Archive of Our Own

For a hot second, Bill thinks he might lose.

It’s that moment when the humans in Gravity Falls storm his pyramid and the plucky children call out orders, and Stanford, who’d done a good job pretending, drops his cover and sneers at Bill. It’s such a heartwarming moment, a true pinnacle of human can-do attitude, of the underdog rising against their oppressor, that he might just shed a tear and put it in his martini.

“It’s over, Bill!” Pine Tree shouts hoarsely from atop the Multi-Bear, and the flag is hoisted into the air, and Bill thinks about humans swarming other humans like ants, and he thinks, how precious. Derailed, he almost, almost fails to notice it when Stanford grabs him, pulls aside his coat and sweater (and for one wild moment Bill is scandalized) and reveals the things embedded into his flesh, shiny chrome, complicated patterns and lights. Bill has brief, warm second to admire the fact that Stanford has made himself into the last-ditch effort, a bomb unlike any other because its intended target had always been just two people. Just the two of them.

It’s such a shame Stanford really hadn’t accounted to how powerful Bill had gotten since they last met.

They’re engulfed in white light just as he snaps his fingers.

Somewhere, Stanford Pines’ brother is screaming his name.

When the humans are able to see again, they’re all alive, but Bill Cipher has, undoubtedly, won.

*

“What do you mean, you won’t lift the barrier?!” Bill demands. Stanford looks a little worse for wear, but alive, standing in front of Bill’s throne with a wooden expression. There’s a huge hole where the front of his sweater used to be, the edges burnt crisp and black, and Bill thinks it’s a new fresh look for him. He’d probably be more appreciative if he didn’t find himself still stuck in Gravity Falls.

“You might have won the battle,” Stanford says, heavily, stubbornly, “but you haven’t won the war, Bill. I won’t let you proceed with your –“

“Haven’t won the war?” Bill interjects sharply. “Sixer, pal, buddy, here’s some news for you – ya don’t got any more options! Nothing you can do will work against me! I thought we’d been over this!”

After the smoke had cleared, and it had become apparent that Stanford, who’d done his best to become a martyr for the cause, was still very much alive, it had been a bit awkward. Stanford’s brother had shouted a series of such vicious names it had made Bill feel like he should cover up the kids’ ears. One thing, however, had become crystal-clear: Bill ruled, and humans drooled. Or in this case, cringed back from the old man with a fez who’d had to be restrained lest he come up and finish Stanford’s job for him. 

“You can do whatever you want to me,” Stanford responds, steadfastly staring somewhere at Bill’s left side. “You can even do whatever you –“ and his voice cracks, briefly, “whatever you want to my family. But I won’t risk the fate of the whole world like this. You’ll remain trapped here.” He pauses. “With us.”

“I can, huh?” Bill laughs, sharp and furious, rising into air, looming over Stanford. “You’re telling me I can do whatever I want? You don’t even begin to comprehend the things I’m capable of! Trust me, Sixer, death’s pretty low on that list! I’m gonna grind your mind into fine powder! I’m going to break everything you love so utterly that you can’t even call yourself human anymore because you’re suffering so much! You’ll be nothing but a consciousness in an endless void of pain! And you’re telling me you’d rather have that than let me out?”

Stanford stares at him, his face ashen pale, and swallows. Bill is wildly gratified to see his hands shaking.

“Yes,” Stanford rasps out. “I won’t lift the barrier.”

Bill lets out a frustrated scream that makes the ground outside tremble. This time he doesn’t even bother with the niceties, just snaps his fingers, and Stanford’s frozen into a golden statue, that shakes and then falls over.

Bill is too angry to even check whether it breaks or not.

*

For a while, he does nothing but sulk. He tries lying on his side on his throne but finds it surprisingly difficult to balance like that, so he ends up in the most natural position, flat on his back-side, staring at the curved ceiling of his fearamid, the lights dimmed, his martini bottomless. The spell holding the humans frozen on his throne is slowly wearing off, so his solitude is occasionally interrupted by a short shriek and a thump as someone falls off his armrest. Bill doesn’t care.

Stupid Stanford and his stupid stubbornness. Of course, Bill had found the headstrong heroic idealism adorable once upon a time, but it’s not funny anymore. The man had spent thirty years in the wilderness of non-reality! Traveling from dimension to dimension, hanging to his life by a thread, only to come back and be the exact same Stanford Pines, angry and ready to foil his plans. Would it have been too much to ask that Stanford would have become a teensy bit more evil? Bill knows, deep down, in the same way he knows what the universe is made of, that no matter how much he hurts Stanford, or his family, Stanford is going to remain as stupidly fixed on his decision as he is now.

Bill is half-tempted to burn everything and wait for the clock outside the bubble to roll into Time Baby Era.

A sound of someone clearing their throat startles him from his sullen reverie of diapers.

“Hello?” a gruff voice calls out. “Anyone in here?” 

Bill floats up in the air, and it’s the Fez, Stanford Pines’ brother, who takes a startled step back when he looks up.

“Woah!” he says. “Didn’t see you there – yer like one of those really flat fish, aren’tcha?”

“This is my natural shape!” Bill snaps. “Whaddya want, old man?” He perks up a little as hope blossoms. “You here to beg for mercy?”

“No, I –“ and Fez scratches the back of his head, looking around. “Actually, I came here to look for my brother.”

There’s a soft thump, and a human crawls out from behind Bill’s throne, shuffling awkwardly past them.

“Hey, Tad” Fez says absently, raising his hand in greeting.

“Heya, Stan,” the human rasps out.

“You mean the stubborn old fool who’d rather sacrifice all of ya?” Bill snaps. “You mean that Stanford Pines? The one who said he’d let me kill all of ya to keep me here? That guy?”

“Sounds about right,” Fez says gruffly.

“Oh,” Bill says, settling back down to his throne.

“I’m Stanley Pines, by the way. We haven’t really been properly introduced. Most people call me Stan.” Stanley Pines pauses, feeling the metal around his knuckles absently. “Your buddies outside seem a bit lost, y’know. Hardly had to beat ‘em up at all to get in here.”

“What is it with you people and constantly fighting me?” Bill demands, irritated.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Stanley says, lifting up his hands. “I just like punching things.” He pauses. “But you, uh, are literally tryin’ to take over our world, pal.”

Suddenly Bill has had just about enough of the whole Pines family. He can’t work in this environment of constant criticism! He gestures, and floats Stanford’s glowing golden body out from behind the throne where he stashed it when he couldn’t look at him anymore.

“Here!” he snaps. “Take it! Put yer hats on it, prop drinks on it, I don’t care! Get out of my fearamid!”

“Sheesh –“ Stanley catches his brother hastily, almost falling over when Bill releases him. “Wait, is this solid gold?”

Bill doesn’t feel like even beginning to fathom the sudden speculative edge to the human’s tone. He just sweeps him out, and throws himself back to brooding.

Yet another human drops off from his seat with a soft, startled squeak.

*

Some time, perhaps three days later if time was still relevant, Bill descends down among the mortals with fresh determination. He’s a little gratified when the humans, who’re feebly attempting some kind of rebuilding of their little town, scream and flee when they see him, but a little disappointed when Stanley Pines and his merry band of followers stay put. Golden Stanford has been hoisted onto the pedestal of the statue Bill had melted earlier. Someone’s knit him a scarf. Someone else has written rude words all over his face.

