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1.
The first time, when It happened, Bill didn't think much of it.
“It” was a rather big pile of small, easy to miss in the grand scheme of things events, that finally got enough shared mass to fall on his head like a billow. "It" was annoyingly lanky Fiddleford McGucket tripping on his own annoying feet and flying head straight into Bill's wonderful, oh so close to completion, portal. "It" was Sixer, unreasonably angry, seething with hurt and betrayal in each word he spat out in Bill's direction.
"It" was Bill being absolutely sure, that he had Sixer all figured out like his own four fingers, only for the man to surprise him and sever the non-severable - their "until the end of time" companionship deal. He heard Sixer internally pledge to destroy both the portal and the journals, and the notion was so hilarious, cute, even, that Bill decided to let him. Something deep inside of him, sardonic and suspiciously sounding like Pyronica insisted, that he should interfere. That he can't allow yet another portal to go to waste. But for some unknown even for omnipresent Bill reason, being a spectator of how far Ford Pines is willing to take his petulant rebellion seemed way more important, than trying to keep his plan afloat. If Ford was absolutely serious about ending everything they worked for, he would have leveled the whole shack to the ground. Filled the underground laboratory with excessive amounts of dynamite and threw his journals in the middle of the resulting fire. Instead, Stanford Pines, the man absolutely sure that he was destined to change the world, hesitated. Bill watched, smugly, as Ford shamefully stashed the journals in his coat. There was something reassuring in the way he put journal three in the big hidden pocket right next to his heart. The man should have blasted the portal with that fancy plasma gun he found on the crashed alien spaceship a few months ago. Bill felt him thinking about it but ultimately deciding against it.
Bill, silently snuggled between the man's cortex and frontal lobe, watched, insulted, and yet mesmerized as he, reluctant and fierce at the same time, tried to tear down the result of their five years long partnership. Ford swung with Fiddleford's forgotten hammer, a weapon that guaranteed the least amount of damage out of everything Ford had, and stopped the second his eyes fell on the first dent he inflicted on his creation. So, "It" was Ford and his high and mighty ego that didn't allow him to face the destruction of his second great invention. Bill mused, that Sixer's inferior double, the one that he foolishly didn't think to devour while still in his mother's womb, would have probably found a way to destroy the whole lab like a card house while being miles away from the place. But Sixer, sleep-deprived to the point of nausea, decided to personally dismantle their portal and carefully pack each and every detail, like a child saying goodbye to his favorite Lego model.
"It" was Sixer, lacking enough understanding and clarity of the mind to properly take the portal apart on his own and being short of Fiddleford and Bill, who usually closed that gap for him. "It" was Sixer, unable to stop the shaking in his hands and legs. "It" was Sixer, making a wrong move and getting distracted by the screech of the Geiger counter, thus noticing the shadow of a falling metal piece closing in on him when it was a few seconds too late to even shut his eyes before the contact. "It" was Sixer dying, crushed by the weight of his own ambitious invention, a true Icarus of his time.
"It" was Bill, thrown out of the man's rapidly shutting down brain with the last beat of Sixer's heart. "It" was Bill, blinking swiftly to shake the phantom feeling of crushed bones that were never his and suddenly realizing that he was no longer in the underground laboratory. Fiddleford Mcgucket, with his mind already shattered but not enough to be noticed by his colleague, was trailing after Ford, who was in the middle of rolling canisters full of deadly toxic portal fuel into the shack. "It" was the time looping in on itself when Bill's plan had failed, together with falling portal debris closing in on Stanford Pines. For Bill Cipher, a being who viewed the concept of time as merely a joke he liked to share with his Henchmaniacs, going a full week back to the past was the last thing that mattered to him in everything that happened.
2.
"To achieve, you must know what you strive for."
The sign looked redundant and unnatural, perched right above the entrance to the shack. The building itself was in no way old, but Ford, a man who grew up in a pawn shop, held a weird sentiment for ancient things, and it bled into everything he touched and anyplace he inhabited. He insisted on buying only antique, or at least antique-looking, furniture and marinated all of his future journal pages in bowls with stale coffee before writing anything on them. Which is why the garishly new golden plate with the phrase engraved on it immediately caught Bill's attention while he followed Ford into the shack. This new addition to the house exterior lacked any, even the tiniest scratches, and shined so brightly that one could see it reflecting the light from afar even before properly registering the building it was drilled into.
