Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The manor is burning, and Dipper has no idea what to do about it.

The rising fire lights the windows, casting shadows through the massive bed of roses in a tangle of shifting spikes. Smoke rises over the building, curling above red flames that catch and spread, hot enough in places that there are patches of eerie sodium blue.

And Dipper didn’t goddamn notice. It was all around him and he was so fucking tied up in plans and mysteries he didn’t -

Why didn’t he notice? Sure, he couldn’t smell the smoke, but he should have heard the fire alarms, body or not. The staff checked the system only like a month ago-

“Gideon.” Dipper hisses.

Picking up his ‘leftover equipment’, huh. Sending men into the manor, Dipper friggin’ saw them carrying boxes full of wires. And the hunched look of the young man nearly running out the door, seemingly ashamed. 

That little rat bastard couldn’t take a fucking loss, could he? Or leave well enough alone, that selfish, childish jackoff. 

He’s going to pay for this. But first -

“Wendy!” Dipper shouts, immediately realises it’s a bad move, she won’t hear - then louder, “BILL?”

His friend and his spirit - and oh, shit, his body - are in the building somewhere.  Where did they go? How late is it? How much time has he spent on this stupid investigation when he could have been paying attention. 

Only a few lights are on. Most of the illumination is from fire. Later than he thought, but not too late, maybe? If it caught them sleeping, if the smoke -

Dipper freezes, torn between options. Whether to dart for the master bedroom, or the guest wing, or - he’s hesitating, and the fire is spreading. Though he can’t feel the heat, the look of the flames is pretty bad, there’s limited time, he has to move.

Swearing, Dipper smacks his notebook and pen in the outstretched palm of the statue. He might not be able to burn, but that definitely can.

He pauses, mapping out the manor in his head, then darts to the right. West, near the guest rooms.

Bill knows the house like the back of his hand. Better than anyone. As long as he’s awake he’ll know where to go, and the master bedroom isn’t the worst part of the conflagration. Yet. 

But Wendy’s been here like, twice. Smoke and confusion are killers in a fire, no matter how competent anyone is.

Dipper phases through the wall, nearly sliding through the next one in his rush. He stumbles forward, glancing around. 

Smoke in the first story. Hard to see anything, but thank fuck he isn’t breathing this. The thick oily smog curls down the hallway, staining the ceiling with black tendrils. Further down the darkened hall, little flashes of light cast strange shadows on the carpet. 

Shit. It doesn’t look like he’ll make it to the stairs. It’s already burning over there, there’s no way those are safe when they could collapse any minute. How's he going to -

Dipper smacks himself on the forehead, cursing, and floats straight up. 

The second his head pops through the carpet on the second story he’s searching the place, pushing himself out with a shove. 

There’s one benefit of not being in his body. No need to care about obstacles. 

This time, he doesn’t bother trying to ‘stand’ on the floor. He zips past the line of doors, looking for signs of life. He smacks one open, and calls out - “Wendy?”

Not that calling out will help. Without being able to sense him, this is going to be- No, it doesn’t matter. He can grab her sleeve or her arm or something, and drag her if needed. 

Where the hell is she? Should have asked where Bill would put her, should have checked the time, should have done this and that and - can’t get distracted, he has to move.

Wendy’s probably - no, definitely still alive, though. The smoke is worse here, but hasn’t totally flooded the hallway. No big flames yet.  In fact it’s pretty intact, aside from weird patches of white dust speckled here and there, splattered around the doors and down the stairs. 

Stairs which are, definitely, on fire. Dipper never thought he’d be glad to be incorporeal. 

So good news: the guest wing isn’t as bad as the rest of the manor. 

The bad news is it’s on the second floor, and fire and smoke rise up real fast. 

Dipper smacks open a door. Nothing, empty room. Then another, and another, barely pausing to check before he moves to the next one. By the fourth he isn’t even touching the wood, just gesturing with a shove to one side and willing them to slam. 

Practice really does make perfect. Just like Bill says. And man, is Dipper getting practice. Maybe he would make a decent poltergeist, if he ends up -

The thought stops Dipper in his tracks. God, his body’s around here, and… He shuts his eyes, rubbing his temples. 

Okay. Okay, getting a little hysterical. Bad time to panic. Just… breathe. In, and out and - fuck, that isn’t going to help right now. 

Different tactic, then. He can…

Think. Figure it out. Plans! Dipper can make plans, and flowcharts. He can be methodical. 

The fire can’t harm him, check. He passed through it a minute ago. He won’t suffocate, check. It’s like he’s got invincibility on, and this is a puzzle, he can take it one step at a time. Rushing around and freaking the fuck out won’t help anyone. 

So. Where is Wendy. 

Dipper looks back at the line of doors. All open, nothing showing any sign of being occupied. He smacks open the next, and gives it a quick, but thorough check. One by one, clearing the hall. Mark them off the checklist, then mark this part of the manor off, then -

On the second-to last door - the ones near the master bedroom, but the slightly fancier one for non-servants - there’s a trapper hat on the sheets.

“There you-” Dipper darts in, then stares at the rumpled, empty bed. “Oh, come on.” 

The bedroom shows signs of being occupied. A pillow tossed off to one side, the blankets rumpled. But definitely no Wendy, living or dead. 

Not here. In a house as huge as this one, she could be anywhere, lost in a maze of -

No. Hold on. Wendy’s smart, she at least knows where the exits are, right? Probably she noticed things were going south, then left before it got bad? She might even be out of the building by now, instead of doing what Dipper hopes she didn’t do and she almost certainly did. 

Slowly, Dipper drifts out of the guest room. He grimaces as he stares down the hallway, squinting in the dim light. 

What the hell happened here, anyway?

Fine white dust splotches the walls. It gathers near corners and doors, even on a window. Too light to be ash, and too randomly placed. Like a madman danced around spraying powdered sugar everywhere. Something chemical?

Aha.

Dipper snaps his fingers, and zips down the hallway. He finds what he’s looking for pretty much instantly, discarded near the very on fire - but not as on fire as they could be - stairs. 

He kicks the fire extinguisher, and it rolls over onto its side. Judging weight is hard without flesh, but it feels pretty empty. 

Welp. Someone gave it a shot, at least. 

And if it were a smaller, less intentionally set fire, they might have succeeded. Dipper’s not a firefighter, but he’s certain that whatever Gideon did, the arson started in multiple places. They never stood a chance.

But someone had enough time to see it starting, and take action. The attempt to put it out obviously happened after the fire started, but before people left, so….

And he’s right. There are prints. 

Sneakers, not boots. A medium size, cheap style. Some might say the exact kind that Dipper himself wears. The prints head out of the master bedroom, down the hall and towards the stairs, where the extinguisher finally ran out. 

A second later, Dipper’s back near Wendy’s room. There, too, are prints. Heavy boots, with a wiggle next to one like it wasn’t fully laced.

Heading toward the master bedroom, and away from the stairs.

Son of a - Dipper groans. 

Okay. Okay, he gets it now. The picture pops up in front of him, full of reckless bullshit.

Bill, still in Dipper’s body. He notices something’s wrong, probably senses it in some ethereal way. His whole life is literally wrapped up in the Manor. 

So… he freaks out. 

It explains the frantic pace of his steps, and the direction they came from. He knows where all the extinguishers are. Panic explains why he was so haphazard when he’s usually so composed. Not the most efficient firefighting, but he had good reason to flip. 

Dipper does have to give him credit though - Bill, the bastard, actually is a good host. This asshole went down to the guest hallway, where Wendy was, before saving any of his expensive crap. He’s never going to let them forget it.

Meanwhile, Wendy, asleep in her bed. She only wakes up after Bill passes by, flailing around trying to put things out or prevent them from catching flame. Maybe from the commotion? 

When she finally notices everything’s, y’know, on fire, she immediately charges up to the master bedroom to confront Bill Cipher. Demanding he go find Dipper, and give up his body - except Bill isn’t there, because he’s frantically trying to stop himself from going ‘poof’. 

Two idiots, passing each other in the night. Literally. 

Dipper should have made a fire escape plan, and drilled them on it or something. If they make it out of this he’s doing that for literally every building he ever goes into. 

One freaked out ghost. One lost human. Dipper, the only reasonably sane person left. So great.

He can’t just let Bill run around like a chicken with his head cut off, that’s his body. And he can’t leave Wendy stumbling around in dark, unfamiliar hallways, filled with choking smoke. Got to find them, or at least tell one of them to chill and stay still while he finds them, but his phone is on his body and who knows if it’s even working, with Bill’s weird ghost powers-

Oh shit. Dipper snaps his fingers. 

Ghosts. Right. The way Bill’s voice carries, without involving physical sound. Dipper could hear it through walls.

He shoves his head through the unopened window to the courtyard, and shouts.

“Bill! Can you hear me?” Dipper puts his whole chest into it, trying to project over the crackling flames. Willing it to be as loud as possible. “Head to the courtyard! I’ll meet you there!” Then, more weakly. “We can figure this out.”

No response. But then, Bill’s in a physical body right now, he likely can’t yell back and be heard. Hell knows if he even listened, with everything else going on.

This plan sucks. It’s also the only workable one he has. 

Bill can’t leave the manor, even while wearing a body. But the courtyard is large enough to keep him - and Dipper’s body - safe from the worst of the fire. Nobody burns up, there’ll be time to talk, and they’ll…

Later. He’ll figure it out later. Solving the puzzle, placing each piece down with certainty. One by one. Methodical.

First, Wendy. Someone has to survive tonight, to punch fucking Gideon Gleeful right in his smug pug face.

Dipper retraces her steps. The prints in the dust stop near the master bedroom - doors thrown open, handle slightly broken. A white bootprint near the lock. She came up here, didn’t get a response. Kicked the door open. 