“What do you want, Bill?” Pine Tree calls out, sharp and hostile. “We don’t know how to free you! And there’s nothing left for you to threaten us with!”

“Yeah!” a red-haired girl shouts. “Fuck you, Bill!” She looks immediately sheepish when Shooting Star and Pine Tree gasp. “Sorry – sorry guys. I meant to say, screw you. Screw you, Bill. Yeah. Oh, c’mon, Mabel –“

“Oh, trust me, kid, if I wanted to threaten ya, I’d think of something,” Bill drawls, before the situation slips any more out of his control. “But actually, I’m here to talk to Sixer! Let’s see if he’s got any more sense in him this time around –“ and he snaps his fingers, the golden sheen melting away.

He’s pretty sure he hears Stanley Pines let out a pained sigh, but he chooses to ignore it.

Stanford blinks and lowers his arms, looking around dazedly at the scene of destruction and his humans, before his eyes fix on Bill.

“What is it now?” he rasps out, and gingerly hops down from the pedestal.

“Don’t play dumber with me!” Bill snaps. “I’m getting pretty sick of this game, y’know. I mean, I’m a patient guy, I sat around when you whined about your emotions, I played with ya – but I’m rapidly running out of generosity!” He pauses, when he notices something disturbing. “Wait – Hectorgon?”

Hectorgon, who’d tried his best to hide behind the humans, does a sort of an awkward wave. “Hi Bill.”

“What –“ And Bill wishes he had teeth to grit, “what are you doing down here?”

“Well, it’s a bit boring up there –“ Hectorgon worries his bowler hat. “And yanno, I figured, I’d come down here, see what’s up, maybe try eating some rocks –“

“Get back in the fearamid!” Bill snaps.

“Aw,” Shooting Star says. “He was gonna eat a whole bicycle.”

“I was gonna eat a whole bicycle, Bill,” Hectorgon says earnestly.

“Bill, I –“ and Stanford lifts his head, a confused frown washing over his face as he feels his neck. “Did you give me a scarf?”

Bill feels himself turn an angry, hot beet-red as last of his patience scatters away: and he hoists Stanley Pines in the air in a chorus of protesting yelling.

“I WON!” he booms, to the whole world, currently consisting of one cruddy town. “I WON, YOU STUPID, STUPID CHRONOLOGICALLY CHALLENGED FLESH-PURSES! GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!” Stanley Pines struggles and kicks his little legs as Bill applies pressure, the humans screaming down below, but the only thing, the only person who matters is Stanford Pines, and his pale, terrified face upturned towards Bill. Bill wants him to see, wants him to get it through his thick skull, once and for all.

“I can’t,” Stanford calls out, his voice shaking. “I can’t – Bill, please, I can’t – “

“You’d better can, and quick!” Bill snarls, feeling a little unhinged with anger and hangover. “I’ll turn him inside out, I’ll wash away his memories and replace them with nightmares! I’ll do it to all of them, one by one, for every minute you keep me trapped here! Don’t you have some sort of soft and squishy feelings for him?” 

“I love him!” Stanford cries out, his voice breaking. “But I can’t free you, Bill! I literally can’t! It’s impossible!”

A silence falls, as Bill feels himself rapidly shrinking as some new, unpleasant sensation runs through his body. He lowers Stanley Pines slowly, keeping him in his grip, fist clenched tightly.

“What,” he says.

Stanford rubs his face, his hands trembling, his shoulders hunched as he gulps for air as if Bill had been choking him too – and then speaks, shakily. “I warded away Gravity Falls, but I sealed the spell. I can’t break it. No one can break it, now that the rift opened up. This is –“ he swallows. “This is how things are, now.”

For some reason Bill just can’t comprehend it.

“What,” he repeats, blankly. Stanley Pines falls, gasping and wheezing, onto the ground, and the children rush to his aid.

“He said we’re stuck in here,” Hectorgon says, helpfully.

Stanford smiles up at him, bitter and rueful. “He’s right. For better or worse – worse, really – you’re the ruler of Gravity Falls, Bill. And nothing else.”

Bill floats in the air for a moment, stuck speechless as he mulls this over. The humans are slowly gathering around Stanley Pines, supporting him, and Stanford makes his way over to the group hesitantly. Bill is… forgotten. Ignored.

Hectorgon is the only who seems to notice when he turns to float back up to his pyramid.

From behind him, the last thing Bill hears is Stanley Pines’ feeble voice, as he rasps out.

“Did’ya just say you love me?”

*

“I think it’s rude,” Pyronica says. “Don’tcha think it’s rude, you guys?” She gestures, and Bill hears a chorus of grunts, hoots and odd whirring sounds as his squad attempts to agree with her.

“I worked so hard,” he moans, worrying his glass as he sits and gazes down at the valley. His throne is half-gone at this point, resembling more of a stool than anything else, but Bill can’t bring himself to care. “I worked so hard, you guys. Billions of years, down the drain. I mean, what am I supposed to do with this?” He gestures. “What are they even doing? Making huts? What is that? They’re so weird!”

Pyronica squints, leaning over him. “Looks like they’re digging the ground.”

“Right? What’re they even –“ Bill gasps, dropping his martini. “A tunnel!”

“No,” Pyronica says regretfully. “Teeth and Kryptos already tried that. Doesn’t work.”

“Aw,” Bill says, hope dissipating. He conjures himself a new drink, and resumes self-pity with relish. “I’m so much better than this, you guys. I’m meant for so much more! And here I am, stuck in this stinky, dull little –“

He hears Pyronica sigh, as if she’s reaching her limit, which she probably is. Bill likes her, he really does, and she’d probably be his best friend if she weren’t so completely and utterly self-absorbed. Bill needs people to be absorbed with him. (He tries not to think about how much he misses Stanford’s attention, even the bad kind.)

“Hey Bill, why don’tcha go and terrorize ‘em a little bit?” she says, as gently as she can. It’s like nails dragged across a porcelain plate. “Wouldn’t that make you feel better? Making ‘em cower a little? Torturing a few, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Bill sniffs, hoping for more sympathy. “Ya think that’d work?”

“Sure it would!” Pyronica says, warming up a little. “Look at this place, Bill! Look how cool you’ve made it! They’re a wreck already! Listen, just –“ and she gingerly pries the martini from Bill’s tight grip. “Just go down there, and talk to your Sixer. Maybe he knows more than he let on. Maybe he’s started having second thoughts. Humans are like that. Aren’t they?”

“Completely obsessed with each other!” Bill agrees. “What am I thinking – ol’ Sixer wouldn’t just trap himself in here with no way out!” He pauses, eyeing his cronies, some approximation of his heart swelling up with pride with the way they’re all gathered to show their support. Or possibly because they’re all scared of Pyronica. Either way, Bill’s grateful. “That’s it! I’m goin’ down there!”

“That’s the spirit,” Pyronica cheers lazily, finishing Bill’s drink for him, and then eating the glass, for good measure.

*

When Bill flies down to where the humans have gathered he feels reinvigorated, he feels powerful, he feels up to no good, and he feels only slightly tipsy. Carelessly pushing trees aside, and burning one in a burst of blue fire and purple smoke just for the hell of it, Bill manifests among the humans.