"What's with the inspirational quotes for lousy businessmen?" Bill asked, nothing more than a triangular shadow for anyone other than Ford.
"What?" The man took a couple of steps back, returning to the porch, and Bill swiftly moved into his body, guiding his eyes to the object in question. It was so natural for both of them at this point that Ford didn't even shudder at the sudden splash of cold Bill knew the scientist felt every time he possessed him.
"Huh, I never noticed it was there." Ford started to speak without waiting for Bill to get out of his body, so only the second half of his sentence was actually said by him aloud. On his way out, Bill got a glimpse of the way the man's brilliant brain flared up the same way it did every time something caught his hungry for mysteries attention. The view was scenic to him.
Ford rapped his six fingers over the sign. "I guess Fiddleford is starting to slowly decorate the place, too. Maybe he got it during the last trip to his family."
Bill mentally cringed. Of course, Hillbilly would be excessive, even in the way he inhabits the shack. Especially in the way he inhabits the shack.
"No wonder it looks so stupid." The mere thought of Fiddleford Mcgucket drilling this obscenity into the triangular facade of the house made Bill instantly lose all of his interest in the topic.
"Hey, how about a round of interdimensional chess?" Seeing Ford hesitate, still scrutinizing the sign with his curious gaze, Bill wanted Ford to lose his interest in it too.
***
Bill didn't tend to think about his failures. Not a bit. Not even a little. So, objectively speaking, the knowledge of his portal plan crumbling like a sand castle in some other, no longer relevant timeline shouldn't bother him. At all. What he saw must have been a probability mistake. Even the brightest ideas have a 0.1% chance of failing, and one didn't conquer worlds thinking about endless "what ifs".
The knowledge that everything had a chance to be destroyed and that Sixer could unreasonably betray him probably should've prompted Bill to take some proper security measures. The ideal course of action would be to kill the scientist and his sorry excuse of a henchman and find someone new who would be able to finish the final stretch of the work. Simply change the pawns on the desk. Switch a chess set closer to the end of the game because his figures started to break.
Bill thought about it, really. He slipped into Stanford's mind, and the scientist's consciousness didn't even stir upon the intrusion. He marched them down to the kitchen and searched for the alien plasma gun Ford kept casually lying around his eating utensils. He pulled on the charger and pressed the barrel against Sixer's pajama-clad abdomen. He spent a whole hour standing like this, unmoving, and reminding himself that the body he inhabits needs to breathe every couple of minutes. When Bill felt "his" hands start to give out, no longer able to hold the plasma gun's weight afloat for so long, he absolutely and certainly, not shamefully (even in the slightest), put the weapon away and strolled back to Stanford's room, returning the lent body back to its place.
Bill spent so much time warming his way into the scientist's mind and soul that he was sure the man wouldn't flip a switch on him like he did in that one stupid, barbarous timeline.
Bill's hesitation resulted in:
- Fiddleford flying head straight into the portal;
- Sixer, voice once again full of betrayal Bill should be feeling, not him, calling it quits, and dying even before the flying scrap metal got to him;
This time Bill decided against watching things unfold from the scenic routes of Sixer's brain; thus, the radiation poisoning got to the man way faster than it did the last time. The Geiger counter screeched, informing Bill that there was nothing left for the portal to run on and the time folded onto itself once again.
3.
Apparently, his bright idea had a 0.2% chance of failing instead of 0.1%. Which is not a big deal. Not at all. Especially since the universe itself seemed to be in his corner and restarted every time he failed. It was good to know at least someone had the decency to stay on his side. However, he couldn't ignore the problem when faced with it twice, so some preventive actions had to be taken.
To fix a problem, one must look at its core. That's why Bill decided that Fiddleford McGucket and his lanky legs needed to go. The mistake he made the last time was to start his massacre with Sixer. He was obviously playing favorites, and the rational part of his brain caught up with the notion that Sixer was crucial for his plan and couldn't die until Bill was finished with this dimension for said plan to work, before the realization even formed into a concrete thought in his head. That was the reason he hesitated - nothing more, nothing less. He was glad to have that out of the way. Now he just needed to leave Sixer and his demise for dessert and start with the main, albeit much less enjoyable course.
Killing Fiddleford McGucket needed some planning and consideration, as Bill couldn't simply invade his body and make the man point a gun at himself. The ideal course of action would be to make it look like an accident. The more boring, the better, no monsters or mythical artifacts involved. Bill didn't want Sixer to run off, vengefully chasing other demons, or trying to solve a murder mystery instead of continuing their work. The Hillbilly needed to go in the same way he lived - boring and unremarkable - so Sixer's hungry for riddles attention would stay where it's actually needed.