She wouldn’t double-back. No reason to. That leaves passing the master bedroom in the north, heading down the corridor, and perhaps turning the corner to the East hall. 

The one that’s super on fire. The one bright enough to see for miles, with the flames so hot they’re blue inside -

Dipper swears again, dashing forward and hoping like hell he’s wrong. 

He hesitates at the first burning corridor, the floor already starting to glow at the corners with hot coals - then grits his teeth and passes through. He can’t feel any of the heat. It’s fine. Just instinct to protect the skin he’s not wearing. 

If he’s objective, this must have been where Gideon’s arson started. Or perhaps the worst area, the one he targeted? Why would - 

Goddamnit, the blood words, Dipper’s going to kill Bill. Again. And then bring him back just to kill him twice, holy shit.  

Dipper squints, but it doesn’t help much; with this much smoke visibility’s shit. At least it’s well lit, for shitty reasons. On the wall, a tapestry is slowly consumed from the bottom up. The intricate silk vanishes as if by magic, piling thin grey ash on the floor. 

Now… If he he were an angry woman trying to repossess her friend’s body from a crazed ghost, where would he- 

Son of a bitch. 

Dipper zips towards the armory, wishing he kept saner goddamn company. 

It’s not far on the second floor. Dipper phases through ash and smoke, and an alarming section of wall that’s crumbled. This part of the building is starting to make ominous creaking sounds he wishes he could blame on ghosts instead of structural failure. 

She better be here. He better be right. It’s the dumbest place to run for a million reasons except threatening semi-undead madmen, so if he doesn’t find her…

Well. Maybe he’ll have time to yell at her spirit before it fades.

Between the rising fire, and the blinding clouds, it’s impossible to tell where the hell anything is; he slips through a corner instead of turning around it, lost in the clouds. 

And thank fuck, he gets lucky. 

There’s a loud crack nearby, and the splintering of wood. Dipper stops dead, listening for the next sound. Tiny sparks drift through the air in this wing, little star in the smoke. 

A second ‘crack’ - Dipper rushes down the hallway towards the sound. 

Good, she did come this way, and even better, she got moving. Out of the worst of it, but with really bad positioning. Getting caught between two waves of fire, caged in by Gideon’s goddamn arson.

 Another whack, louder now.  Not too far, on the inside corner of the building. Outside a door, the carpet is shoved to one side as if kicked in a dash.

Dipper zips through the shut door, skidding to a stop with his own will, and there she freaking is, thank hell. 

Wendy, breaking down a door to what looks like a bathroom. One sleeve of her flannel shirt ripped off and wrapped around her face, dark soot coating her forehead and around her eyes. 

This room is relatively clear - a minor servant’s quarters, with random curtains and towels stuffed around the door to keep out smoke. She must be trying to make her way out of this room without entering the stuffy hallway. Good choice, too. The outside of the building has the worst of it, but it won’t be long before it spreads.

Dipper glances at the other wall - the one she’s making her way away from - and grimaces.

Bright blue fire eats away at an exposed pillar. Even in a relatively smokeless room, the strange shadows of its dim and eerie light move in a way Dipper does not like the look of.

“Well. That’s not good.” He mutters.

Because it’s not. Because he’s using all his brain to think of how to get out of here, and it leaves no room for witty commentary. 

Wendy whirls on him, axe raised. Then pauses, blinking and wiping at her eyes with her soot-smeared forearm. “Wait. Dipper?”

“Wendy!” Dipper spreads his arms, starting to laugh with sheer relief. Thank fuck she’s alive, and okay, and - “You can see me?”

“Yeah, dude,” She lowers the makeshift mask a bit, and coughs. A wet, pained sound. “What the fuck.” 

“I don’t-” Hesitating, Dipper glances between his friend, and the blue fire. Then down at his hands, turning them over, palms and backs and back again. 

To his own eyes, he looks like a regular degular person. All ghosts look that way, including himself. 

But here, in the faint blue light cast from the fire, he’s limned with light.

Light the same color as the power he stole from Gideon, just yesterday. An aura exactly like the soul inside the stone, vanishing in a swirling cloud. 

“Oh. I know what this is.” Dipper says, with a surprising amount of calm for a man gripped with dread. “It’s spirit energy burning off.”

And the light is it dissipating. Bouncing off the spirit in the room, letting regular human eyes see and hear him for as long as there’s fuel to burn. 

...Bill. 

God, he has to get to him, now. Why didn’t he notice this in the first place? Where was his plan? Why did he think there was time?

“We have to get out of here.” Dipper insists, grabbing at Wendy’s arm. His touch meets some resistance, which is weird, but there’s hardly time to question the details.

“No kidding, man. I’ve been working on it.” The axe thunks into the door again and stays, as she uses both arms to gesture at, well, everything.  “How did this happen?”

“How do you think it happened,” Dipper says, flat. As her gaze turns first confused, then dark and furious, he floats in and tugs the makeshift mask up again to cover her face. “Where’s Bill?”

“How the hell should I know?” She makes a disgusted sound. “All I know is there was a huge racket outside, he hit my door a few times, and ran off. I didn’t know there was arson.”

“He didn’t say anything?” 

Wendy shrugs, a jerky motion tense with stress. “He said something about getting out. Didn’t mention the fire, though.” Her eyes narrow. “Pretty shitty warning, man. What was he doing?”

So she didn’t see him go past. Moving too quick, too frantic to explain -

“Trying to put out the fire.” Dipper explains. “Which he didn’t manage, obviously.”

He drifts over to the bathroom door Wendy was cracking open - it does lead to another suite, but that’s probably a no-go. It’s further on the eastern side. 

“You know, that’s kind of the thing you tell people.” Wendy growls, following in his wake. Maybe he’s cool to the touch too, because she’s sticking really close. “What the fuck was he thinking? I woulda helped.”

Dipper pauses in his inspection, blinking fast. 

Shit, he didn’t think of that. 

Wendy was around. Bill could have barged in and gotten her attention, tossed her an extinguisher, and set her to work. Even the worst enemies can cooperate in dire circumstances, and they aren’t actually at ‘worst’ status.

He was in a body. She’s a person who Bill could talk to. Right there! It’s a dumb move by anyone’s standards. Why wouldn’t he-

Oh. Oh, of fucking course.

Dipper starts giggling, a little hysterically. Wendy rests a hand on his shoulder, but it’s hard to feel even in the blue light.

“Oh, I’m Bill Cipher, and I’ll kidnap a guy before I ever explain what my problem is.” Dipper mimics the arrogant tone, filled with a hideous amusement. How did he not realize. How could he be so blind. “I’m Bill Cipher, I can handle this super creep taking advantage of me, that’s definitely under control. And I’ll make a big stupid plan for immortality all by myself, I bet I can totally handle my house being on fire.”

Dipper turns away from Wendy, swearing and ignoring her look of confusion and concern. 

Everything Bill Cipher did in his life and undeath, every ingle inch and every dumb mistake, is for the same fucking reason.

“Bill, you dumbass!” Dipper shouts, fists clenched. The sound rings in the empty room, loud over the flames. He hopes he hears it, somewhere. “Did you ever think about asking for help?”

A stupid question. He already knows the answer. 

Arrogance. Sheer, idiotic bravado. With a big, healthy smear of not considering it an option.

Which sucks and is stupid and - yeah, sure, Bill’s literally been invisible for ages. And maybe his living-life kind of sucked too. Old habits die hard, and yes, when you never get what you’re begging for, it’s natural to stop asking. Maybe stop thinking about it at all.

But just because Bill’s been alone for a century doesn’t mean he’s alone now. 

When Dipper gets his hands on that asshole, he’s going to punch him. Once he’s out of Dipper’s body, that is, and then he’ll shake some sense into that bastard, and shout at him, and kiss him, and then punch him again. 

He just has to get to him first. 

Wendy lets out a deep, wet cough. She’s holding it back, trying to keep it down, but she’s also leaning on him. It’s a weird sensation; he can faintly feel her in the spirit-burning light, but she’s also sinking into his side like he’s made of goo. 

Right. First things first. All things in order.

And top of the list is getting Wendy out of here.

Hallway’s no good. She’s already coughing, more smoke will make it worse, and Dipper’s ghost powers are decent but he can’t do anything about literal fire. No other doors out of the room but the bathroom, which isn’t dangerous yet but will be. The next suite will just lead into the same hallway, and there’s nothing useful in the rooms except-

Dipper turns, and stares out the window. It leads outside, in a way. Just not outside outside. 

“Window. Courtyard.” Dipper points. “You can get out the-”

Wendy smashes it open before he finishes the sentence, shattering frame and glass in two quick chops. She swipes the handle around the sill, clearing up shards, and leans out. “Shit, that’s high.”

Dipper pops through the wall to check. Shit, she’s right. Only the second story, but a big building. With broken glass waiting on landing.

“Welp,” Wendy shrugs, chucking the axe out ahead of her and setting her knee on the sill. “Better than burning alive, am I right?.” She winks at Dipper over her makeshift mask.

“Wait, wait, wait, I can-” Dipper watches her make the leap in slow motion, heart in his throat, and dives.

He doesn’t, exactly, catch his friend. He’s too intangible, and she’s a hell of a lot heavier than some books. 

But she oozes through his arms like jello, slowing her descent as Dipper frantically kicks his legs, teeth gritted, trying to levitate and keep whatever hold he can. Glass crunches under boots, Wendy finding her footing in the awkward floating descent - while momentum carries Dipper waist-deep into the ground. 

“Dude, you okay?” Already Wendy’s kneeling, reaching out a hand. Dipper shakes his head, floating up on his own power. “That was crazy.”

Understatement of the century. Dipper brushes off her help, rising to his feet, then a few inches higher. 