“I’m back!” he croons. “Did’ya miss me, fellas? How’s about a hand for the guy who’s not gonna turn anyone’s limbs into tentacles today? Just kidding!” There’s a scream in the crowd when someone suddenly finds their appendages much slimier than usual. “But you can still clap for me! In fact, I insist!”

Bill spreads his arms and waits.

The horde of humans stare at him with expressions he can’t quite comprehend, but Stanford looks up, and he looks downright irritated.

“What do you want now, Bill?” he asks. There’s a smudged word on his forehead, and he’s still wearing the scarf. “What does taunting us really accomplish?”

“Yeah!” Pine Tree calls out. “We’re busy!”

“Hey!” Bill snaps back, irritated. “I rule around here, Pineses! In case you forgot, it’s Cipher Town from here on out!” Where were the screams? The fearful and insanity-driven worship? He feels a little sullen now. “What’re you all busy with, anyway? Huddling together in terror? I can help with that!”

“We’re running out of food, genius,” Stanley Pines pipes up, patiently. “So now we’re foraging. It’s kinda more important than – whatever it is you’re trying to do here.”

“I hate to say this, but we might have to resort to cannibalism soon,” the redhead says. “I propose we start with Toby.”

“Hey!” a pink-clad goblin exclaims, with an injured expression.

“Oh, sorry man, didn’t see you there.” She pauses. “So, we’ll start with Toby.”

“Hey!”

“No one has to resort to cannibalism,” Stanford says firmly. “I survived thirty years in places worse than this. What we need to do is ration what we have so far, and spread it out for as far as we can, as well as go into the woods for the natural resources available. Anyone know how to make bread out of tree bark? Just me? Okay, so what we need is –“

“Hello!” Bill bellows, exasperated. People were ignoring him! Him! A giant triangle floating above them with powers wildly beyond their comprehension! For food! “Sixer! All ya need to do is figure out a way to get us out of this dome! Why is that so difficult for you?”

“Even if I hypothetically agreed to find a way to release us, we still need food in the meantime, Bill,” Stanford says evenly. “And since you’ve trapped us in a place with limited resources, I’m afraid we’re going to have to work out some kind of a system for – “

“Augh!” Bill says, intelligibly, and then snaps his fingers. He only has a vague idea of what humans eat, but the ground around the humans starts filling up with whole roasted turkeys, enormous marshmallows, pineapples, key lime pies, and fish heads. 

The humans fall absolutely silent.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Stanley Pines says eventually.

“Wait,” Stanford says, clearing his throat. “Before anyone eats, we should –“

Bill has never seen so many beings attack food so simultaneously. It’s as if they’d choreographed it. Stanford falters.

“Never mind,” he says. Next to him Shooting Star laughs and shoves six marshmallows into her mouth, Pine Tree starts sobbing over a pie, and Stanford quirks his mouth helplessly.

“Well?” Bill demands, somewhat smug and somewhat impatient, spreading his arms. “Here’s your food! Problem solved! Whaddya got to say for that?” He addresses his words at Stanford, to regain the attention that seems to be faltering too easily these days.

Instead, however, every single human looks up from their messy and frantic feast to stare at him; and then… they start clapping.

Bill is not sure what to make of that.

*

“You fed ‘em?” Pyronica asks, incredulously. “To each other, at least?”

“What’s it matter?” Bill asks, feeling flighty and irritated as he circles around his pyramid, hands behind his back. “I can conjure things up, easy as pie!” He snaps his fingers, conjuring another key lime pie. “See! Pie!”

“Why would you give ‘em food? What good does that do? They’re just gonna fill their squishy little bodies and come and try to fight you again!” Pyronica exclaims, throwing her claws in the air. Bill feels that she’s being a little unfair. The humans had applauded him. Without prompting! Clearly, his subjugation was working! He tosses the pie into Teeth’s gaping mouth.

“Sixer doesn’t need the distraction of taking care of other humans,” he says. “If I’m ever gonna convince him –“

“Just put him in a collar again! Kill all the humans! That way, he doesn’t have anyone to look after anymore! Problem solved!”

“He doesn’t work like that!” Bill snaps. “I don’t work like that, ‘nica! He needs a subtle hand, he needs to be pushed to want to do it on his own, otherwise he won’t –“

“I don’t see why we can’t just burn this place down and poke him in the eyes with hot needles until he gives in,” Amorphous Shape sneers, and Bill thinks that he never liked Amorphous Shape that much in the first place. He’s a suffering genius and his friends are about as subtle in manipulation as an average rock to the head. To make matters worse, the others are murmuring agreements to what Amorphous Shape just said.

Bill lets out a frustrated sound, trying not to think about how many of those he’s been making lately, shrinking Amorphous Shape to the size of an ant. “Ya don’t get it! None of you get it! Get out! I’m so sick of you!” He pauses. “And someone step on him!”

“Now, Bill,” Xanthar rumbles, trying to calm him, but even his soothing bass doesn’t make Bill feel any better. The pyramid trembles and rumbles, ominously, and the demons scramble out hastily. Bill proceeds to make tight circles around the ceiling as he floats, and wishes he could fly into space and blow up a star.

Instead, he leaves the fearamid, and goes to find Stanford.

The humans are exactly where he left them, and a sizable chunk of the food is gone, but the general atmosphere seems different. They’re scattered, relaxed, cheerier. Some are building what Bill assumes is shelter, and others seem to be just sitting around, chatting away, but they all quiet down and stare at him as he goes past. Strange, strange humans.

Stanford is sitting by the lake, accompanied by the brother Stanley Pines, when Bill locates him. He prepares for a grand entrance, something to really knock their socks off, but then Stanford spots him (curse his giant glowing yellow body!) and lifts his hand in a sort of awkward greeting.

“What’s up, Sixer?” Bill calls out, forcing the cheer out when all he really wishes for is a martini. “Besides me, I mean! Ha ha!”

“Bill,” Stanford says, evenly. “Why are you here again? Are you bored?”

“No, I’m not – sheesh! Y’know, I’m not gonna be repeating myself again!”

“Oh, right,” Stanford says, closing his notebook and glancing at his brother. “I – we appreciate the food, but even so, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you. Hurt me if you must.” He pauses, irritation passing across his face. “I feel like we’ve been over this.”

“Yeah, but –“ Bill pauses, a dozen different pleas dancing in his mind before he abruptly crumbles, because it’s been a long, long struggle; whining out. “Why not?”

“I,” Stanford seems genuinely struck speechless, his mouth opening and closing, staring at Bill. He lets out a sort of choked sound, as if there’s hair in his throat. “I – Bill. You’re going to destroy the universe.”

“Aaw, look at the little guy,” Stanley Pines says, mouth curling. “Why can’t we just let him out for a little bit?”

“Stanley!” Stanford exclaims, his voice rising a little.

“What?” Stanley shrugs. “The way I see it, either we’re screwed, or the whole world is screwed but the kids might stand a better chance.” He pauses. “I mean, who’re we to decide what happens anyway? We’ll be gone in the next couple of decades.”

“Actually, since there’s no time inside the dome, yer pretty much stuck as you are,” Bill pipes up helpfully.

Stanford rubs his face. “Bill, that’s not helping.”

“I’m not trying to help! You’re supposed to help me, Sixer!” Bill pauses and then adds hastily. “And thus help yerself. Yeah.”

“Nice save,” Stanley grins.