For the next week, Bill Cipher spent his time on and off possessing different woodland critters, working his way through a massive branch of a tree that was standing right next to the shack. The process was frankly humiliating and tedious, but one couldn't conquer other worlds without being willing to do some excessively monotonous work. The important thing was that in the end, his suffering did pay off, and a full day before the approaching portal incident, Fiddleford McGucket's fragile, bird-like body was crashed with a snap sound so loud that Bill wasn't sure if it was made by a tree or Sixer's henchman's bones.
The most important part of his plan was for Sixer to witness Fiddleford McGucket's death, so there would be no ambiguity left, no space for questions to be asked. Bill silently cackled to himself, watching Ford, taken aback and dumbstruck, look at the body that was livingly going a few steps ahead of him only a couple of seconds ago. Man, this was cathartic; Bill should have done that a year ago. He could already see the cogs turning in Sixer's beautiful brain, realizing that before him was just a simple casualty, nothing to look into. Any second now, and Sixer would turn around, forgetting about the sight altogether, and return to the lab, where actually important things happened. Bill will be waiting for him down there, and they will run the first portal test together as the real partners until the end of time.
Bill waited and waited, but even three hours later, Sixer didn't make a single step towards the lab. The man called an ambulance and Corduroys to take care of the tree before the medic's arrival. He kept his posture and face stoic, full of almost business-like resolve, which gave Bill a glint of hope that he was tangling himself in all of this because the human government, apparently, wasn't a fan of people who had dead bodies in their backyards. But then the scientist sniffled when he thought nobody was there to see and continued to do so through all of his travel from the hospital to the shack. Accompanying him, Bill felt like he was sailing a ship in the storm. He pushed the man's dopamine centers and tugged the "wires" that were supposed to make the weird and uncalled eye leakage stop, but it all came rushing back the moment he let go of the metaphorical steering wheel.
Back in the shack, Ford Pines went past the entrance to the underground lab. He silently made his way upstairs and laid on his bed, six-fingered hand covering his tired eyes. His reaction made no sense.
"Did you know that Atlantis was actually just a part of the ruse created to cover the mass oceanic contamination?" Bill took a seat at the windowsill, a triangular stained glass behind him, making him more assured in the rightfulness of his actions than anything else that day.
Sixer's brain didn't flare up at the new information; Bill could see that the scenic views were cloudy and dull even without entering the man's mind.
"Bill." For some time, that was the only thing Ford said. "Did you know that he would die?"
"Everyone dies at some point, so of course I did."
"No, I mean, did you know that he would die today? You seemed to know the exact date of my demise."
"So what if I did, huh?" Bill asked, hands crossed, the stained glass with his image on it pushing him forward. "You have a problem with that?"
"No, but you could have told me and..." Ford's resolve melted away with each new word that left his mouth, until he ultimately trailed off.
"Listen, buddy, you can't interfere when it comes to things like that. It's all set in stone, you know." Bill sounded tired, as if he had to explain this exact paradigm countless times before. He decided to skip over the fact that, at this point, he witnessed Ford's death before the prophesied time of his demise twice and that Fiddleford McGucket wasn't supposed to die until he was in his late eighties. "At least we won't have to think about any of the stupid rules like this one once the work on our portal is over!"
Stanford nodded, not giving him a verbal reply.
Bill saw that the man was still determined to continue their work, but the scenic views were quiet, and when Bill blinked, he once again found himself a week back in the past.
4.
Bill was taken aback, but only a little. In the grand scheme of things, everything that happened didn't affect him at all, not even in the slightest. However, even he, a being of pure chaos, had to admit that the last day, which was now a full week in the future, didn't make any sense to him. There were some casualties by the end of it, yes. But the portal, mighty and ready to change the world, was still standing, while Sixer was there to continue his work. So what if his usually charmingly engaged brain was submerged in apathy? That would have made him more compliant and ready to finish what they started. The only possible explanation was that Sixer lied. He was probably already thinking about calling it quits, and somehow that managed to slip past Bill's omnipresent eye. That rascal. Apparently he had more in common with his swindler clone than Bill expected. That meant that, regretfully, killing Fiddleford McGucket was out of the question if Bill wanted his world dominance plan to work. To get Hillbilly out of the picture, he would need to try a different approach.