Thank fuck for Cipher Manor being way too big. The courtyard is expansive enough to keep them away from the worst of the burning building. 

Compared to the rest of the mansion, it’s almost tranquil. The little pond reflecting the light, the greenery wilting slightly but definitely not on fire. Not perfect shelter, but considerably less ovenlike. Literal breathing room.

One down, one to go. 

“I have to find Bill,” He interrupts Wendy before she can start whatever she was about to say; probably something about a cool escape. But they aren’t out yet. “Stay here, I’m gonna-”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a sec.” Wendy puts her hands up. “Dipper, he’s already dead. A little fire isn’t going to hurt him.”

A few hours ago, Dipper would have agreed with her. Hell, he’s undead proof. Temperature doesn’t affect a spirit any more than smell or touch.

That was before his research, and that horrible blue light. 

Bill can’t still be wandering the building, right? Insane is one thing, delusional is another, and nobody could put out this conflagration. 

One that’s growing way faster than he’d like, too. The little blue pips he saw earlier aren’t so small anymore. Most of the hallways are taken up by the regular red fire, but half a dozen windows glare blue like spotlights, illuminating the garden like a full moon.

How much power was stored in Cipher Manor? How fast is it draining? 

Dipper doesn’t know, he can’t even guess, but it looks like ‘a lot’, and ‘very’. There’s an awful twist in his stomach, an echo of nausea.

He moves away from the wall of the building, jaw tight. Wendy makes another grab for him, but he shoves through her with that same gelatinous tangibility.

“Dipper? Where are you going?” Wendy follows in his wake; she wasn’t alarmed before, but Dipper’s seriousness is catching. “Dude, what-”

“He’s still out there,” Dipper insists, then, “He’s in my body.” Which is also pretty critical, though he’d forgotten it in the rush. 

So had Wendy, apparently; her eyes go wide in shock.

“Bill!” Dipper turns and flies towards the middle of the courtyard, frantically searching the windows and the gaps in the walls for signs of human motion. “Hey!”

God, and isn’t that the rotten cherry on top of this burning cake. Would he feel it, if his body passed? A snap of connection? Or would he just go poof, like snapping his fingers.

No. He can’t think like that. Gotta start looking.

He floats down the stone path, calling out again, hands cupped even though he doesn’t know if that works. Trying to sense something. Anything. “Bill? Where are you?”

Please let him be doing this spirit voice thing right. Please let him hear. He doesn’t know how much time they have or if he’s already-

A soft cough, then a tired, rough-sounding voice, “I heard you the first time, kid.”

Dipper jerks around, and spots a hunched figure near the foot of the statue. Curled up, knees raised to his chest, wearing an outdated suit - 

“Bill!” 

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Bill cracks an exhausted looking smile. It looks even less convincing on Dipper’s face. He coughs again, thick and harsh. 

He did it. Bill made it out, he heard him earlier when he said to get moving and better yet, actually listened. Still wearing Dipper’s body, of course, but considering the alternative was leaving it lying around while the house was on fire, Dipper can’t bring himself to feel anything but relief. 

He drops to kneel next to him patting his shoulder, his hair - which is also his shoulder and hair, weird - and takes him by the shoulders. “There you are, asshole.” 

“Hey, kept everything intact,” There’s a slowness to Bill’s speech. Compared to his normal pace, he almost sounds like a regular person. “Wasn’t easy, either.”

Not having his body charred to ashes? Great. But the suit’s stained with smoke, and there are blisters on his knuckles. God knows what Bill inhaled while he was rushing around in a panic, Dipper’s definitely gonna feel that later. 

Bill Cipher, powerful poltergeist, stares vacantly up and out at the ruin of the manor. He sits with his knees up, arms around his shins. His back turned to the statue of himself, hunched close like it could offer him shelter. Watching his home for the last century crumble into ash. 

Slowly, Dipper settles down to sit beside him. And for once, Bill doesn’t have a pithy comment.

Wendy approaches, axe hefted over her shoulder. For a moment she looks like she’s about to comment on the bizarre scene of Dipper looking like he’s hanging out with himself, then thinks better of it and takes up a position nearby. Standing straight and looking ready, as if on guard.

Dipper takes a breath to speak. After a moment, he lets it out, and looks away. 

It isn’t, technically, Dipper’s house. And he still tells Bill the place sucks, like, all the time. 

But he’d come to know every damn inch of that goddamn building. Each trinket and tapestry and quirky souvenir, the paintings and the halls. The dust was gone, the walls were clean and bright, everywhere you turned there was something new, and interesting. Centuries of history. So much he learned and did and found. 

Under the relentless flames, the light glares in the windows. Part of the east wing roof sinks as the underlying structure collapses, and Dipper feels his throat go tight. 

The manor is - was - beautiful. 

Now it’s all going up in smoke. 

They watch the flames crackle and the light dance without speaking. A funerary silence. 

Funny, he always complained about how much junk Bill had. Now it’s irrelevant. Fire sale: Everything Must Go. 

“Y’know, I’d be lying if I said I never thought about burning it all to the ground.” Bill says, after several long minutes. Filling the quiet with his voice, he never lets it stay empty. “You get sick of seeing the same stuff after about a decade! But I knew way better than to actually do it.”

“Pretty sure it was Gideon,” Dipper adds, with feigned casualness. Keeping things light, like they’re just gossiping over the weather. 

The real question is whether Gideon knows what’s coming, the bastard. That conniving, cowardly, scheming little minion-mongering fuck. He’s not going to get away with this. 

“Huh.” Bill mulls over that information for a second, then simply sighs. “Welp.”

Dipper sits upright, looking over at him. But there’s no anger in Bill’s expression, or hints of it showing on the borrowed face. He just looks… tired.

Even Wendy notices, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, what? Dude, I’ve seen you up in arms about way less. I was there.” She cracks a half-smile, tapping the handle of the axe. “Why aren’t you pissed? 

“No point,” Bill says, exhaustion leaking into his voice. “Little late for it, considering.”

Wendy frowns, looking towards Dipper - he avoids her gaze, glancing at the cage of yellow roses around the statue.  

He wishes he knew what to say. He wishes he knew less, and then maybe he could have that same cheerfully oblivious joshing as his friend. He wishes he could look at Bill without him wearing that horrible expression with his own face, reflecting like a mirror. 

At Wendy’s confusion, Bill snorts. “See? He gets it.” He nods in Dipper’s direction. “It’s the end of the line, Red. The bucket’s primed and ready for the kicking.” Throwing his head back, he lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “The last nail in the coffin.”

“Wait, you-” Wendy hesitates, glancing around. Dipper can see when it hits her; a realization like being plunged into a cold lake. Between the haunted house, weird spirit light, and Bill’s demeanor,  it’s not hard to put together. 

“Got it in one!” Bill uncurls, rising to his feet. He waves over the courtyard, at the burning walls, and almost manages his typical showman’s smile. “When this place goes? So do I.”

And what is there to say to that. Dipper feels a little like hunching over himself. 

Wendy, apparently, has no such compunctions. “Well, shit, dude.” She drops her axe, leaning on it like a cane. “That sucks.”

God, how tactless can she - but Bill actually laughs. Dipper reels up, glaring at the way Bill smacks his forehead, smudging some of the soot and cackling.

“Yeah! It does!” Bill grins, clapping his hands together once. “Not the way I wanted to go. And I wasn’t planning to go at all!”

“I’m sorry,” Wendy says. The same words everyone uses when a situation’s out of their control. Useless and cliche and… sincere, and appropriate. “Shitty way to head out, man.”

Bill nods, once. His smile vanishes, mouth twisting like he’s chewing something unpleasant. Then he takes a deep breath, face scrunching up - and lets it go. 

“Yeah, well. Sorry about the axe thing, Red.” The smile he gives her is resigned in a way that makes Dipper want to spit. Though for a second, he perks up enough to throw in a wink. “But hey, keep that one! Something to remember me by.”

“What the fuck.” Dipper blurts. He rises up, filled with a terrible, cold certainty. 

Wendy cracks a sad little smile of her own. “Y’know what, I will.” She pats the handle once, then looks alarmed as Bill walks towards her, arms outspread. 

“Okay, uh,” She backs up half a step, then braces herself as Bill closes in. “Yeah, didn’t think we were on the hugging level, but, uh…” She opens her own, very awkwardly, to accept the embrace - then yelps as Dipper’s body collapses into her arms like dead weight. 

Bill floats just behind and above Dipper’s body. Ghost again, and limned in the same strange blue light that Dipper’s spirit is. He grins for a second at Wendy’s startled struggle to not drop Dipper or fall on her ass, then it vanishes.

“And as for you-” Now he turns towards Dipper, with the same resignation. The same exhaustion.

“Don’t you dare.” Dipper darts up and gets right in this asshole’s face, shoving him back. Bill raises an eyebrow, moving only a few inches. “I don’t want to hear any-”

“Sorry about the kidnapping.” Bill says in a rush, fast enough that it blurs almost into one word. He shuts one eye, rubbing at his temple. “But come on, you get why I did it! Pretty reasonable, all things considered, and you made out great! Sure, there was the whole…” He rolls his wrist in a circle, then flaps vaguely at the burning manor. “But I guess I got some stuff to change after all, y’know?”

“Don’t say that.” Dipper snaps. They didn’t need to discuss this, it was just understood. Waving their dirty laundry around like this feels almost obscene.

“Too late!” Bill folds his arms, looking haughty. He tilts his head to the side and sniffs. “And no take-backs.”

Dipper swears. Then he smacks this idiot in the side, and storms off a few feet, only to come back and shove him again. 

“What are you even doing? Atoning? Because it’s pretty last minute.” And kind of half-assed, in Dipper’s case, and the worst part is knowing that Bill intentionally half-assed it because he’s lived with him for months, he knows that full sincerity would just make Dipper say, “What is wrong with you?”