Stanford sighs, and takes off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Bill vaguely remembers this, from the days before Stanford started hating him, as the ‘you-are-so-exasperating-but-I’m-going-to-try-to-make-sense-of-this’ gesture. He feels, for once, a little hope.

“Tell me, Bill,” Stanford says, “since I never asked before – what exactly are you planning to do, once you take over Earth and potentially destroy everything in existence due to the rift you’ve opened up in the fabric of reality?”

Bill pauses, considering. He realizes, in fact, that no one has ever asked him this question before, in the immeasurable time of his existence. Of course it had to be Stanford. Of course. What had he planned to do, anyway?

“Uh,” he says. “I guess. Hm. Throw even a bigger party…?”

Stanford is silent for a moment, and then casts his eyes to the orange and red sky, his expression completely inscrutable. He covers his face with his hands.

“I used to look up to you,” he says muffledly. He sounds despairing. “I used to worship you.”

“You can still do that!” Bill says defensively. “I could get you robes! Nice ones!”

Stanford seems to be struck down by some weird fit, slowly lying down to his side, emitting a low, exponentially rising groan.

“Hey now,” Stanley laughs. “A party doesn’t sound so bad! I always figured this guy to be another weird – magical nerd! But a party, now that’s- ”

“Thirty years,” Stanford mumbles muffledly. It’s all he seems to be able to say. “Thirty years.” Stanley pats his shoulder consolingly.

Bill waits for a moment, for Stanford to emerge from his strange hysterics, but when he doesn’t, he just pushes on as per usual. “So, ya gonna help me out or what, Sixer?”

Stanford chucks his journal at him.

*

Bill Cipher, older than time itself, knows how to improvise. That’s what true existence is all about – while Bill sees the future in countless probabilities, there is no guarantee that any of the outcomes before him will happen even a second later. Thankfully, he’s extremely skilled at nudging the right pieces into right positions to make things go his way. He’s had the extent of his whole existence to practice.

Of course, humans are, as always, ridiculous and unpredictable. Bill hadn’t expected Stanford to just sit on his hands and lock them into a stalemate. (A triumph for Bill Cipher, he corrects in his head hastily, with just a minor setback.) It had, for once, taken him by surprise. Everyone had those days.

But oh, he was working on it.

“One quarter!” Bill yells, floating after Stanford who’s speed-walking away from him. For an old man, Stanford’s surprisingly fast. “Seriously, how much more d’ya need? You don’t exactly take that much space!”

Stanford stops, wheeling around to him, expression stormy. “All right – one, I can’t fit the whole of humanity into a quarter of the Earth, Bill! Second, this whole argument is useless when releasing you would release the rift!”

Bill throws his hands in the air, frustrated. “Fine! If it bothers ya so much, Sixer, why don’tcha fix it?”

Stanford pauses, staring at Bill. “Wait – don’t you – need it for something?”

“Eh!” Bill says, shrugging. “Just to get the party started, really. I’ve got a physical form, I’m pretty much set here now!”

“That’s horrifying,” Stanley comments conversationally, where he’s trailing after them.

“Well, I,” Stanford hesitates, and then shakes his head. “Wait, what am I thinking? The answer’s still no!”

Bill wonders if he should just revert back to the good ol’ torture, no matter how difficult it is to use on someone like Stanford, when another humans wanders into their vicinity.

“E- excuse me,” the human pipes up, peering up at Bill, who’s honestly too baffled by the sudden attention to even strike him down. “I was w- wondering, Mr. Cipher, if you could – I mean, if you’re capable of, like, magicking some kind of a birthday cake? It’s Danny’s birthday, and we were all sort of hoping to, y’know, give him as good a party as you can get in a horrifying apocalypse world.” He pauses, and then adds, optimistically. “I got ‘im a half a raccoon.”

Bill lets out a startled, incredulous laugh. “Me? I’m not your genie, pal!” And he raises his hand, to grow tangling vines inside the human’s intestines, or possible turn his skin into glass, when he catches Stanford staring, with a familiar expression of displeasure and distaste. He doesn’t look surprised. The human shrinks back.

Suddenly, with no reason or prompting, Bill’s mind returns to that clapping.

How else would he handle this situation? Oh, right…

“What’s in it for me?” he demands, lowering his hand. The human blinks. Then he feels around in his pocket hastily.

Bill’s not looking at Stanford, but he can feel him staring.

“I’ve got a - uh – Duck Detective Pez dispenser?” the human says, holding it out for Bill to see. It’s white and blue plastic, with a badly painted duck’s head in one end.

Bill has absolutely no idea what a Pez dispenser is, but is suddenly filled with a near obsessive urge to own one.

“Deal!” he bellows dramatically, because it’s how things should be done, and cackles for good measure as he snatches the Pez. Then he snaps his fingers, thinking back to what cakes look like. A flash of blue fire, and an enormous yellow-frosted cake hovers in the air.

“Thanks, Mr. Cipher!” the human pipes up, startled and nervous. “Boy, Dan’s gonna be surprised!” He squints at the cake. “Oh, you wrote ‘Bill’ – it’s okay, it’s fine, we can fix that –“  

“Yeah, yeah,” Bill drawls lazily because he’s stopped listening, and he gestures importantly. “We completed our deal! Now get lost!”

“Sure, sorry for disturbing you guys,” the human flashes a nervous smile in Stanley Pines’, but not in Stanford’s, direction, shuffling off with the cake.

“What a bargain, eh?” Stanley says gamely, grinning up at Bill.

“I know, right?” Bill says, turning the Pez in his hands. Stanford is still staring at him, and Bill can only assume his plan to convince Stanford to trust him again is working. That old fool!

“Bill, I – you realize that’s just a – “ Stanford starts, but Stanley reaches out, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Just let it be, Ford,” Stanley says. “Just let it be.” Stanford closes his mouth, and then he looks at Bill, his expression changing.

“You know what,” Stanford says. “I’m going to consider your offer, Bill. But in the meantime, I need to figure out how to shut that rift, and I might need some help – it probably won’t be hard for you, to see that the people in Gravity Falls are fed, is it?”

Bill scoffs. “Are ya kidding, poindexter? Leave it to me! Ya just focus on figuring out the way out of here!”

“We’ll see,” Stanford says unreadably. But it’s not the same as ‘no’, not anymore.

Next to him, Stanley Pines grins, glowing with some inexplicable pride.

 *

When the humans hear about the cake, Bill suddenly finds himself flocked with hopeful mortals wishing for different foods. A veritable horde trails after him through the wastelands like some bizarre ducklings, and Bill is disconcerted because he feels, deep down, that they should be running away.

“Can you make blueberry pie?” one humans yells. “I’ll give you this snowglobe for blueberry pie!”

“Of course I can!” Bill snaps, irritated, but accepts the globe, snapping his fingers.

“Hey man, do you have any iced tea? I could really go for some iced tea, I have this action figure –“

Bill’s arms are starting to get full. Good thing he’s running out of patience.

“Fine!” he snaps. “Just gimme that, hurry up, I’ve got other things to do – “

“Soos!” Pine Tree yells from somewhere in the sidelines. “For shame!”

“Yeah, Soos,” Red adds into the chorus. “We don’t beg from Cipher!”

“Dudes, he just conjured some guy, like, a straight up barrel of jelly beans,” the human called Soos says.

Pine Tree hesitates.

“That’s a lot of jelly beans,” he says.