***
"Is everything alright?" Fiddleford McGucket, still clad in his pajamas, stepped into the kitchen.
His posture was slouching more and more with each day, and his eyes tended to nervously dart the second his brain wasn't occupied with blueprints. Other than that, nothing in his welcoming presence betrayed the fact that he was about to destroy Bill's life work.
"We are letting you go." Bill, possessing Ford's body, was sitting at the kitchen table, his back rigidly straight and his hands clasped with each other in a business-like manner. He liked the feeling of twelve fingers intertwined.
"What?" Fiddleford looked confused; he stifled a yawn. Bill had to hold this meeting at four in the morning to guarantee that Sixer's mind wouldn't be conscious while he dealt with their excessive employee.
"It was nice working with you and all of that, but we- I don't need you anymore. There is no use for you here. So, our collaboration, " calling whatever Sixer and his henchman had partnership left a sour taste in Bill's mouth," is over. Go back to your family; return to those personal computers; you were going somewhere with this one."
Fiddleford froze, like a deer in the headlights, his nervous gaze studying Ford in the early morning dusk. Bill knew their shared eyes were slightly glowing in the dark.
"What are you?" The mechanic rasped.
"You don't wanna know that." Ford's voice dropped an octave, the dim light leaving the room altogether, his stare keeping Fiddleford pinned. "Out of all the things you wish you didn't know about, believe me, I'm the scariest."
Bill smugly noted the way Fiddleford's forefinger twitched, reflexingly pulling the trigger of the memory gun that wasn't even there.
"And take that horrendous quote sign you put at the entrance to the shack with you, will ya?"
Fiddleford flinched, like he lately did every time he was presented with a mystery. He took a step back.
"It was never mine."
***
It couldn't have gone better. Sixer was up by the time Fiddleford McGucket was fleeing the shack with two suitcases rolling and bumping behind him.
"Where are you going!?" He shouted, not leaving the porch of the shack, while Fiddleford was already two steps away from the forest.
"Listen, Stanford, I can't do this anymore. YOU, shouldn't do-" The mechanic stuttered and stopped, his eyes fixed on a triangular shadow Ford was casting beside his own. He took another step back from the shack, and the sight was even more cathartic than watching him die. "Just be careful, Stanford." He said, quieter than before, as if that would somehow prevent Bill from hearing this nonsense, and disappeared between Oregon trees.
"Wow, what a traitor! Who even drops from a project when it's so close to completion like that?" Bill threw an accusatory glance in Ford's direction and was relieved to see not a glimpse of another timeline's apathy or hostility in the man's demeanor. Confusion and betrayal - yes, but nothing too drastic or directed at Bill.
"I guess you were right when you said that he was having second thoughts about our work. Good thing we are already past the construction part." Ford mused.
"Well, not everyone is capable of seeing or understanding our potential; nothing new here!" Bill exclaimed, "But you and I are gonna change the world, and once we do that, there will be no one left doubting!" The scenic views in Sixer's mind flared up at Bill's words.
"We should probably get back to work; we have a test this evening." Ford's eyes had a familiar gleam to them. Bill knew he had it in his own eye when he learned about the way to liberate his home dimension. Ford was full of passion and ambition, his mind brimming with familiar fascination for worlds beyond which no one else in Bill's life had shared. They were in this together.
***
It all came crashing down in the end. Apparently the universe had it set in stone that someone had to fly straight into Bill's portal before it was the right time for the dimensional crossing. The gravitational pull snatched Sixer up in the air like a ragdoll. The rope, missing McGucket that it loved to grab in most of the timelines so much, was hooked around the man's leg, preventing him from fully crossing the bridge between his world and the Nightmare realm. On his way up, he screamed for Bill to help, and Bill never felt so annoyed at his lack of physical body. He couldn't pull him out the same way Sixer did with his henchman each time he got into the same trap.
One could survive while fully in the 3d dimension, and one could survive being stuck in the Nightmare realm. But existing in the middle, right in the portal's core, was another, suffocating, and full of radiation thing. Ford Pines lasted two minutes, caught in-between. His last moments of life were filled with dread of the same kind that was enough to drive McGucket mad in every other timeline. He looked at the Nightmare realm and realized that his life's work, his ambitions, were wrong all along. During the last minute of his life, Stanford Filbrick Pines understood that he was played like a fool. Bill was there, on the other side, which made it the first time they truly saw each other face to face. Ford looked at him, enraged, regretful, and terrified, the last breath leaving his lungs with a hitch. Bill did not pull him in.