“Last minute’s the one that counts, or so I’m told!” Bill flashes a smile. If he doesn’t stop looking like that Dipper’s going to slap it off his face, spirit or not. 

When he tries, though, Bill catches his arm and pushes it back down, shaking his head. 

“Face it, kid. Here we are.” Bill drifts off, passing by Wendy’s serious expression and ignoring Dipper’s furious grab at his sleeve. “Curtains closing, show’s over. Cue lights.”

He faces the north, watching the flames lick up, consuming the room where he spent so many years of his undeath. Arms tucked behind his back, one hand resting in the other, with a tight grip on the thumb. His shoulders rise, firm and defiant - then slump again, bending under an impossibly heavy weight.

When he speaks, his voice sounds small. “I didn’t want to die.”

After clinging to life for over a century. For him to say that.

It’s wrong. Bill should be laughing. Making jokes. When death approaches he should flip it off or take to his heels, or curse it to the end with a wink and that too-smug smile, not…

Where’s the anger? His stubbornness? Where’s his brilliant new plan? Has he even thought about the options, has he tried? Considered, even for a second, that he’s not the only person who might -

Dipper clenches his fists. Even through the chill of his own bodiless existence, his anger feels almost as hot as the fire.

“You gotta get outta here, kid.” Bill’s attempt at command doesn’t suit him. Drained of most of its bravado and all of its vigor, it’s too brittle to stand up to scrutiny. “I can-”

Dipper interrupts. “Fuck you.” 

“Already done!” Bill flashes a smile - a genuine one - before the same somber attitude returns. “But seriously. I don’t want you to see it.”

The moment when his soul dissolves into the air, vanishing like so much dust. His final failure.

The last scrap of dignity they could give him is not being around to watch. 

“Fuck you,” Dipper repeats. Wendy lifts his body to his feet in offering, but he just folds his arms. “I’m not going.”

“Oh, for - There’s your body. Take it.” Bill runs a hand through his hair, rocking his head back in frustration. “I still got enough juice to- Look, the ‘noble sacrifice’ thing was the last way I wanted to go out. Don’t make it any shittier than it already is!” 

“It couldn’t possibly get shittier!” Throwing his arms in the air, Dipper stomps over to jab this asshole on the chest. Punches it, too, cutting him off before he can keep goddamn moping. “But you’re not alone, Bill. So shut up and let me think for a second.”

 In the stunned silence that follows, Dipper storms away and faces the least on-fire part of the building. He turns away from the concerned look Wendy throws at him, rubbing his temples.

Think. Gotta think. There’s…

Another way. He’ll find another way. Go down the list of facts and reason through it and it’ll all work out. 

Can’t stop the fire, that’s way beyond ghost abilities. Bill can’t stay in Dipper’s body forever, and even then he can’t leave. No way to remove him from the premises, and the house is breaking down, but there’s a chance. There has to be a chance while he’s still here - 

“Wait.” Dipper throws out a hand, startling his companions. “Wait a minute.”

He stares at the licking flames. At the mansion being consumed. Smoke and soot and ash and fire.

And Bill’s still here. 

He wouldn’t be here, if he was evaporating at the same rate as the manor. His memories, his sanity, even his spectral form would degrade along with it, and the building’s in terrible shape right now. By this point it would be obvious.

But Bill’s perfectly fine. Something’s holding him back from being dragged down - or up, in this case - into nothingness.

Wait, it’s - Of course. That’s how his dumbass plan was designed.

Bill was never supposed to merge with the energy of the house. It was a big bank of power kept in reserve, while he himself stayed pleasantly separate, taking sips to top off his life.

The manor, one big spiritual battery, is in the middle of a slow-motion explosion. That’s bad.

The second battery contains Bill’s soul, and it’s pretty goddamn hard to light on fire.

That’s how he's sticking around. That’s where he still is. It was supposed to be made of flesh and blood, but instead it ended up as the perfect material for housing a spirit. Keeping him stable, and separate - and most importantly, anchored. 

“Oh my god.” Dipper turns to his companions, spreading his arms wide and beaming. “This is perfect.”

This isn’t how he wanted to cut Bill’s connection to the manor. But when you’re handed the lemons of a firebombed house, well. Might as well make lemonade.

For his brilliant realization, and excellent calculations, Dipper gets stared at like he’s gone completely mad. 

Bill’s dropped the woe-is-me act in exchange for baffled offense. Wendy looks between him and Dipper, then at Bill as if searching for an explanation. He gives her a slow, irritated shake of the head. 

“No, no, no, listen.” Dipper insists, grabbing Bill by his lapels. This isn’t insane, it’s brilliant. “All of your connections to the house are being broken, but not all at once, and not fast, which means you won’t die.” He shakes him by the lapels, just like he wanted to, and with the extra satisfaction of being able to feel it. “Because I won’t let you.”

Bill pries him off, holding him by the wrists. He wears the look of a man annoyed he has to comfort a mourner at his previously peaceful deathbed. “Look, kid, I-” 

“Shut up, I’m talking.” Dipper wrenches himself out of this idiot’s grip. “I have a plan.”

That just gets him a pinched look, tight with annoyance. He ignores it. There’s more time than he thought, but still not a lot of it. Shit, where did he put his-

Dipper snags his notes from the outstretched palm of the statue, flips to the last few pages, and shoves them in Bill’s idiotic death-accepting hands. “Read it.” 

Bill glares, thoroughly done with the crazy person demanding he do crazier things. He glances down at the paper, back up at Dipper with clear irritation -

Then does a double-take. 

For a second he stares at the open pages. A frown creases his brow. His eyes track back and forth as he reads, rapidly tracing every line.

After a minute, Dipper has to ask - “Well? Do you think it’s-”

“Needs some work,” Bill replies, looking up suddenly. He taps the page, eyebrow raised like a teacher skeptical of sources. “But I gotta say - I like where this is going, kid.” 

And he grins. A real one this time, fierce and wild. There’s a light in his eyes that Dipper thought had gone up in smoke. 

For a moment he even thinks Bill glows brighter in the spirit-light, but that’s probably his imagination.

“I know! Look, there’s-” Dipper bobs in place as Bill goes over his plan. He did so much spiritual math, he threw everything he knew at his. Maybe he doesn’t have all of the details, but - “Because your body, or, uh, stone, keeps you in place in the house, it’s also keeping you-”

“Anchored, yes, it’s almost like I studied this stuff. What’s with the - hey! Shoo!” Bill smacks Dipper’s hands out of the way as he tries to point out a detail. “You’re blocking the view.”

“Since you’re not being absorbed, you’re clotting.” Dipper insists, flipping a page. Bill flips it back out of sheer contrariness, then reverses to frown at the new information. “You never saw it because it’s, well. You.”

“Like trying to stare at the back of your own head.” Bill didn’t take long to absorb that. His teeth show, whether in anger or excitement, Dipper can’t tell. “No, no, I don’t need convincing, kid, the work speaks for itself. What a friggin-” He groans in disgust. “Christ almighty and Mother Mary of piss.”

Understandable. Dipper would feel just as frustrated having missed a detail like that for ages, even if it was literally invisible to him. But he says, “Mother Mary?”

“Eh, catholic school.” Bill explains, wiggling his eyebrows. “I only liked the blaspheming.”

“Okay,” Wendy draws out the word, raising a hand. “Is this some kind of last-ditch nerd flirting, or is anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?” 

“Uh, well.” How the hell is Dipper supposed to explain this when she barely believes Bill isn’t fully dead. Plus the power storage, and the energy flows, and -

Before he can gather his thoughts, Bill speaks. “Resurrection.” 

He says the word with reverence, lingering on the syllables. He holds Dipper’s notes with odd delicacy, like he’s afraid he’ll drop them.

“Wait. Wait, you mean…” Wendy points at Bill, disbelieving. Then at the statue, at and Bill again.

“Exactly!” Bill floats in front of his own stone body, extending a hand to mimic the pose. Dipper’s notes dangle from his fingers. “One ritual here, a little gathering of some truant energy by that guy-” Here he nods towards Dipper. “And we could do something amazing.”

He starts giggling, rubbing his hands together. Growing slowly into a full-blown cackle that rings through the building. 

Reckless. Arrogant. Confident in the middle of chaos, even with so much at stake. An undead madman standing in thin air, clutching the math of life itself in one hand, death approaching on the other, and so freakin’ thrilled about it.

God, all Dipper feels is anxious as hell. It’s a big task and terribly complicated and possibly insane. Maybe he’s a little excited by his idea working, but... How does Bill do that? It’s both annoying and unfairly attractive. 

Fuck it. Maybe he’s not so crazy. If all you have is the moment, might as well enjoy it.

Dipper was right, and his theory is great, because he’s goddamn smart. He pumps a fist, heedless of the weird look both of his companions give him. 

“Gonna borrow that again in a second.” Bill points at Dipper’s body, lying on the soft grass in repose. “Got some lifting to do, then have to…” 

He starts rambling to himself, briefly pausing to grab at the air. The pen in the statue’s hand darts into his, and he immediately jots down further notes in Dipper’s book. Pacing back and forth like he always does when something excites him. Like he has too much pent-up energy and has to move as well as run his mouth. 

And god, it’s good to see. He’s really not gone yet. In pretty great shape, actually; he might still be fully intact. 

They can do this. 

“Change it up here, edit the- oh, hey, Red!” Bill flicks his fingers, and the axe whirls up to smack, handle first, in Wendy’s palm. “You’re on gardening duty.” 

“I’m on what.” Wendy says, flat. Bill makes a slicing motion over his neck, then jerks his thumb at the bed of yellow roses. Her eyebrows rise, but she shrugs. “Yeah, screw it. Today’s been weird enough, what’s another thing?”