“Of course it’s a lot of jelly beans!” Bill snaps. “I’m Bill Cipher! And he gave me a shoe spoon. ”

“For real?” Red says incredulously and Bill is a little pleased with his own business acumen. She pulls something out of her pocket, approaching Bill.

“I’ll give you this ring if you can make like, permanent hot water happen somehow,” she says urgently. “Like, fix a couple of houses and the plumbing, I need a shower so bad.” She waves the ring invitingly. “It glows in the dark.”  

Pine Tree gives her an injured look. “I gave you that ring.”

“And now I’m using it to get us showers back,” Red says calmly. Pine Tree doesn’t look very convinced that showers are worth the exchange in any situation, but Bill has to have that ring.

“Deal!” he says. Then he realizes that he doesn’t have a clue, nor does he wish to, as to what ‘plumbing’ is.

“Hold on a sec,” he says.

*

He finally finds his cronies down by the lake. Pyronica’s entertaining herself by dunking Hectorgon repeatedly underwater, and the rest of them are just huddling around a burning boat, occasionally tossing fish into the fire. Bill looks around, as he arrives.

“Where’s Xanthar?” he asks.

“Riding the gobblewonker in the lake,” Teeth says. “He’s wanted to do that ever since we got here. You done being mad at us, Bill?”  

“Forget what I was before! I’ve got something for you bozos to do!” Bill announces importantly. This makes his crew perk up, and they shuffle closer. Pyronica lets go of Hectorgon and both of them wade over to the shore to listen.

“You,” Bill says, putting his hands on his sides decisively, “are going to go and Fix the Plumbing.”

“The what now?” Keyhole asks incredulously.

“Fix?” Pyronica says, uttering the word out of her mouth like dispelling something disgusting.

“Why doesn’t Xanthar have to do this?” Pacifier whines.

“Because Xanthar’s a simple soul who’s communing with the gobblewonker!” Bill snaps. “And he doesn’t have any eyes! Guys, this is all part of my new plan! Total world domination is still the end-game here! We just –“ he pauses, eyeing his people. “We just need to Fix the Plumbing first. Well, you do,” he says primly. “I’m delegating.”

“Aw man,” 8 Ball groans. “I don’t know anything about plumbing.”

“It’s how humans get hot water,” Bill says, refusing to show weakness or lack of information, as any true leader should. “You’ll figure it out. Pyronica, you like making things hot.”

“Let me get this right,” Pyronica says, her expression a very impressive sneer. “Now we’re… helping humans? Are we at least allowed to eat some of them if we get hungry?”

Bill pauses. Well, Stanford hadn’t seemed too keen of humans eating humans… “No,” he says decisively.

“What about, like a slow roast, with some rosemary –“

“No eating of any kind,” Bill says insistently. “Of any variations of food preparation, guys. If yer really hungry, ask them for food! They should have plenty, trust me.” He had some organizing to do back at the fearamid. Something else occurs to him. “Oh, and if they need anything else done – you’ll do it, but only for a price! No books, no funny bottle openers! Ya got me?”

His crew gives him a rather unenthusiastic chorus of agreement.

“Well, what’re ya waiting for?” Bill demands. “Get going! The sooner we do this, the sooner we get out of here!” He calls out, as he watches them shuffle into the woods. “This is all part of my plan! Trust me! I’m Bill Cipher, I know what I’m doing!”  

Somewhere in middle of the lake, the gobblewonker and Xanthar perform a rather impressive leap as they burst through the surface of the water. 

*

As Bill settles into his new role as Bill Cipher, the Most Helpful Guy, No Seriously, Stanford, Earth Is In Good Hands, things take a turn… to some very odd places.

“Kid,” he says, staring down at Shooting Star. “I’m literally billions of years old and I’ve been watching this valley longer than humans have existed. I’m pretty sure there was never a green and pink two-story castle made from melted sugar and cotton candy next to the Shack.”

“Well, not anymore,” Shooting Star says with absolute poker face. “Since you destroyed it. Aren’t you fixing up the stuff you wrecked?”

“I’m not fixing anything!” Bill snaps. “I’m just keeping you pipsqueaks alive so that Sixer will undo his stupid spell!”

“Oh,” Shooting Star says, putting a hand on her forehead, adopting a tragic expression. “I feel a little faint. I think – I think I really need an edible castle, or I won’t make it. Oh man. With crenelation.”

“Laying it on a bit thick there, sweetie,” Stanley Pines pipes up from his run-down porch.

“Ha!” Bill says. “Ya gotta live a couple of more centuries before you can even dream of tricking me, kid! No castle for you!”

“Oh fine,” Shooting Star says, straightening. “Here’s the deal, Bill. I’ve got about two dozen slap-on bracelets with your name on them, ready to go. Whaddya say? Am I sleeping in Mabelburg tonight?”

 In all of his time, Bill has never seen a human with such a cold, calculative gleam in their eyes. He’s begrudgingly impressed.

“All right,” he says slowly, circling around her, narrowing his eye thoughtfully. “How do they work?”

“You slap them on your wrist,” Shooting Star says with a completely straight face. Stanley Pines has a sudden weird coughing fit.

“Deal!” Bill says. Stanley stands up, nonchalantly putting aside his shotgun.

“All right, now that that’s dealt with, I’m gonna make some coffee,” he says, walking to the door. He pauses. “Bill, you want any?”

“What?” Bill demands. “I’m Bill Cipher! I’m in charge of your pitiful lives!”

“Oh right, sorry, the whole Armageddon thing, I forgot,” Stanley says. “So no coffee, or – “ he pauses, thinking, “all of the coffee…?”

“I only drink martinis,” Bill says haughtily.

“Yeah, I used to do that for a while back in the seventies,” Stanley muses. “What can I say, it was a fad. But being constantly hungover got old pretty quick.”

Bill feels like this conversation is rapidly going into places he’s not accustomed to. For one, it feels pleasant.

“I gotta go,” he says. “I’ve got – important business to attend to! Y’know, minions to boss around, plans to make –“

“I thought your plan was pretty set,” Stanley says, looking amused. “Real big party, remember?”

“There are minute details!” Bill snaps, rising into the air. He ignores Shooting Star plaintively calling after him as he makes his strategic retreat.

*

“So like – can you, like, make nachos?” the pimply young human standing before him asks. For some reason he seems to be having a lot of trouble containing his laughter.

“What’re nachos?” Bill asks, folding his arms. For some reason, he actually feels as ancient as he is. Behind the pimply human, an equally pimply group of other humans burst into muffled giggles as they huddle together.

“It’s, uh, it’s kinda like a snack,” the human grins. “We like ‘em. Can you make us some?”

“Well, can ya describe ‘em to me?” Bill asks, irritated. Everything was so much easier when turning people into stone was a valid and an understood option in these encounters.

“They’re sort of like –“ the human pauses, letting out a choked little sound, “yellowy- orange. And flat. And –“

“Doritos,” someone in the group behind him whispers. “Mention. Doritos.”

“Robbie, c’mon!” Red calls out, showing up out of nowhere. “Dude, be cool!”

“Oh, c’mon Wendy,” the pimply human says, lifting up his hands defensively. “He wrecked literally everything, I don’t have to be nice.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Red says, putting her hands on her hips, “he’s evil all right. But hear me out, you guys – listen – “ and she pauses, for dramatic second, “he wrecked the high school too.”