5.
Bill never had any dreams; he simply wasn't capable of dreaming. But sometimes, his mind would stray, his attention fully lost to the images in his brain instead of the world around him. Humans would call that daydreaming. His most frequent daydreams were always about That day. The day when he liberated his home, and everyone loved him for it. The day when there was no one left besides him to enjoy the newly acquired freedom. Sometimes he wondered if there was some other timeline where things went differently. A timeline where everybody got to live in their mercyful oblivion, while Bill was the only one who was no more.
***
The fourth time Stanford Pines died, Bill decided to let him. Bill left McGucket be, knowing Hillbilly would run away sooner or later anyway. Instead, he decided to interfere with Sixer's idea to dismantle the portal. He haunted the man day and night; he threatened that he would find a way to steal his eyes and demanded the uncalled rebellion to stop. Ford Pines, met with direct opposition, became much more vigilant in his resolve to fight back.
He hid the first pair of his journals, still not strong enough to destroy them, despite his new steel-cold resolve to put a stop to Bill's plan once and for all. He called his lesser clone, hoping he would help him deal with the last one of his books. His brother was on the right track when he arrived. The idea to burn the third journal to crisps would've probably put an end to most of Bill's efforts once again. But, as usual, Stanford Pines' high and mighty ego didn't allow him to watch the destruction of his life's work. The fight between the two blossomed with violence. Sixer spent too much time preparing to fight for his life in the last couple of weeks, and his hands were itching to pull a good punch. In the end, all it took was one uncalculated, vigilant shove from frenzied Stanley. Sixer's head connected with the sharp metal corner of the portal's lever, and after that, there was only so much time left. Stanley screamed, confused and terrified. He reached to grab the six-fingered hand but flinched and decided against it, seeing the blood already pooling under his brother's head. Afraid to inflict any more harm and realizing that he was now in a situation where every second had to count, he ran upstairs, hoping to find a phone and call the local hospital. The scenic views in Sixer's brain were slowly melting away.
Bill had a nagging feeling that if the scientist had survived this one, Bill would have probably finally succeeded. Eons of work would have finally paid themselves off because Stanford Filbrick Pines was unable to overcome his desire to be the one who shows humanity the worlds beyond their understanding. Bill probably would have had to wait, but one day, Sixer would have made a slip, and Bill would have been there, ready to see this dimension liberated like his own.
That's why, this one time, Bill Cipher decided to let Stanford Pines die. Leave this world in its mercyful oblivion and have this one man's brilliant mind go to waste instead. No one will love Sixer for it, because no one, in the grand scheme of things, will know about him in the end, but this probably will make him a hero, like he always desired to be.
Bill Cipher quietly entered Ford's head, and the scientist flinched at the cold shiver accompanying his presence. The reaction was expected, yet still paradoxically disappointing.
It took some additional effort and consideration, but Bill managed to possess the man without kicking his consciousness out of the body once he was in control of his mind. Their shared eyes were glued to the portal, their invention looming above them, dark and weirdly much less grand and impressive than both of them expected. Bill raised Ford's hand; the action was unusually difficult for him. Bill wasn't sure if it was because he wasn't the only one at the steering wheel or because the scientist's body was slowly losing any strength it had left to move. He dropped the hand next to the one Ford kept laying on his chest, and with another, nauseating effort, Bill intertwined all twelve fingers together. Ford's other hand, the one that Bill didn't have the power to control, hesitated but ultimately gripped back. Bill felt that the man was terrified, yet he couldn't tell if it was because of the death looming over him, casting a bigger shadow than their portal, or because Bill was once again in his brain.
Bill took in the former scenic views; there was not a lot left to look at. He found a metaphorical wire that was responsible for pumping Sixer with all of his foolish emotions and tugged. The feeling of peaceful content washed over their shared crippling fear. The man smiled, weakly.
In a timeline where everybody got to live while Bill was the only one who was no more, Bill would have liked to have someone with him while he faded away.
6.
"To achieve, you must know what you strive for."