“And you!” Bill reels on Dipper, then pauses for the length of several heartbeats. The smile fades again. 

Dipper glares. This is hardly the time to get cold feet. 

The job is straightforward. Errant life force has pooled over the decades in the rooms of the manor. Twelve of them, to be exact. There’s a map and everything.

All they need to do is grab those chunks, bring them back here, and stuff him - all of him - in his statue while he’s getting disconnected from the house. But Bill can’t pull himself together, literally, and Dipper’s the only other medium in a thousand miles. 

A simple task, as Bill put it earlier. But difficult.

He’s a hell of a lot heavier than a damn bolo tie.

“It’s a lot of power to carry around, kid. Look, I-” A pause. Bill furrows his brow, not meeting Dipper’s eyes “C’mon, you’re an amateur. If you fall apart, we’re both screwed! That’s no way to-”

Dipper kicks his shin, cutting Bill off as he curses. God, always an asshole.

For so long, there’s only been one person Bill Cipher could truly rely on, in life or in death. Being genuinely incapable of handling it himself must be difficult. 

Screw him and his issues, though. Dipper’s doing this.

Because it’s a cool plan. Because he’ll be proven right, and then they’ll see who’s really the best medium in a century or more. Because Bill’s odd, awkward hesitation at sending Dipper into danger, in these circumstances, said so much more than he intended.

And because Bill lived a screwed up life in a messed up time, and yes, he fucked most of it up, but he deserves another chance. 

“Come on, Bill.” He smiles at this arrogant, messed-up, idiot he’s - they haven’t had a date yet, technically, they’ll fix that later - “Do you want my help or not?”

Bill’s shoulders drop. He takes Dipper’s hand in his own, lowering his gaze to the interplay of their fingers. Though neither of them are embodied, the touch has a strange and tingling warmth. 

After several moments, an internal struggle - Bill looks up again. “Please.” 

Sincerity is strange to hear. A tone so terribly, hopefully honest and awful and - 

Dipper kisses him. Just briefly, close-mouthed, clutching Bill’s hand in his and willing him to remember this, even if he loses anything else.

Bill makes a surprised noise, though he leans in to the touch. Then he goes in for one of his own, looking excited, only to pout when he gets brushed off.

“Later.” Dipper says. They should have gotten started already. He flips back to his makeshift map, trying to engrave each highlighted room in his memory. 

They’ve got to hurry. The statue keeps Bill’s soul lagging behind the untethered energy of the manor, but not enough to save him. It’s an anchor dragging against the last shelf of seafloor while the rest of the ship sinks into the abyss.

If they don’t sever the last ropes connecting them, fast, he’s damn well going with it. 

First one: the courtyard piece. It’ll be a good test for if this’ll work at all. Dipper tries to picture the vision; the little kid with the scratched up knee and silly hat. He crouches by the ground where he remembers it appearing, trying to focus it - 

Aha. 

The kid looks up - not at him, into nothingness - sniffling as he clutches his skinned knee. Dipper reaches out a hand, placing on the ridiculous cap - 

And the energy is there, and grabbing onto it is almost exactly like draining Gideon’s stupid tie. More resistance, maybe, but other than that…

“Hey! What’s the holdup?” Bill snaps his fingers impatiently as Dipper rises, clutching at the arm tingling with pins-and-needles. He hasn’t seen anything, just a weird series of motions - “You got a baker’s dozen of me to bring back, and it ain’t easy lifting.”

Dipper reels around and slaps him on the chest. Holds his palm there, breathing out slowly, and lets the energy go.

Bill stares out into nothingness. Silent. Oddly still, too, frozen like the stone version of himself in the garden.

Then he swears, smacking himself on the forehead. “Okay, that’s a rush.” He blinks a few times, looking at Dipper with disbelief. “You know, this also explains a lot.”

Dipper nods, rubbing at his arm. Yeah, this'll work. Funny that it still stings while incorporeal, though.

“One down, a bunch more to go,” Bill gives him a shove, and no, it’s not Dipper’s imagination, he is glowing brighter - “So what are you waiting for? Move it!”

“Wow, pushy.” Dipper says, as he flies over to the eastern wing of the Manor. He flips Bill off. “No ‘oh, you’re so brave, Dipper’, or ‘I couldn’t bear it if you exploded, Dipper, please be careful’.”

“You know how to be careful! Just don’t be dumb about it!” Bill stomps his foot, tapping his wrist where a watch would be. “Now make it snappy! I wanna live!”

And really, who doesn’t?

Dipper zips through the wall, past the smoke, and tries to bring up his mental map. Gotta make this quick. 

Bill probably had a point when he talked about carting around his power; who knows how much a whole person is going to take. Especially when Dipper won’t have the protection of his own body. But since he can hardly go running through the manor in the flesh right now, it’s kinda the only option.

Floating through the fire is no more fun than it was the first time. Or less urgent.

Bill’s life force is stranded in the manor, and connected to it. AS the building goes, so does he - 

And there’s not much left.

Which is exactly why Dipper’s starting here. The various chunks of Bill’s soul are most likely to vanish in the areas of the manor that have vanished. To get the most of him, he’ll start where it’s worst. 

He finds Bill - or the vision of him - hunched in the study, going over his papers, with the scattered mugs, and winces. 

Before, this Bill looked perfectly alive. A little movie, playing out for him in full-color, stereo sound and perfect motion. 

Now it’s translucent. Not entirely, like frosted glass, but super not a great sign for how long it’s going to be here. 

Dipper slaps the vision-Bill on the back. Or through the back, rather, landing on the charred remains of the desk under its overlay. Shutting his eyes, and concentrating. Just like the courtyard. Just like the tie. Just find the core and -

Uh oh. 

He makes a grab, only to feel it slide away. And further away. Dipper can touch the power, he feels it under his hand and in his arm, but it’s… slipping. A taut wire coated in grease, pulled along by an invisible force. Shit, he needs to get this now. 

Shutting his eyes, Dipper tries to sort of. Slide his own energy around, scooping up the power as it drizzles away. Letting it build up against the inside of his arms, and grabbing.

Something goes snap. Dipper stumbles back as the vision vanishes entirely. His arms burn like he’s hugged a pot straight out of the oven. But he’s got it.

And… the taste of burnt coffee, lingering on his tongue. An ache in his neck from too many hours hunched over, and his eyes feel tired, unfocused, but he’s got to complete this tonight, he’s nearly there-

Wait. Wait, that’s wrong.

Dipper can’t taste anything while outside of his body. His only pain is from picking up this damned chunk of Bill, which means...

“Fuck.” That’s on Dipper. He should have anticipated as much. 

All this energy - Bill’s energy - is made his life. These are memories. 

And while Dipper’s out of his body, there’s zero barrier between them.

Picking up this vision dropped the full sensory suite of what Bill was going through into his head. Now that Dipper’s noticed, holding onto it’s a strange sensation; like carrying a cup that’s too full and trying not to spill it. Or holding something in his mouth without swallowing, except it’s not his mouth, it’s his everything. 

So that’s fun. Trying not to drop it out of pain, and getting weirdly intimate details. 

But it’s not… the worst. It doesn’t have the furious, angry burning of Gideon’s amulet-tie-thing. Dipper’s felt this same power a bajillion times, and honestly? That helps. Like it’s used to him, or he’s used to it, or… some weird ghost-compatibility? Something to ask Bill later. 

Still sucks. But that means it’s working. 

Dipper takes a second, checking the room - clear - and grunts. 

Okay. Another down. Not many to go. He can still taste the really shitty coffee, which probably explains why Bill’s become a stickler for the opposite - but it’s not actually happening. He’ll compartmentalize. 

Pain is temporary. Time is short. Gotta keep moving. 

His next stop in one of the lounges shows a nearly-perfect vision; Bill playing the piano, humming to himself. Dipper snaps it up in an instant, feeling the burn race up his arms and into his shoulders. 

The tune plays in his hearing, drowning out the sound of crackling flames. His fingers twitch in time, a pointless motion. He doesn’t know how to play piano. That’s Bill’s thing.

One by one, he makes his way through the list. Little nonsense memories, flecks of Bill, a strange, vertiginous sensation of dancing from the ballroom. Another checkmark, another room. Keep moving. 

The heat doesn’t affect him, but if he could sweat, he would be, rivulets pouring down his back and tension making his arms shake. Bill wasn’t kidding, he packs a *lot* of punch, carrying him is an effort. Heartburn and muscle aches, without muscles to stretch or a throat to clear. So much worse than the amulet. Compounding with every memory, every piece he needs to get-.

Floating strains him like he’s weighed down, so Dipper trudges awkwardly across the floor. Feet dipping through the wood, skimming over the missing floorboards without care of physical objects.

How many has he-? Most of them, right, the mental map is hard to bring back up. Hard to see anything through the smoke, but somehow his feet carry him down the missing stairs as if they were still there, and towards -

“Oh no.” Dipper groans. Not this one. Maybe he can skip this one. 

He dithers for a minute in front of the bathroom door. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if this situation went up in smoke. 

...Fuck. No, he has to. If he doesn’t get all of Bill, his plan might not work, and everything will have been for nothing. The weight of the other memories might not balance it out, the scales tipped to the wrong side. And it’s probably a formative moment for that bastard. 

Dipper sterns himself, and charges in.

Moments later he stumbles out, coughing and wiping his tongue on his palms. Whiskey and cigarettes. Sweat and a coil in his gut. Anxiety and excitement and fear- He retches, even though there’s nothing to heave up.

His head throbs. He aches. He wants his body back, that comforting layer between himself and other, he wants to throw all this stupid crap into the ether and be done. 

But he’s almost done. One more. Dipper marches, eyes shut. Letting instinct and the tickle of memory guide him. 