The group falls silent.

Bill is rather flabbergasted by the hoots and the shirt-ripping that ensues, but tentatively pleased when the humans start clapping. 

*

“Hello, Sixer! Yer looking very busy! Working on your genius masterplan, I hope –“

“What? Oh,” Stanford says, putting down his notebook. “Right, that. Yes, well, the rift is my first priority, of course.”

“Sure, sure,” Bill says, as casually as he can manage, doing a lazy swoop around Stanford’s head, despite the fact that he’s brimming with impatience. 8 Ball and Teeth are slowly gathering some alien scraps of metal around, and Pine Tree is teaching Hectorgon how to use the glue gun. “But you are definitely undoing the barrier spell as well?”

“I might be,” Stanford says distractedly, speaking slow and careful, his eyes fixed on his hands. “Although I honestly don’t have a spare moment to think about it yet, I’ve been so busy, what with everything going on –“

“What everything?” Bill demands. “I’ve fed you! There’s shelter! What more do you precious chronologically impaired mortals need?”

Stanford clears his throat.

“The giant goat,” he says.

“Charming lil fella,” Bill says. “What, you want another one?”

“No,” Stanford says, emphatically. “On the contrary, we’re all so busy making sure it doesn’t accidentally eat any of the children – well – “

Bill sighs. He sees where this is going. “Say no more,” he says, dejectedly. “I gotcha, Sixer.”

“Oh, good, so you’ll- “

“I’ll look after the children from now on!”

“Oh – actually, I was thinking more like –“ Stanford stares at Bill. “Well, all right,” he says, after a pause.

“I object to this!” Pine Tree yells from across the clearing. Hectorgon gives him a consoling pat on the back.

*

“Still objecting,” Pine Tree announces, sitting in the circle with all the other children, his hands crossed over his chest. “This is insane! Bill just tried to kill us. Like, not even long ago. We just went over this. Very recently.”

“Oh, settle down, kid!” Bill snaps. “It’s not like I planned for this either!” He’d descended onto the ground after some of the children had tried to climb his legs, and Shooting Star had pointed out they could get hurt if they fell. Bill doesn’t really see the problem there, but saying so had only made her threaten to tattle. Little snitch. Bill had definitely shorted her the packets of soy sauce he’d conjured for a light snack.

“I was just turning thirteen!” Pine Tree snaps back, accusingly. “You took the time away and I haven’t grown an inch since! You took away my blossoming manhood!”

“Uh, I wouldn’t word it like that, bro,” Shooting Star says carefully. 

“Sheesh – if you’re that hung up on growing, ya could always just strike up a bargain with me,” Bill snorts, nudging at the humans trying to slide down his sides.

“As if I’d do that! You always cheat in your deals, Bill, like when you only gave Mabel half a castle!”  

“What’re you on about, Pine Tree?” Bill asks, baffled, picking a child hanging from the rim of his hat. “I didn’t –“

Shooting Star coughs, sheepishly. “I might not have thrown up all night because I ate a snail, Dipper,” she says meekly. “Sorry.”

“I knew it!” Pine Tree says. “Your vomit was way too pink. That wasn’t snail vomit!”

The human children are small, sticky, and squirming all over him. Bill snatches one up before it can crawl under his hat. “Watch it, kid! I’ve got a wormhole under there!”

The child merely giggles, peering up at Bill with a disgustingly trusting expression.

“What’s a wormhole?” it asks.

“You don’t know what a wormhole is?” Bill and Pine Tree ask, in an accidental and an embarrassingly simultaneous unison. Pine Tree gives him a startled look. Bill is dismayed when the boy lets out a nervous laugh.

“Oh my god,” Shooting Star says. “Nerds.”

*

“- anyway, then Mr. Catface just plain refused to eat so I had to go three different grocery stores – can you believe it, three, one of them was out of town – to get his special food – “

“Ya don’t say,” Bill remarks. The human has been talking non-stop for the past forty-five minutes, while Bill waits, floating in the air, his legs crossed, to hear what her bargain is all about. They haven’t even got to it yet.

“And then the poor thing threw up! He’s been doing better now since he can’t eat the food from the other two since they’re missing but he still refuses his food! And I know he’s spoiled but he’s my ol’ grumpie, I can’t let him starve –“

“Right, so –“

For the first fifteen minutes of the monologue Bill had been livid enough to consider flinging her to the other side of the Gravity Falls, Stanford’s disapproval be damned. Then it had rolled into twenty minutes and he’d actually managed to follow what she said. Around forty-minute mark, Bill was fascinated. She was growing on her. 

It had to be the single visible eye. Bill can’t help but think that it’s sort of stylish.

“You know, he’s got white little spots on his paws! Back when he was just a kitten his paws were completely black but when he got older, he started getting those – not like the other two, they are completely grey, which is rarer, but it’s so weird, isn’t it?” she asks the glowing dream demon looming above her.

“Uhhuh,” Bill says.

“So then I picked up the brush –“

He’s completely obsessed with her. He has to have her, which is strange, since Bill doesn’t really comprehend either love or relationships. The one-eyed vixen is hypnotizing him!

“Anyway –“ she pauses to take a breath, finally.

“Wait!” Bill interrupts hastily, lifting his hands. “Just – tell me what ya want! What d’you desire? I’ll give you anything, special offer, free of charge! Infinite amount of money! Immortality! Godhood! Anything!” This is madness, he must be going mad, but it feels so right.

“Oh,” she says, smoothing her greying hair back, looking a little put-upon by the interruption. “Right, well, yes.” She tilts her chin up, decisively.

Bill waits, with bated breath.

“I’d like two dozen tins of Colonel Kittington’s Finest, please,” she says.

Things are definitely getting out of hand. He has to do something.

*

“This is inhumane, Bill,” Stanford says, his face pale as he peers at the board. “When you suggested a game, this is not what I had in mind.” He pauses. “Although I guess I should’ve seen it coming.”

Bill spreads his arms smugly. “Hey, this is actually pretty traditional! Just be glad we’re not playing checkers or I’d be using just their skulls!”

Stanford makes a face as he looks down at the shrunken citizens of Gravity Falls, spelled to stay put until they were moved by either player. Bill is pretty proud of this one. He’d even made little black and white garbs for each side.

“This is absolutely disgusting, Bill –“

“Don’t sweat it, Mr. P!” one of Bill’s pawns pipes up. “Although if you could move me closer to Tambry, that’d be like, cool and all –“

“They can talk?” Stanford rears back, horrified. “You mean they’re conscious?”

“Duh!” says Bill, who’s enjoying every minute of this. “Where’s the fun if we’re not hearing their tiny screams as we go along– “

“Bill!” And Stanford looks strangely pained. “I mean – that is, you were doing so well –“

“Wise up, Sixer!” Bill says, gesturing triumphantly. “Y’know, I might be helping you out, but in the end you should keep in mind that this is my town from now on o–“

“I can’t hear him, should I move now? What was I again?” Bill’s one-eyed queen pipes up from the board abruptly. He’s completely derailed. 

“What – no, we’ve been over this –“

“Should I take someone out? Oh, is that that reporter lady –“

“No!” Bill snaps. “No moving! I told’ya! You’re my queen! You just sit there and look pretty, woman!”

She giggles. “Oh, Bill.”