The next time Bill came to his senses, he found himself right in front of the wretched sign, once again hanging at the entrance to the shack. It made his eye twitch. He tried to use his omnipresence and look into the way it came to be, but no matter how hard he concentrated on the damned thing, there was not even a single hint that would tell him something beyond the fact that it was simply there, right in front of him. The lack of knowledge made Bill frantic. That day, he found a Gremloblin to possess and ripped the golden plate right from the shack, taking a few wooden boards along with it. Sixer, of course, heard the way his home was vandalized, as well as Bill's Gremloblin wails. He ran out to the porch with his alien plasma gun charged, and Bill, the stupid sign still in his clawed hands, decided that he had nothing better to do than to gallop from the man into the forest. Ford chased after him, shooting at his feet, and Bill basked in the attention.
***
Bill decided that it wouldn't hurt to antagonize Stanford a bit more. After Fiddleford repeated the routine of getting his clumsy self into the portal, after Sixer called it quits, he once again sent the man endless nightmares and threats. This time, Ford Pines constructed a whole suit, fully dedicated to Bill, even if said dedication was to fight him. It nagged Bill forward to continue their silly banter until the very end. This time, the scientists once again made it to the fateful meeting with his brother, and Bill, a triangular shadow behind the portal, watched with a held breath as things escalated into yet another fight. Compared to their last brawl, Ford Pines was a bit more exhausted and a bit less stable on his feet. The clash was still fierce, but not enough to result in accidental bloodshed. Sixer still suffered a shove towards the portal lever, but this time he was lucky enough to hit it with his back. The portal was activated, and, watching the scientist being slowly dragged to its core, Bill felt that this was it. This was the timeline in which he was going to win.
Ford screamed for his brother to help, and there was nothing Stanley Pines could do. Bill was prepared to meet his guest on the other side. He gleefully squinted, his eye imitating a smile, and when he took in the scene in front of him, he realized that he was in front of the golden sign at the entrance to the shack once again.
7-31
Stanford Pines kept dying, Stanford Pines kept breaking their until the end of time deal, and, as Bill came to understand, his plan was doomed to fail each time one of these things happened. Bill wanted to scream; he wanted to curse the Time Baby or whatever other cosmic entity that was responsible for him being stuck in this cycle.
He should have been used to this by now, really. Although with different people and in different eras, his portal work has always been a loop of mortals turning their backs on him and ruining his efforts. And yet he yearned, ran amuck, and tried again. Each time, the golden sign was there to greet him.
32.
Bill was not having fun. His Henchmaniacs were howling and running wild around him, while his hands itched to play a round of interdimensional chess. He playfully swayed his glass of martini and gulped it in one go, both the liquid and the glass.
"You look really weird today, boss." Pyronica languidly fell onto the pile of skulls next to him.
Bill knew the whole crew was not a fan of that skull thing he had going on. They were too hard and boney to sit on for their meaty bodies, but Bill's word was the rule, so everyone had no choice but to let him have it.
"Thanks." Bill snapped his fingers, materializing another glass of martini in his hand.
"No, I mean weird in a lame sort of way." Pyronica wasn't afraid to say something like this in his face, and Bill liked her for it. He still menacingly narrowed his eye at her, as a form of prophylaxy, and satisfiedly noted that she didn't even flinch. At that moment, they both heard a loud crash. Apparently, Kryptos felt Bill's glare while standing at the other end of the party hall and had a flinch so violent that he flipped the table next to him.
"Sooo, how is our escape the Nightmare realm plan doing?" Pyronica asked.
"MY plan is doing great, if that's what you are asking." Bill huffed. He sat quietly for a solid minute, hands crossed, the glass of martini already in his stomach. And then it spilled from him. "Sixer and I are having a minor setback, but it's nothing to fret about."
"Awww, you and your smart ones." Pyronica clicked her giant tongue, fake sympathy dripping from her every word. Bill wanted to strangle her. "What's wrong with this one?"
"Nothing wrong with this one; I have everything under control." Another pause, another glass of Martini devourer, right with the tiny umbrella still in it. "He just always flips the casket once he learns I may have kept some insignificant information from him."
"Well, have you tried not keeping this insignificant fact fest away from him?" Pyronica looked unimpressed, and Bill rolled his eye. "Cut the condescending. There is always the right way to tell even the worst thing. You will figure it out, smart guy."
***
Because at this point Bill had nothing better to do, he reluctantly decided to follow Pyronica's advice. In the end, he was sure this attempt was going to fail the same way every other one prior to it did, so there would be no one to remember this taint on Bill's reputation besides Bill himself.