He knows he’s arrived well before he enters the room. The thud of the brass-tipped cane is audible beyond the walls of the room itself. Leaking out from the edges, a blotchy clot that never fully congealed.

Compared to the burning building around him, the clear and solid vision of Bill and his father, standing alone in a room with the lock ticking loudly, is like vanishing into a dream. No part of this has faded, even as the building crumbles around them; it’s solid as anything.

Dipper watches for a long moment. Standing there before a young Bill Cipher, head lowered in shame anger dancing in his eyes, trapped in ways unlike his current circumstances but no less dire -

He wonders how long this part of Bill has lingered here. Playing over and over, a memory set on repeat. An unconscious, fragmented part of his soul relives this every single day, never skipping a beat, never changing. Never ending. 

That stops tonight.

As Bill’s father spits out invective, Dipper carefully places his hands on either side of Bill’s face, stepping in between him and the memory of a man long dead. “It’s okay.”

He isn’t expecting a response, and there isn’t one. Nobody can change the past. All you can do is move on.

But when he pulls the energy into himself, it glides in with zero resistance; instead of the tense rope drawn taut with pressure, it’s the effort of letting a muscle finally relax. 

The vision fades around them, leaving only blackened walls and empty portrait frames, canvas smouldered into ash, and a room blurred into smoke. Dipper takes a deep breath, smelling nothing and hearing the raging flames.

Then the pain hits. 

A sharp crack against his head; his vision swims. He clutches his temple, cursing, then clenches his jaw. There’s no blood to bleed, only the memory of it, and still his palm and hair feel wet. Tears sting in his eyes without falling. When he blinks to clear them, the left one cuts off halfway, blurring into darkness. 

“Fuck,” Dipper clutches his face, pawing at the blank spot in his vision. Turning whirls his sight disorientingly; the remnants of an injury not-yet or never healed and the trickle of blood. Every piece has been a burden, but this one drops like lead on his shoulders. Crushing the a blurred line between him and Bill and what is now and then - 

He chokes back a whine. He’s bodiless and yet his skin burning. Tension keeps him grounded, the strain of concentration. 

Focus. He’s got a goal and he has to keep himself together instead of bursting into a cloud and rising away. A break and a relief, where nothing hurts anymore-

Dipper grits his teeth. He takes a step.

Too much. He’s holding too much Bill, he’s too close to the house himself and that’s vanishing and letting go. The easiest thing in the world and he can’t let go, not when he’s got a life in his hands - and goddamn it he wants to live to see his stupid bastard smirk about it.

Another step. One after the other, checking them off the list. The statue. Get to the statue, get Bill, get this over with. 

The courtyard is only meters away. It feels like miles. 

Dipper stumbles - 

Then sighs, and lets himself drop. 

Through the floor. Through the wall in front of him. He pushes forward, heedless of doors or walls or the collapsed beams passing by him at waist height. Pushing through the red light that fills his remaining vision and working on instinct. He can almost feel the manor around him, or the ghost of it, flickering in his peripheral vision with spectral walls and hallways, a translucent, ghostly mask over a burning ruin.

Shoving through the last wall, he staggers into bright green and gold. 

For a terrifying moment, he thinks he’s stumbled into another vision - but the wisps of smoke are there, and the gold isn’t real gold. 

Yellow petals lay scattered across the courtyard like a carpet. The mass of overgrown rose bushes lies strewn in in a pile hacked down and rudely shoved to one side, clearing most of a circle around the center. Where Bill’s statue stands proudly, centerpiece of a decaying treasure trove.

And there’s Wendy, leaning on her axe in exhaustion, bleeding freely from a dozen thorn cuts on her unsleeved arm. And Dipper’s body, crouching and glaring at a sigil, fussing over a final line. 

“Dipper? Hey, are you-” Wendy must have heard him make a sound, she turns - and then shades her eyes. “Holy shit, dude.”

“Oh good, you’re here.” BIll straightens from his crouch - wearing Dipper’s body, probably to do his ritual setup in reverse all the easier. He frowns at Wendy, then glances over and grimaces, squinting. “...Well that’s new.”

Another step. He’s so close now. The carpet of yellow petals ices over as Dipper forces his legs to move. Wendy backs up rapidly, while Bill’s eyes go wide.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on a sec,” Bill backs up a step, holding up his hands. “Lemme just-”

No time. Can’t slow down, can’t stop or he might never get going again. Dipper keeps walking forward as Bill starts making the gestures, fumbling over the motion to leave the body, and dives in with him.

His limbs jerk, they twist; the flailing of a suit with two people struggling to control it; Dipper gets another step forward with one hand smacking himself in the face, still under Bill’s control. 

Almost there. The burning pain is so much less while wearing his body, only hindered by a huge wash of confusion and alarm and fascination and - 

Bill, there with him, staring at him from within his own head, trying to take in what’s happening and deal with the alarming amount of pain and keep them walking and running spiritual math all at the same time. A mind racing fast as Dipper’s own, building a mental diagram of their current situation, feeling a growing excitement as the statue comes within a meter, then another. He’s a constellation of rapid thoughts and plans and emotions, all of him, too much to take in, with a tightly wound ball of anxiety spinning deep down underneath. Is Dipper okay? Is he going to be okay? Is he not okay because if so there’s a lot more than burning that’s gonna happen, man he’s really gonna let someone have it -

Dipper bursts out laughing. God, this fucking dork. 

The last two steps feel lighter, Bill no longer struggling for control of the body while shoving him back from the ball of worry while being indignant and embarrassed and petulant and still doing spiritual math, almost vibrating with anticipation. Dipper presses his palms against the stone chest, takes a breath- 

And kicks this asshole out of his body. Back where he should have been, all this time. 

The shock of being alone in his own head, the relief from pain - Dipper gasps for air, taking huge, heaving breaths. He braces himself against the warm form in front of him, looking up. 

At rock. 

A frozen, solid face.

No, wait, that should have - all around them the sigils glow with that same bright blue light, flaring to life, but the body under his hands isn’t.

Dipper’s alone, now. His body’s his own, aching on its own - and there’s a spreading cold in his chest. A lump in his throat. 

Was that all of Bill? Yes. 

Is it working? No. 

Fuck. Fuck everything, he can’t- He won’t let Bill be trapped in fucking rock for a century. It should work. Bill said it would work, he agreed to this, it should have gone off without a hitch. 

Dipper swears, pressing himself harder against the statue, almost hugging it now. Something went wrong. A mistake. Think. He’s got to think, what could have been off. What was off about the first spell? Could that have affected…

Balance.  

It’s all about balance. 

Bill’s there, all of him is there except for some tiny bits that faded with the fire. It wasn’t much. But even a few grains of sand can send the scales tipping the wrong direction. It’s not enough. The manor outweighs him and it’s still going down.

Dipper licks his lips. Shutting his eyes, he presses them against the hard mouth of the statue’s smile, and pours in more power.

If it’s just a few grains off, well. He’s got an hourglass. He can drag it up from himself, donate a pint of blood, despite chilly feeling in his gut and in his fingers. Sending a trickle of energy past those lips like the exchanges they made in intimate moments, giving it that one tiny bit more. Bill was so excited as they got closer and closer, he could feel the tremulous, fluttering hope. It has to work. 

His legs are shaking, and he can’t hear what Wendy’s saying behind him. All he knows is that the stone under his palms is too cold, and it needs to work damn it. He’ll make it work. Even if the light seems dimmer, it’s not much more. It has…

Has to-

Sound.

Rhythmic, repeating sound. No, two of them, going back and forth. 

Speech. Voices. A man and a woman, talking in urgent tones. The woman quieter, more calm, the man more frantic, tense and babbling.

Dipper forces his eyes open. Blinking is hard. He has to think about lifting his eyelids and closing them. 

And he can see them, too. Red and gold, on either side of him. A warmth on his shoulder, another on his arm clutching it like a lifeline. 

Also? He feels like shit.

Dipper arches his neck. Trying to look at his friend, Wendy, and- yes, that’s Bill, too. In perfect color, unlike before when he was all in grey-

Oh no. 

A pang sings in his chest. Dipper swallows hard. God. No, it’s not - it didn’t- Bill’s out of the statue, escaping the worst possible fate, but…

“Didn’ work.” Dipper mumbles miserably. Great. Pointless. All that for nothing. 

The pain of the thought is almost as exhausting as the pain in his body, a low and aching thrum. He should just lie down, close his eyes. It’s easier. Let it all wash over him, in deep and restful - 

“Dipper!” Two voices chime simultaneously. Wendy and Bill lean over him in unison, and their heads clunk together with a sound like two coconuts. Wendy swears, sitting back; Bill just hisses through his teeth, rubbing his head.

Physical contact. Huh. 

Weird. Physical contact means physically present. A clunk like solid objects, not the jello-like - wait.

Dipper gasps, eyes suddenly wide. “Oh shit, it worked.” 

He tries to sit up, but his muscles aren’t cooperating. He coughs, once, and wow, that feels awful too. How much smoke did Bill run through in his body? A million billion miles? God, he’s gonna murder that asshole.

Bill, no longer in his head to hear such thoughts, just grins. He slides an arm around his back, tilting him up. 

“Yeah, kid.” His smile is brilliant, eyes alight and alive. “It worked.”

“You’re alive.” Dipper can’t stop staring. Then he pats his own chest, looking down at himself.. “And I’m not dead?”

“Not for lack of trying, moron,” Bill says derisively, though his grin is still huge. He nudges Dipper’s cheek until he faces him, then cups it carefully. “Lucky for you, I’m around! C’mere.”

He kisses him, then. And his lips are soft, and they’re warm, and - 

Dipper makes a soft noise as power passes between them, staring at the point of contact and spreading through the rest of his body. Cool and refreshing, like a drink of water after years in the desert. A snack when he was starving, a burst of energy that puts the world back in focus. God, it’s better than coffee. 