Stanford, that old jerk, is staring at him. He’s raising his eyebrow! At him! Bill scrambles to get them back on the track.

“Anyway – I figured you’d like ‘em to keep their voices, considering what hopeless feelings you harbor for one of ‘em –“

Stanford looks startled and peers closer at the board, his expression switching into panicked uncertainty.

“Hiya, bro,” a tiny Stanley Pines says, raising his hand in a wave.

“Stanley!” Stanford cries out, leaning down like he might scoop his brother up. “What’re you doing there? Bill, you –“

“Actually, I asked if he could put me in.” Stanley pauses. “He even checked with us about any existing heart conditions.”

“I did not!” Bill yelps. “Lies! Lies and slander! Don’t listen to him, Sixer!” Stanford blinks, looking anything but psychologically broken.

“Why would you do that?” he asks tentatively. Stanley laughs, spreading his arms.

“Well, first of all, I like punching –“

“I told ya, Stanley Pines, there’s no punching –“

“And secondly – look at me! I’m in your nerd game!” Stanley lets out a little guffaw. “Isn’t this pretty cool, Ford? We’re playing it together! But I don’t have to use my brain!”

Stanford blinks, staring at his miniature brother. His eyes seem to be slowly turning a little misty. Bill can’t be having with this.

“Hello?” he calls out, desperately. “I turned your precious humans into literal play things! You called it inhuman! And disgusting!”

“Hey, dudes, so I forgot how the horse moves, should I just wing it, or –“ a tinny voice comes from the board.

“Oh Ley,” Stanford says, his voice a little wobbly as his mouth curls into a tentative smile. “I guess one game wouldn’t hurt.”

“High six?” Stanley asks, lifting his hand. Stanford reaches out, very, very carefully pressing the tip of his finger against his brother’s tiny palm.

“High six,” he says, softly.

Bill is starting to think he would’ve been better off releasing dozens of land-faring sharks into the valley, as was his original plan.

“This was a great idea,” Stanford says solemnly.

“Heh, I’m just gonna wing it,” his horse says.

*

Bill sends a whole flock of his eye-bats to look for Pyronica, but they don’t find him before he does, floating desolately over the town when he spots her, surrounded by small and pink human females. He flies down, wishing with some painful yearning that the children would run away screaming, but they merely look up to acknowledge his presence. One of them has the gall to wave at him.

“’ronica, c’mere!” he calls out. “I need to talk to ya!” Pyronica simply looks at him, not moving. One of the girls is painting her claws. Her horns have been bedazzled with tiny sparkly stones. Bill floats a bit closer, sullenly.

“Oh, Bill,” she says lazily. “Let me guess. The humans aren’t cooperating like you thought they would?”

“Yes!” Bill throws his arms in the air. “Sixer keeps saying he’s gonna do it – the humans keep asking me for things, and sometimes they forget to bring me things to bargain with! I hate to take souls because I never know where to put ‘em but maybe I should start doing that!” It feels good to rant, even if he’s doing it in front of judging eyes of about six small humans.

“Uhhuh,” Pyronica says, as she takes a hold of one human’s long dark hair – for a moment Bill assumes she’s going to rip it out, but she starts doing a rather smart French braid instead. “Yep. Maybe. Your Sixer will be mad, though.”

“Screw Sixer!” Bill says heatedly. “Listen – maybe ya were right in the first place, Pyronica – I mean, we definitely should’ve tried my plan, there’s no question of that – but what you said wasn’t totally wrong!”

“Oh, I was wrong,” Pyronica says casually. Bill freezes.

“What?” he asks, incredulously. On top of her violent self-centeredness, one of Pyronica’s best qualities had always been her incapability of admitting defeat or fallibility in any form. He can’t believe this is happening.

“I was so wrong,” Pyronica says, rolling the word on her tongue, eyeing Bill like she’s enjoying what he’s going through. “I mean, you guys are cool and all, don’t get me wrong, Armageddon for lyfe, but –“ and she gestures around her. “Somehow, I just find myself so at home with these humans! Look at my horns, Bill! Look how sparkly they are!”

“I like sparkly too!” Bill says, injured beyond belief. “Remember that time we shattered that space diamond that only existed in children’s dreams and used it as a body glitter, huh? I can do this stuff with ya!”

“Look, we can still take over the Earth,” Pyronica says, going for calm and reasonable, which just makes Bill fume even more. “But let’s just keep going with this too. I think I’m achieving a lot of good here!”

“I’m gonna grow up and devour my enemies!” a slightly larger small, pink human bellows in her strangely gravelly voice. Pyronica gives Bill a meaningful, satisfied Look.

“I’ve been hanging out with Wendy too,” she says. “I used to have a lot of brothers too, y’know – until I ate all of them – but she says she’s not quite there yet –“

Pyronica, his best friend – well, almost his best friend, almost – of whose zeal for blood and destruction Bill had thought he could trust, to put things back the way they were. At least they could’ve intimidated the humans back into shape. Gone out in a blaze of glory. Something. Now, however… now Bill’s truly alone.

“He’s getting ready to do a dramatic one-liner,” Pyronica says to her humans. “That’s how he gets when he’s mad. He’s probably going to turn red and raise some kind of a giant platform up into the air, he likes those.”

Bill forcibly restrains himself from doing just that, throwing his arms in the air.

“Ugh!” he yells, intelligently, before he turns and storms away.

“Remember, Bill!” Pyronica calls after him. “I was wrong! Humans are pretty fun! Isn’t that what ya always kept telling us, anyway?”

*

Bill wanders into the town in a daze, and unlike before, his glowing, godlike presence doesn’t raise even an alarmed tense silence, and he doesn’t really have the sufficient pep for a proper entrance. He just sort of… shows up. No one seems to question it. As he passes by, several humans look up from what they’re doing to wave and call out greetings. Children run after him. Pine Tree, dwarfed next to the manotaur he’s standing close to, looks up and smiles at him, albeit nervously.

“Hey, Bill!” the boy says, as if Bill’s presence is the most normal thing in the world.

Stanford Pines is directing humans and Bill’s crew alike, holding out his plans to check for their progress as they work on it. It is as if they’re constructing some kind of a gigantic version of Pine Tree’s glue gun, propped up on a platform. 8 Ball is wearing a hard hat.

“Oh, Bill!” Stanford says, glancing up distractedly. “I’m glad you’re here – as you can see, we’ve moved on with our little project and I was hoping to discuss next steps with you –“

“Yeah?” Bill says listlessly, conjuring himself a martini. “Whazzat?”

Stanford pauses, giving him and his drink a critical look. “Isn’t it a bit too early for that?”

Before Bill can find a way to coherently formulate his response, mainly centering around the fact that there is no early and late because time does not exist, and Bill Cipher can either drink or shove said drink somewhere uncomfortable – he’s interrupted. By the pink goblin the humans are inexplicably keeping around.

“Excuse me – Bill, isn’t it?” the thing squeaks at him. Bill pauses, staring down at it blankly. It continues.

“Toby Determined here – I was wondering, since you’re filling people’s wishes and all, if you could grant me this small request,” the goblin continues, wringing his hands, nervously hopeful. “Y’see, my feet get awfully cold during the nights and the apocalypse sort of destroyed most of my clothes. Is there any way you could conjure a pair of nice, warm fluffy socks for me?”

Bill stares down at the goblin, not even blinking, while he tries to process that.

