Chapter Text
It was dark in Gravity Falls, after Weirdmaggedon everything was dark at night and everything was quiet all the time. Dipper found comfort in that. It was... Peaceful- Mabel however, often ruined that. Right now she was two monsters into an all-nighter. Of course it was a productive all-nighter, but that meant muffled music, and light small enough not to brighten the room, but annoying enough to notice.
It's true that she's something of an artist, a skilled artist at that. But why do her "Best Works" always have to be created at night!? It was annoying to say the least. Dipper needed to sleep, otherwise how would he have the energy to work with Ford?
Dipper sat up on his bed, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep. He saw that Mabel was still sitting on her bed, her sketchbook open to a colorful page with some fanart of a character he barely recognized. If he wasn't gonna sleep, he could at least read. Glancing at his beside table he grabbed the first thing he saw, an old torn up copy of The King in Yellow.
Ford sent it to Dipper last Christmas. He said that it was one of the only he'd read that properly broke his mind. That made Dipper rather interested, all the horror he's read always felt bland. But this book, just holding it in his hands, felt a little too... Too real? No... It felt too deep, like there was so much more to this book that meets the eye. Dipper sighed and set it down back on the table opting for a different book. A book of Hercule Poirot short stories.
It was bright outside when Dipper woke up, his book open on his face. Although it was not a natural awakening. He heard a knock on the door, the back door, the one that allowed you to access the actual house rather than the mystery shack. Dipper looked out the window, he saw an incredibly skinny man. His clothes were stained with blood and he had a large amount of scars including one from a gash on his neck that should have by all means killed him. Then he looked up. Briefly, just for a second. But Dipper saw his eyes, they were yellow. They were the color of insanity and madness incarnate.
Bill.
The only reasonable explanation Dipper could come up with is that Bill Cipher was back, that he never died, and that he had crawled his way back to them. Dipper immediately went towards Mabel's bed, her sleeping form was in what looked to be the most uncomfortable pose possible. She was laying face down on the mattress with her sketchbook resting next to her, and glitter caught in her hair.
Dipper shook her shoulder, and she woke up, looking at him groggily and letting out an annoyed "What?".
"Bill- Bill's back!" Dipper said, and Mabel instantly sat up, her foggy tiredness seemed to fade instantly at the news. There wasn't a hint of disbelief in her face.
Arthur walked through the landscape that fell before him and John. He felt old leaves crunch beneath his boots accompanied by a heavy heat that rivaled the summers in Arkham. The heavy jacket he wore during their brief time in England was hung over his shoulder. Arthur looked back on how exactly they got here before realizing the answer was quite simple. Kayne had made a mistake, and he had waited until Arthur almost lost his life to save them.
He wasn't surprised of course, but he was beginning to feel the deep pool of dread in his stomach boiling. If they didn't find the Blackstone Arthur really would face something worse than death itself. That thought used to be just be fear. But fear often has no basis of truth, dread however, is based fully in an acute situation.
John must've been able to tell that Arthur was anxious, he put a reassuring hand on Arthur's forearm. "I can feel your anxiety, Arthur. For now we should focus on finding information." Arthur heard the comforting voice in his head say. John always found ways to comfort him, even if it didn't make sense. After all they've been through together just hearing John's voice was a reminder that Arthur wasn't alone.
"Thank you, John." Arthur said, not exactly sure how to reply.
Most of the walk was silent, occasionally interrupted by John warning Arthur of a large branch of stone. The sound of summer cicadas rang through Arthur's ears which put him in a better place. In the park with Faroe, eating sandwiches on the grass and looking at butterflies or birds. Arthur swallowed tears at the thought of his daughter when John began to speak.
"Arthur. There's a ramshackle cabin before us, we seem to be approaching it from the back. The roof is aged and covered with moss and the back windows are haphazardly boarded up. There's a back door with a sign on it, I can't read it from here. Walk closer I want to read it."
Arthur a few paces forward before John told him to stop, dead grass crunched under his feet he could smell the pine wood it was made out of.
"It reads 'This is the Pine's front door! For Mystery Shack entrance go to the front.' It seems this is both a business and a residency. We should knock on the door. This might be our only chance for information."
"I agree. Kayne probably dropped us off close to here for a reason. We should open the door, but given our negative interactions in England... Be on the lookout tell me if anything goes wrong."
"You make a good point Arthur, I'll keep on the lookout. Tell you everything I see."
"Thank you." Arthur could not think of anyone he had ever trusted more than John.