He lets it last a moment, or two or three. Until he can move his arm up to touch Bill’s face, then push him away. Looking him up and down, still amazed. 

That’s… a body. A real, human body, that’s not his, and Bill...

Bill kneels on the grass beside him, annoyingly handsome, as always. Holding Dipper’s wrist, fingers trailing to trace his palm, and wearing a huge, smug smile more thrilled than Dipper’s ever seen. As fresh as the day he was frozen in stone. 

Compared to Wendy and Dipper - stained with smoke, exhausted, covered in sweat from the sweltering courtyard air -  he’s downright immaculate. 

While he stares, Bill evaluates him right back, looking him up and down skeptically. He clicks his tongue, then shakes his head. “Yeesh, look at you. I’ve seen dead guys with more pep to ‘em.”

“I’m fine,” Dipper lies. Sitting up alone takes all the strength he has, and aches. Sure, he feels like heated-up death, what with having a brush with the damn thing. But it could be worse. 

His next attempt to rise fails before it even starts, muscles refusing to budge. So… maybe he’s not doing so great. Bill didn’t give him an infusion for no freakin’ reason.

“Sure you are,” Bill agrees wryly. “Never seen a guy in better shape!” He nods at Wendy, and together they haul Dipper to his feet. 

As they get him upright, Dipper tries to stand. Only their combined effort keeps him from falling on his face. His arms tremble where they lie flopped over their shoulders, and his knees knock together like a newborn fawn. 

“Okay, mostly fine.” He admits.

Bill snorts. He squeezes Dipper around the waist, a warm and comforting weight. Though it would be nicer if it wasn’t already too warm around here.

Sure, the courtyard was safer than the building itself. In that it’s not directly on fire. They stay here much longer, though, and the heat will cause some major problems. They’re basically standing in the middle of an ez-bake oven.

“Y’know, it’s a little stuffy in here,” Bill says idly. Tugging at his tie a bit, as if they aren’t standing in the center of a burning building. The air is stiflingly hot, just short of painful. “Can’t say I enjoy the atmosphere.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Wendy grimaces, jostling Dipper to hold him more upright. He leans on her, trying to carry his own weight. “Any bright ideas?”

“I got a great one!” Bill says, beaming. He shoves Dipper fully into Wendy’s grip, then takes two steps back, spreading his arms wide.  “Let’s blow this joint!”

Wendy stares. She turns, deliberately staring at the burned-down door to the north, then the smoke pouring in from the south. Dipper just sighs, and waits.

Affectations. Dramatics. Bill lives for a show; these pithy little comments prove he has one in mind. 

They’re going to be okay. But probably in the most ostentatious manner possible.

“Pick him up,” Bill orders, gesturing at Dipper. He laces his fingers together, pushing out to crack his knuckles. “I’m gonna need both hands for this one.”

“What- Ugh.” Wendy makes a disgusted sound as Bill strides away, towards the south side of the manor. “Friggin’ jerk.”

Beyond that grumbling though, she doesn’t protest. Dipper does, considerably, as she dips him down only to haul him back up in a fireman’s carry. Fuck it, at least it isn’t a princess hold; if Bill wasn’t busy he’d absolutely pull that crap.

“Okay, got him.” Once she has him settled, Wendy stumbles after their negligent host. “Now what, smart guy?” Thick with sarcasm, clearly skeptical.

In front of the clouds of smoke and roiling flames, Bill stands with his back straight and proud. He laughs at the very question.  Light at first, then slowly growing to a deep cackle straight from the evil mastermind playbook.

“Red, I’m the best goddamn medium who ever lived.” He flashes a wolfish grin over his shoulder, then faces the manor with arms spread wide. “Let me show you!”

With that said, he taps his foot in rhythm like a vaudeville player starting a routine. Fingers snapping to a soundless intro beat: a-one, and a-two, and a-one-two-three-

On four, the south wall of the courtyard implodes. 

Shattering wood crunches inward, leaving shards levitating in midair. Flames arch away as if shoved, dull red embers turning white-hot blue. Drywall evaporates. Icy wind lashes through the garden, sending rose petals scattering and the smoke fleeing. The relief of its chill is only matched by the biting pain of the cold. 

And Bill steps forward into that growing, glowing gap in the manor as if it was a casual stroll on a pleasant afternoon. 

Wendy gawps for a few seconds - then shakes herself, adjusts Dipper’s weight on her shoulders, and charges after him.

In the middle of the burning manor, the air near Bill stays pleasantly cool. Wood and masonry fold into a ravine before them. The roof peels apart at the seams and falls to the sides. As if a massive finger plunged down from the sky, dragging itself through the building like it was no more than a line of dirt.

Dipper stares. Not much else he can do while being carried. The flames licking around their path turn blue as Bill guides them at a leisurely pace, still motioning like a conductor. 

Okay. So. He wasn’t bragging when he said he was good.

Damn it. Dipper was really hoping to take him down a peg, only to find the jerk’s several notches higher than anticipated. He’ll still try, of course. Bill needs someone to cut him down every once in a while, or he’ll get carried away and in way over his head. Again. 

Good thing Dipper’s around. 

The thought is warming against the chilly air. Dipper lets his head drop as Wendy carries him onward, and as Bill carves their path to the front door of Cipher Manor, leaving a straight line of destruction in his wake.

He pauses in front of the double doors, just briefly. A moment where he stares at them, lip curling up in a sneer - then he extends an arm, and flicks his index finger.

The doors explode outward. Ripped off their hinges, they topple end over end into a lawn filled with flashing lights. 

Two firetrucks are parked in the circular driveway. Tire tracks crease the immaculate lawn, streaked from a hasty approach. A dozen firefighters pause in the middle of unravelling hoses stare at the gathered people in the manor doorway. 

They won’t be it, though. Dipper cranes his neck, looking for - 

And there that fucker is. 

Gideon Gleeful stands to one side, with a fully-manned crew and a camera pointed at his gross pompadoured face. He stands frozen, now, face pale. Clutching his tie for dear life, his wide eyes showing all the whites around them. 

Bill grins at them all. He even takes a bow, as a circle of building fragments gather above and around him. Slowly he straightens up, raising his arms in gleeful triumph, lit from behind with unnatural blue fire with a deep, low cackle.

Which is likely a very dramatic look, but, like. Come on. 

Dipper groans. Just step off the stupid threshold already. It’s really holding up the whole escape thing, and it’s not like anything’s stopping him anymore. What a stupid - 

Wendy lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. She shifts Dipper’s weight on her shoulders, braces her stance, and kicks Bill right on the ass. 

Bill stumbles forward with a yelp, now well and fully out of the damn building. He trips down the last step, barely catching his balance on the driveway and glaring. Wendy stomps past him towards the firefighters, muttering under her breath. 

Finally. Someone needed to get his jerk moving. It’s also totally thrown off Bill’s groove, so. Good for her. 

Within moments they’re swarmed; Dipper half-sliding, half-pulled from Wendy’s shoulders as the firefighters gather around them. Wendy starts talking to one, furious and gesturing at Gideon, while Dipper nearly falls on his own ass when the man helping him misjudges his ability to stand. 

He ends up sitting on dew-damp grass, surrounded by concerned people and getting an oxygen mask pushed at his face. The first few breaths are wow, bracing, and some guy’s asking him questions, but Dipper’s attention is thoroughly elsewhere.

Back at the doorway, he sees Bill take a single step forward. His gaze turned upward, staring at the smoke-filled night sky like he’s never seen it before, then down at his hands. Turning them over, then looking out across the lawn, eyes wide..

“What the hell is this?” 

Gideon’s shrill voice pierces the commotion. Through the crowd, Dipper can see his pompadour’s ruffled and so is his composure. The cameraman shifts uneasily, keeping track of the scene even as the crew start looking nervous. 

Ah, Gideon. Just as arrogant as the other asshole Dipper knows, but nowhere near as smart. His first mistake tonight was thinking he’d get away with literal murder. 

The second was drawing attention to himself.

Instantly Bill swivels towards the sound. He spots Gideon and his brows rise, eyes coming into focus like a hawk sighting a rat. 

“I mean, ahem,” Gideon delicately coughs into his fist, trying for ‘innocent’ and mostly succeeding. “Well, if it ain’t Dipper Pines! Miraculously escaping this terrible lil’ tragedy.” The grin he forces is mostly teeth. “Aren’t we all so glad that worked out!”

The crowd of firefighters has parted enough that Dipper has a clear line of sight now. And while he may not be in great shape right now, he does have enough left to flip this asshole off. 

“Well. Well, since he’s. Fine,” Gideon splutters, forcing a level tone over his anger and as he tries to piece together a brand new non-funereal speech from whole-cloth lies. “I suppose we should all be real glad! If it weren’t for -”

“Gideon… Gleeful, was it?” Bill pitches his voice to carry, and it smothers the attempted speech like blowing out a birthday candle. “Boy, have I heard a lot about you!”

For the first time, Gideon turns. Maybe he was too focused on the doors exploding out, or the sight of his victim being carried to safety. Maybe he’s just an idiot. But as he snaps, “Who-?” The sentence never finishes.

The second he spots Bill Cipher, outside the house and in the flesh, he shuts up. His throat bobs, he clutches his tie - and a moment later, goes deathly pale.

“See, I know lots of things, Gleeful. Lots of things.” Bill strolls across the lawn with casual confidence. The easy manner and the big, bright smile enhance his air of lazy malice. “Like how you’re a total faker! A fraud! Calling yourself a medium when you’re barely a short! Oh,” He smacks his forehead lightly, a self-mocking shake of the head. “And how could I forget. The most important detail.”