Before Sixer went to sleep, Bill snatched control over his body and made him a cup of lavender tea. Sixer would've noticed if Bill tried to play with his dopamine levels right in the middle of their conversation, so calming herbs had to do his work for him. He sat Sixer down on his bed, a cup of tea on the nightstand, and let go of the steering wheel, retreating into the dreamscape, waiting for the man on the territory where their fallout had less chances of resetting the current timeline because of the blood spilled once again.
Bill, pleased and content, watched the scientist notice the cup and smile at his gesture. Stanford Pines drank the tea, and the scenic views in his brain were especially welcoming while he did so. Bill greeted him the second his sleeping mind awakened in the dreamscape.
"Bill!-" The scientist exclaimed in return, but Bill cut him off before he could finish his sentence.
"I have something I need to confess to you."
Stanford fell quiet. Bill could feel the silent anticipation radiating from him in waves. Oh, he was always so eager to learn something new.
"The portal is not what it seems." And then Bill said it. Not all of it, of course, still leaving out the most ghastly details. But he did tell him some of it, despite the fact that, in his opinion, even that was excessive. He told Stanford Pines about the Nightmare realm and the way the cosmic entropy was slowly devouring it until there going to be nothing left to devour. He told him about his desire to escape. He told him about how difficult it was to be the only one "different" in his home dimension and the way he had to liberate it to feel a part of it. He told him about the way it may have looked gruesome at first, but people came around to it once the aftershock was over. (Bill kept quiet about the fact that he was the only one left to experience said aftershock when it happened.) Bill told him about the way not everyone is ready to live in a world that is open and weird, but he hoped, and he knew, that Stanford would understand him. Bill asked, unusually self-conscious and tense, if he would still like to be his partner, if he would continue the work on the portal with him.
And Stanford Pines said, "Yes."
***
Stanford Pines was a liar. Bill came to understand this the first time the scientist turned his back on their “until the end of time” partnership deal. And yet, seeing him, self-conscious and regretful, looking from the window of the fearamid at the beautiful chaos below it, left a weird taste in Bill's mouth. The aftershock was not letting the man go.
Bill didn't tend to think about his failures. One didn't hold onto the finally-achieved world dominance while mulling over all the endless "what ifs". So, a month into his long-awaited Weirdmageddon, he decided to ignore Stanford Pines altogether. No more betrayed glances, no more whispers of Sixer's thoughts about putting an end to all of this. He partied like there was no tomorrow, because there may as well be none indeed. A new golden sign, this time created by Bill to remind his Henchmaniacs that Sixer was not allowed to be eaten, became the only constant proof of the scientist even being in his fearamid.
Bill knew it when Sixer decided to leave the place. He felt it. He saw him descend and make his way through the ruins of what used to be. Bill, who was slowly getting less enthusiastic about all the endless festive and torturous screams, imagined himself going down with him and returning to the shack that was no longer there. Before he could decide if he should continue pretending Stanford Pines never existed in the first place or if he should send his Henchmaniacs to hunt the man down and return him, given there was anything left to return after the chase, time folded onto itself yet again.
"To achieve, you must know what you strive for."
33.
Bill wasn't confused or tired. He didn't need a break. There was no need for him to stop slowly making his way towards the completion of his plan, especially now that he had already tried the victory's taste. And yet, looking at the shack that was standing tall and unbroken in front of him once again, the stupid golden sign, and every little antique decor piece Sixer bought over the years in their rightful place, Bill felt that the only course of action he had left in his head was to fly inside without any schemes.
He, merely a shadow to an oblivious observer, made his way through the wooden halls until he found the owner of the place. Sixer was gearing up, an arbalet in his hands and Journal 3 in his hidden pocket. Bill slipped into his mind without any fanfare, his lived-in spot between the cortex and frontal lobe looking as welcoming as ever. He felt the man smile at the cold shiver running through his body.
Ford Pines kept quiet until he left the shack, his otherworldly guest tucked away in his head. There was no need to give McGucket any additional reasons to feel paranoid and unsafe. He started to speak the second he crossed the forest line.
"It's rare for you to join me on my research expeditions."
"Well, gotta keep an eye on such an important historical asset as you, smart guy. You won't be able to change things in this dull town if you crack your head open and let the world see the yolk instead of your discoveries." The scenic views were blooming together with Stanford's ego at Bill's words.
Bill smirked at the way the scientist's step became a bit more confident and uplifted, enjoying the way he could affect the man.
