could have entered the underground facility, or tunnel, or whatever it is. And someone, or something, is trying to hide the fact that it exists.” 

“But if they are both welded shut then how are we going to get in?” 

“Good question, Pine Tree.” Bill grabbed a marker and drew another circle, this one a bit farther away from the initial point. “I managed to find another door nearby; well, actually a lot of hatches. But they're either broken, welded, or too heavy to lift up by myself, but this one seemed perfectly fine. Went inside it, too. But I wasn’t wearing my contact lens and had no light source. I couldn’t see anything, so I left before I could find anything useful.”

Fiddlford hummed, his eyebrows furrowed. “Does this mean yer plan is t’go inside n’ find Stanley n’ Ford?” his voice wavered with something recognizable. Bill squinted as he studied the way Fiddleford held a picture of the twins. 

Glances were thrown around the room, each one with different levels of uncertainty. Bill shook his head as he refocused. “You don’t have to come. I didn’t invite you to force you to come with me. I just wanted to do the right thing for once.” He reached into his pockets, digging out a small set of keys, “All my life has been nothing but destruction and chaos. I want to change that, but I also know that what I'm doing is dangerous. I wanted to share my theories and plan in case something happens to me.” 

Bill looked over at the last remaining Pine twins. He smiled half-heartedly, extending his arm as he gently deposited the keys into Mabel’s hands. She gasped softly, her eyes widening at the realization. 

“I’ve already done all the legality stuff, left a will stating that all my assets would be left to the Pines family.” 

“Bill, this—are you sure?” Dipper frowned as he inspected the keys in disbelief.

“I know materialistic objects won’t undo what I did, but it was the only thing I can think of.” He gathered the map, folding it up and placing it in his back pocket, “I’m going to go find them, with or without you, and no one can stop me.” Bill finally declared. 

Silence followed. Carmpelter looked at Bill, slightly impressed. Carla looked horrified. 

“I’m going, too,” Dipper stood from his chair, followed by Mabel who nodded in agreement. 

Fidds coughed, gently setting down the picture, “If y’all are goin’ I guess I ain’t got no other choice but to join y’all fellers, ‘specially if y’all youngins ‘er goin’!”

Rubbing her fingers between her eyebrows, Emma sighed. “Guess I'm going too. Can’t let the kids have all the fun.” she winked at the twins, a teasing smirk on her face.

“Hey, we’re 16! Not kids!” exclaimed Mabel, pouting as she stared at Emma who chuckled in return.

Everyone turned to look at the remaining two. Crampelter just rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “I ain’t going if that’s what you’re waiting for. I ain’t owe nothing to no one.” 

“Golly, why are you even here then?! A rock would be more useful than you!” Emma snapped.

“Hey! Watch your mouth, woman!” Crampleter shot back.

“Unfortunately,” Dipper intervened, “His parents are friends with uncle Filbrick. They ask him every vacation to take him on family trips so he can do more than getting intoxicated alone in some alleyway like the pathetic loser he is.” 

“Whatever, man! At least-”

Carla placed a hand on Crampelter’s chest as he tried to stand up, “I’m sorry, I swear he can be nice, it’s just-” 

“His dickbrain won’t let him?” Dipper smirked. 

“I’ll stay here with him and Shermie and make sure this one here learns to shut his mouth.” Carla stated, smacking Crampleter on the back of his head. “It’s the least I can do.” she added, smiling softly at Bill.

“You’re going to want a miracle for that, then.” Cracking his fingers, Dipper turned to Bill. “So, when do we head out?” 

Bill smiled, puffing his chest. He walked over to the closet, pulling out backpacks, each decorated with the symbols Bill had assigned each member of the group long ago. A pine tree for Dipper, a shooting star for Mabel, spectacles for Fidds, and a Venus flytrap for Emmamay. Inside each bag were a couple of snacks, water, extra clothing, flashlights with extra batteries, and whatever weapons Bill had lying around. Mabel squealed as she took out her grappling hook. The clothing seemed to be in men’s size, large to be exact, clearly meant for someone around Stan and Ford’s size. The snacks were a mix of toffee peanuts, jellybeans, and dried fruit. The twins looked at each other, frowning in sync as Bill explained the plan. 

“-we leave in 10 minutes. And seriously, don’t get separated. Like I said, I don’t know for sure if it has a 50 or 100 mile radius, and the walkie talkies only go up to 20 miles, I couldn’t make it go up more.” 

“Mind if I take a quick look?” Fiddleford spoke up. Bill blinked in surprise, quickly handing the walkies over to Fiddleford along with the toolkit. “Give me a few minutes, then these ‘ere babies will go up t’ 40 at least!” 

Bill nodded. “Alright, while Specs does that, let's get changed.” 

Everyone nodded in agreement, most of them walking towards their respective rooms, Carla and Crampelter walking to the kitchen instead. A hand placed itself on Bill’s shoulder, turning him around. 

“Listen, Bill,” Mabel stated, her eyes serious, borderline terrifying. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, and while I’m all for a redemption arc, I’m not sure if you deserve one.”

“I know,” Bill mumbled sadly. 

“Do you?” questioned Mabel, holding his shoulder tighter, causing him to hiss in discomfort. “This is going to be your only warning, Bill: don’t fuck with my family, ‘cause if you hurt them again, it’s going to be the last thing you ever do.” 

Bill’s eye widened in surprise, “Y-yeah, I understand.” 

“Good,” she released his shoulder. “I’m trusting you with this, okay?” she said, her voice suddenly a lot more chipper. “Don’t let me down.” 

“Okay.” 

The teen smiled, turning to her room before stopping, her voice becoming a lot more somber, “ I really was rooting for you and Ford.” She turned to face him, grief painted on her features, “He thought the world of you, thought you were the center of his universe.” Bill cast his eye downward, “Despite everything, I’m happy you’re fighting for him. I know he would’ve fought for you, too.” She turned on her heels, heading towards her room. 

Bill stood frozen in place, eye stinging with emotion. He shook his head, wiping his eye. 

“Just wait a little while longer, Six.” he whispered to himself. “Please.”