The last few steps of Bill’s approach carry him step by step into the air. Levitating himself a few inches off the ground, in an act of pure drama that Dipper would roll his eyes at, if Gideon didn’t look so delightfully terrified.

“Wait. Wait, wait wait, I can explain! I-” Gideon cuts off with a ‘glurk’ as Bill hauls him up by the collar, lifting him bodily even as he kicks.

Bill’s teeth show as brings them face to face. Enunciating, dark and furious -“You burned down my house.” 

And that, unfortunately, was enough. Gideon’s fortitude can stand up to indirect murder, but not staring a ‘dead’ man straight in the eye. 

With a final, snorting whimper, his eyes roll back in his head as he faints.

Bill glares, shaking him as if trying to wring more amusement out of a toy - then makes a disgusted sound as he lets Gideon drop. For a second he sneers at the limp form, fists on his hips. Then, apparently annoyed that the bastard isn’t awake to be tormented, starts kicking him. 

Dipper nods to himself in satisfaction. It’s not everything that bastard deserves, but at least it’s a start. 

Gideon’s not going to get away with this. He won’t let him. Even if they can’t get much evidence from the building, his henchmen were involved. One of them will squeal, if only to save their own skin. 

Judging by the horrified way they backed off from Bill, and the cowering as he turns his glare in their direction - yeah. Probably sooner than later. 

Off in the distance, he can hear police sirens; a latecomer to the impromptu party. Wendy’s been settled down with some water and a blanket over her shoulders, two burly firemen hovering at her shoulders and looking pleased with the situation. The one lingering by Dipper rose his eyebrows at the commotion with Gideon, but whistles a little tune and deliberately looks away.

The rest of the fire crew finishes unravelling the hoses. Water cascades over the manor, steam hissing as they work to put out the blaze. 

A little too little, a little too late. Most of the place is lit up from within, having grown even as Bill carved his way out of his unintentional tomb. Who knows what, if anything, they’ll manage to save. 

Fuck it, though. Dipper saved the important part. 

Pride fills his chest, though he coughs and sticks the mask back on. Even now his muscles ache, and here’s a headache building that he hopes some sleep will fix. Guess resurrection took its toll from someone. 

God, he’s tired. Water sounds good. Sleep sounds better. But what he could really use right now is -

“Is he alright?”

Dipper looks up, starting to smile.

Bill, hovering nearby, tilts his head to look around the fireman standing between him and Dipper. He tries a sidestep and gets blocked. Then jukes to the other side, frowning as he fails to navigate around this inconvenient obstacle.

The fireman holds up his hands calmly. Still blocking him from Dipper, but that’s not surprising, considering this cackling, floating madman just kicked the shit out of someone else seconds ago. “Sir, I don’t know-”

“I have a right to know! That’s my manor that burned down! He’s my-” A beat of hesitation, then Bill lifts his chin importantly. “My guest. What kinda host would I be if I let him kick the bucket now? Move it! Who’s paying you anyway? I can-”

Yep, still arrogant. Still an asshole. Dipper sighs, dropping the oxygen mask and waving to get their attention. Better interrupt before Bill pisses the poor guy off. 

“It’s fine.” Dipper coughs. Shaking his head as the fireman glances back in concern. He cracks a smile, looks Bill right in the eye, and says, “He’s my boyfriend.”

Bill tenses. His gaze flicks from Dipper to the fireman, the people around them -

“Ah. Got it.” The fireman nods knowingly, as if all has become clear. He pats Bill on the shoulder with a heavy thump. “Calm down, sir, I know it’s a tense situation. Ambulance should be here soon to get you all checked out. You come and have a seat with him while you wait.”

“Whuh.” Bill says, blinking fast. As he gets pushed in Dipper’s direction he moves on automatic, legs stiff like a wind-up toy. 

Dipper pats the ground next to him, and Bill sits down with a thump. He stares down at the grass, then at the retreating firefighter, then at Dipper, looking more dazed than if he’d been whacked upside the head. 

They sit quietly on the grass, and nobody interrupts them. Nobody makes a comment. Slowly Bill’s tension fades, the tight corners of his mouth soften. A softer look, full of surprise and confusion and that rapid-pace thought Dipper touched so briefly. Trying to make connections and coming up with loose ends. 

So much for Mr. Know-It-All. He’s a century out of date, and there’s gonna be a lot to learn. 

He takes Bill’s hand and gives it a squeeze. After a second Bill returns the gesture, holding tight. He sits upright and proud, looking haughtily around as if daring anyone to try something funny. 

Dipper snorts. God, this moron. 

Bill glances over at the sound. His thumb rubs against the back of Dipper’s hand, looking him over for a long, contemplative moment. And his smile is odd and fond as he says, “You look like a slice of burnt toast, kid. And not even a buttered one!”

Now Dipper rolls his eyes. At least one of them is feeling perky. 

“I feel like one.” He mumbles, leaning against his boyfriend for moral and physical support. Another thing that jerk wasn’t kidding about - he packed a lot of punch. 

“Eh, you’ll live.” Bill flicks the fingers of his free hand dismissively. “Can’t blame you for being tuckered out, honestly. You overloaded and drained yourself in the same night! Probably weeks ‘til you’re shipshape again! Way to go, moron.”

“Jackass.” Dipper punches his arm with the force of a lightly-tossed pillow. As Bill starts cackling, he rests his head on his shoulder.

Good info, though. Sure, Dipper feels horrible and aching, but he should recover just fine. And that evaluation almost certainly came from experience..

“So. How did you get wrecked?” He lifts his head from Bill’s shoulder to give his boyfriend a skeptical look. 

“Me? Never!” Bill lies, grinning wide. “But I might know a trick or two, if you’re asking for a hand! Noblesse oblige and all.” His smile rises another impossible fraction. “Especially for my boyfriend.”

Oh god. Dipper can almost hear the sparkles around the word. Once Bill starts texting he’s going to be insufferable. 

“A comfy place to convalesce’ll do ya wonders, for a start,” Bill muses, glancing back out of the corner of his eye. “Though I think we’ll need to find new digs.”

Yeah, that… Dipper cringes. That’s pretty much it for the Manor. And for his temporary career.

Though it ran through its share of employees over the years, and this totally isn’t his fault - Dipper’s pretty sure ‘entire house burned down’ makes him the worst caretaker, ever.

“I’m sorry,” Dipper says. Because it’s the sort of thing you say, when tragedies happen. 

“Fuck the manor.” Bill says it with his whole chest, no hesitation. His smile is sharp, though it softens as he brushes some of Dipper’s hair behind his ear. “I won’t miss it.”

“I’ll miss the library,” Dipper says wistfully. Bill sucks in a breath through his teeth, shutting his eyes. Yeah, that one must sting. Most of that collection was his, not just an inheritance. There was a lot to lose. 

He spares another glance towards the mansion. Red firelight, and water cascading over the shell of the building. They’re cutting it off before it spreads further, not that there’s much left. Gideon was pretty thorough about getting each side of the building, letting it burn out towards the corners - 

“Wait.” Dipper jerks upright despite the strain in his back, shaking Bill by the shoulder. “Bill, the library.” 

“What,” Bill says flatly. Then, “Gmph,” as Dipper forcibly turns his chin to look. 

The corner containing the library isn’t fully intact, but it’s a hell of a lot better than some other parts. And books are very, very flammable. The fire must have reached it only a handful of minutes ago, there might still be -

“Holy mother of-” Bill starts to rise - then hesitates, glancing at Dipper. 

“What? Yes! Go! What are you, stupid?” Dipper shoves him forward. “What’s the point of powers if not this?”

Bill needs no second bidding. Immediately he sprints across the lawn towards the outer library. He weaves between firefighters, vaults a hose, and takes a brief detour to knock an unconscious Gideon out of his crew’s hands and back down into the mud before barrelling onward. 

There he goes. Bill Cipher, medium ‘extraordinaire’. Smart and weird and reckless and handsome and alive. His boyfriend, too, which is. Wow.

But perhaps most importantly…

 That is the Mystery of Cipher Manor. Totally Solved.

Dipper leans on one arm, watching him go. He’s tired, weak, and aches absolutely everywhere, but above all he is triumphant. 

When nobody else knew what was happening. Where noone could figure it out, when even Bill Cipher, the so-called ‘best medium ever’ couldn’t manage to worm his way out of his self-made mess - Dipper’s the one that finally cracked the case.

Take that Bill. He’s up by one so far. 

The tricky part will be getting to the bottom of their next mystery first. Dipper wants to pull out a healthy lead before his jerk catches onto the game. 

He watches as Bill cackles madly, surrounded by confused firefighters as an arc of books shooting out a library window onto the lawn. They smack into neat columns of slightly charred paper, levitated by Bill’s strange powers. Medium powers. Which Dipper also has. Living people with this strange ability, letting them - 

Wait a minute. It’s pedantic, really, but. 

In all the time Dipper’s been searching  - he technically still hasn’t found a ghost.

Bill, what a bastard. Caused all that damn trouble, and didn’t even have the decency to be fully dead. 

But that’s okay. Ghosts? There’s plenty of ghosts, according to said bastard. A guy who knows all about them, and who loves the work of a medium, so he'll be sure to point them out the next time they investigate a haunted house. 

And there will be a next time.

 Bill’s got a lot of world to see, and Dipper’s got a huge list of stuff he wants to check out. 

They’ve already spent too long here. It’ll be nice to move on.

Sirens approach from the distant road. Police lights flashing, the ambulance mentioned peeling around the corner to the driveway. More challenges. More witnesses to Bill’s presence and his powers, and a hell of a lot more questions.

Soon, things are going to get weird. Well, weirder, and more complicated. 

Grinning, Dipper lies back on the grass, watching the dim light of dawn start to rise through the sky. 

It’s the first day of a brand new life.