As Sixer made his way through the Oregon forest, his muse in his head redirecting his steps from well-hidden bear traps when needed, Bill thought about every other timeline he unwillingly personally witnessed. He thought about betrayed looks and wounded screams and snuggled his way deeper into Ford's brain matter. He then snapped his fingers and heard the nearby tree branch snap, redirecting Sixer's attention to a birch that had footprints not yet documented in any of the journals under it. Leading the scientist through the mysteries of Gravity Falls, leaving him hints and sometimes misdirections, was weirdly engaging and rewarding for both of them.
Maybe these time loops were never about Bill and his life ambitions. That would be totally absurd, but after trying so many different things and finally succeeding, yet being spun around again, Bill was at a loss for what to do. There was always a chance that Time Baby simply started to melt from his ice prison, distorting the time and space around him in the process, or even intentionally trapping Bill, pinning him in place until the last cosmic giant was finally freed and ready to come and get him. The idea that he was simply stuck in a natural disaster of time caliber made Bill itch to scream and claw, the realization that he was trapped inside his entrapment awakening the fire at the tips of his fingers. And then Stanford Pines excitedly exclaimed, noticing the footprints under the birch tree, and Bill made the wind move the nearby bushes' leaves, three at a time, allowing the scientist to guess the direction of the mystical creature's escape. If there is nothing left to do, he may as well enjoy the scenic views while he is at it. In the end, there was only one thing that could prevent him from it.
***
Ford dropped onto the grass, heaving, sticks tangled in his hair, and his coat smoking on the edges. He pressed the journal to his chest, the six-fingered hand clasped over his signature symbol on its cover.
"This was insane!" The scientist exclaimed, an adrenaline rush from the recent chase still coursing through his blood.
"Thanks!" Bill giggled, self-assured.
"Who would have guessed that such a creature was hiding in this forest all this time? Oh, we will definitely need to try and capture it after we finish with the first portal test this weekend!"
"Wow, about that..." Bill drawled. "Can you close your eyes?" This conversation is going to be much less difficult in the dreamscape.
Stanford Pines closed his eyes, still trusting, and Bill tugged at the right wire, compelling him to fall asleep.
Ford came to his senses in a cosmic vastness, with Bill levitating in front of him. There was no need to beat around the bush.
"We need to put our portal work on hold." Bill said it, internally not believing his own non-existing ears. It’s not like he was planning to abandon his plan altogether, absolutely not! He just needed some time to regroup, however long that may take.
"What?" Bill saw a glimpse of familiar wariness flicker in the scientist's eyes and felt a need to hurry and elaborate.
"It's not that we're going full-stop on the thing, you know. I just received the cosmic knowledge that it's simply not the time for it yet." Bill felt like a fool and yet pushed on, desperate, because the wariness wasn't letting go of the way Sixer was looking at him. "You are still changing the world, buddy; there is no doubt about that. Just concentrate on your ground-breaking research while we are on a break, capish?"
Ford turned his head, his eyes now avoiding Bill, and Bill wanted to scream.
"So, does this mean this is the last time I'm going to see you in a while?" The scientist quietly asked, and Bill was washed away with relief.
"Ha! As if I'm gonna step away from the place where history is made!" Bill's hands itched to move, and he impulsively reached for Stanford's hand, lacing their fingers together. Four fingers mashed together with six, a perfect ten intertwined. "Nah, you and I are together in this one. Someone's gotta keep an eye on that research of yours."
Ford was dumbstruck, his barely contained giddiness making the dreamscape slightly intoxicating.
"Thank you for keeping me company." Stanford Pines was looking right at him, and Bill felt fuzzy inside like a duckling, full of tarantulas in its stomach. He felt that their linked hands were the beginning of a new type of partnership deal between them, and Bill might even like it.
"To achieve, you must know what you strive for."
And then he saw the golden sign and heard a loud pop of confetti.
His hands were at his chest, the top hat with the remaining grain of his home dimension gripped tight between them.
"Wow, that was a long one." An alien clad in the Theraprism uniform stifled a yawn, his seven hands clasping over all four of his mouths one by one. "They seriously need to give me a raise for dealing with guys like you. It's not like we have a day cycle in here, but I should have been in bed like an hour ago."
Bill shut his eye, gritting his hidden teeth. A disgusting fuzziness was still prickling at his limbs. He really hoped that whatever technology Theraprism personnel used to entrap his mind for today's session didn't have a watch and replay function built into it.
For once, he was grateful when they led him to his solitary cell. He really needed some time to think.