Arthur knocked on the old door and after a couple seconds it opened. "There is a middle aged man standing before us, he has a square jaw with light stubble and a bush of grey hair. Cracked glasses cover his eyes. And oh this man has six fingers on both hands."
"Uh- Hello sir I'm currently lost would you-" Arthur was interrupted by the man.
"Bill. You really thought you could outsmart us, outsmart me. Don't think for a second that I wasn't ready for your return."
"I- What? Who- Whose Bill?" John gave Arthur warnings but they didn't do much, Arthur already knew to be scared.
"You want me to tell you who you are? You seriously think you can play the role of the poor fool you possessed."
Arthur cautiously began to step backwards. "Possessed look it's not like-" Arthur caught the words in his throat, forcing a better sentence out. "Why on earth would you think I'm possessed?"
The man replied, Arthur heard a shifting as if he was grabbing something. "I'm not fucking blind, your eyes, you sick bastard."
"My... Eyes?" "Arthur. He is holding a large gun-like thing. It's not like the ones in Arkham, this one is sleek and has a glass bulb with concentrated black space floating in it. This man seems to be somewhat aware of me. Lilith must've told him something. Arthur I suggest you grab the knife. Maybe the hags hand."
The man took a harsh step forward, "Bill Cipher. You are over. I have perfected a device that can kill any entity, even gods. You won't be able to go to the cosmic psych ward this time. There is no more second chances."
Arthur forced his hand into the bag, shuffling through things until he found the dagger Kayne had given them. He held it threateningly out towards the man. John grabbed his wrist, steadying his hand.
"Look. I don't know who you think we are. But if you try to hurt us, I will fucking slit your throat. We are not gonna die because Lillith decided to tell some clueless man a secret. I'm not gonna die, not now, not like this. Not- Not until I know she'll live on in other worlds." Arthur through on his best threatening tone, letting words hiss through his teeth. He dipped a hand into their bag while John held the knife. He fished out the hand. Setting it onto the floor and lighting it. Arthur heard silence surround them, it affected him but the man seemed unbothered by it. He slowly stood up. "Good Arthur, he doesn't know of the hags hand. Tell him and you will gain control of the conversation."
"This is a hags hand. With the proper materials you can cast a bubble of silence. A neat side affect of that is that magic cannot function within the parameter."
He chuckled. "This isn't magic. It's dark matter. Magic is not real, but science is. Now either release this man or I kill you."
Arthur felt John drop the knife. Something was different about this situation. This was the end. This was the end and he felt it deep in his bones. What awaits him is the torture of himself and everybody he loved. Faroe, Bella, John, Oscar, Noel. Everyone that made a difference. Arthur gripped his face. He felt the scars under his fingers. Each moment of agony was worth nothing. "John," he whispered. "I think this is it." Silence. "If it is I just want you to know, I would rather live with you than apart from you. And even if Kayne keeps his promise. This too shall pass."
Arthur could hear the man step back, the wood creaked under his shoes. "He's beckoning us into his home. He no longer has a look of hatred on his face. His whole demeanor has changed. Now his face is one of pity."
Arthur took trembling steps forward, still wary. He let his hand fall beside him as John described inside of this house. Quaint and lived in. As non-threatening as non-threatening could be. They stopped walking, Arthur heard the man turn towards him.
"I'm Ford." He said
"Oh... Uh... Arthur Lester."
A moment of silence.
"Wait here. I'm gonna bring more people down."
Arthur felt John take his hand, a new and strange, but not at all unwelcome sensation. John brought their hand up to the side of Arthur's face. The wooden pinkie scratched against his skin. Arthur sat down on the wooden floor, his back against the wall of what he assumed was a hallway. Tears trickled down his cheeks. All the stress finally began to way Arthur down. But in the far corner of his mind he could hear John speak.
"There is a man outside of my house
His presence is thick
Like smog
I peek through my blinds
He stares
I stare back
The man outside my house
Should be dead
But is not
I saw him get hit by a car
He folded
He folded like laundry
wish the man outside my house a good day
But his ears have fallen off
He now has bloody stumps
Rotting and grotesque,
Decaying and forsaken"
A poem? Perhaps Arthur really was rubbing off on John. "Where did you hear that?" Arthur ask through tears and sniffles.
"I- I don't know. I think I wrote it."
Arthur let out a harsh broken laugh that was wet with the mucus in the back of his throat. "You think?"
Moments like these reminded Arthur why he kept going.