“Socks,” he repeats flatly.

“I’m allergic to polyester.”

Next to him, Stanford lets out a sound that sounds suspiciously like a laugh masked as a cough.

It is the last, final drop, straw, penny, whatever causes the camel’s back the most grievous injury.

“Socks?” Bill repeats, his voice booming, loud and echoing, and only slightly high-pitched.

“Y- yes-“

“SOCKS?”

“Now, Bill,” Stanford starts, like Xanthar once upon a time, but even his deep, gravely tones don’t work.

“YOU DARE – YOU – THREE-DIMENSIONAL MONKEYS –“ Bill’s actually having trouble coming up with good insults, choking on his own rage, everything boiling to the surface as he rises into the air. The ground below them shakes, a few cracks opening to its surface as untempered lighting escapes from his fingers, and finally, finally someone screams.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALK UP TO ME FOR SOCKS?” Bill shrieks, growing in size as he looms over them. “SOCKS! AND FOOD AND WATER AND TEDDY BEARS – NEWSFLASH! I’M BILL CIPHER! NOT YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD GENIE! I TORE YOUR WORLD APART AND MADE IT MY OWN! YOU ALL NEED TO LEARN – YOUR – PLACE – “

“Great going, Toby!” someone yells from the crowd.

Stanford tilts his face up to Bill, standing directly in the eye of the storm happening, wind and thunder and dark clouds summoned by Bill’s frustration, and for a moment Bill almost falters, staring down at him, because Stanford doesn’t look disturbed, or angry, or scared.

He looks disappointed.

“Nacho, don’t be mad,” someone else yells. Bill breaks.

“UGH!” he screams, and the gigantic glue gun cracks in half loudly. The people finally, finally start screaming and running away, self-preservation kicking.

Bill does something unexpected. He flees into his fearamid.

*

For a while, Bill just broods. No one comes after him – not Pyronica, not Hectorgon, not even Xanthar. The pyramid is silent and gloomy, the tinted windows letting in red, unhappy light. Somewhere on the floor level Amorphous Shape’s tiny tinny voice is saying something, but Bill can’t, nor does he want to, make out what it is.

His throne is fully gone now. It must have been, for a while now, but he hasn’t had a lot of time to spend in the fearamid. He lies on his side, balancing carefully as he curls up. He doesn’t even feel like drinking.

The pyramid looks different, less empty now. All the junk accepted from the humans is set around the place, arranged in artful positions in order of shape, colour, and Bill’s own estimation of their value. Bill stares at the Pez dispenser carefully set, alone, on the platform where his throne used to be, where he’s lying now. It looks bizarrely out of place against the dark, heavy stone.

“You and me both, buddy,” Bill mumbles.

For some reason he doesn’t feel very satisfied with his earlier outburst. Of course, the humans had had it coming to them, of course – how dare they treat Bill like that! But it had been half-hearted, frustrated, empty. There hadn’t even been any casualties.

And he doesn’t even feel bad about that. What’s wrong with him?

Bill reaches out, stretching his spindly arm, and carefully grasps the Pez dispenser, pulling it in for a closer inspection.

He’s pleasantly surprised upon suddenly realizing that there’s candy inside.

There’s a grunt, and then Stanford Pines pulls himself up into the fearamid, through the large open hole Bill’s meant to fix for ages now. He stands up, dusting himself off, before he looks up and spots Bill.

“That position looks uncomfortable,” Stanford says calmly. “How’re you staying up?”

Bill floats up into the air, clutching the Pez in one hand, suddenly very sullen. “What’re ya doing here, Sixer? Come to take another shot at me?” He pauses. “How did you even get up here?”

Stanford flashes a small smile, lifting something. “Grappling hook,” he says simply. Bill remains politely puzzled.

Stanford clears his throat.

“Actually, I – well, to be quite frank, I came to see how you’re doing.”

Bill cannot even begin to describe how puzzled he is at this point. “How I’m doing?”

“We’ve reprimanded Toby, of course – and explained to everyone that they can’t just ask you things willy-nilly,” Stanford pauses, lifting his hands placatingly. “Because that’s not what you’re about. And we understand and respect that.”

“What,” Bill asks, throwing his arms in the air. “What’s – what is going on, Sixer? Why’re you all like that? I don’t get it!”

“I’ve been pondering it myself,” Stanford flashes a wry little smile, walking closer. “At first I thought we were all suffering from some kind of a simultaneous Stockholm Syndrome – but frankly, we’re not exactly identifying with your cause.” He eyes Bill, expression a little distasteful. “To party.”

“When are you going to let that go, Sixer?” Bill asks sullenly. Stanford continues smoothly.

“Actually, I think we’re frankly just – adjusting. Human beings have a fantastic way of getting used to things – I should know! You wouldn’t believe – well, you might – what things I got used to when I went through the portal. I think we’re just,” and he pauses, helplessly. “We’ve gotten used to you, Bill. That’s all.”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Bill says poisonously.

“Frankly I’ve been worried you might have Stockholm Syndrome here –“

“No, I take it back! That’s the dumbest!”

“Look, Bill,” Stanford rubs the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to tell you. If we’re being honest here – I thought you were – you know, sort of enjoying this.”

Bill freezes, staring at Stanford, who continues, hastily. “I know, I know, the dumbest thing you’ve heard –“

“Enjoyed it?” Bill croaks out. He’s still holding onto the Pez. “What – what gave you that idea, pointdexter?”

“Well,” Stanford pauses, hesitating, staring at Bill. “I thought – isn’t it sort of a nice change, to talk to people, to have them like you?”

“I don’t like yer humans!” Bill snaps. “I just think they’re useful, that’s all! Stop – getting all these ideas – oh no –“

He’d squeezed the thing too hard. The plasticky head of the Pez pops out, rolling down the platform and coming to halt by Stanford’s feet.

Stanford looks down at it, and then crouches down, picking it up, examining it.

“Bill,” he says, serious now, his voice low. “I can’t let you out of this dome.”

Bill feels like screaming, staring at his broken treasure, the candy spilling out slowly. He feels like screaming until he’s not him anymore, something raw and terrifying, devouring everything on its path. He feels awful.

“Not with your plans,” Stanford says evenly. “Not if you truly just want to – party this world out of existence. But –“ and he pauses, standing up slowly, stiffly. “But. Maybe we could come into a – new deal.”

For a moment Stanford’s words are incomprehensible to him, before Bill returns back to this plane of existence, staring at the human before him.

For some reason, faint hope blossoms.

“A new deal?” he rasps out, slowly.

“I’ve been hearing things from people in the town,” Stanford says slowly. “I’ve been talking to Stanley too, about the state our world is currently in. And I feel like I could – I could do a lot of good, out there. If I had the resources. If I had help.” He pauses, looking at Bill. “Listen – would it be so bad, Bill – if you didn’t take the world with brunt force, with a storm, but we did, with a whisper?”

“We?” Bill asks, helplessly.

“I mean, the student loans! It’s a disgrace!”

“It is?”

“It would have to be extremely gradual,” Stanford says. “Humans will rise up against any sudden changes. And there should be no casualties. No one hurt. But think about it, Bill – instead of a wasteland, you could have – this,” and he gestures, outside. “Them. Only – more so.”

“I,” Bill says. Stanford is staring at him, and he looks different – he’s wearing a pink scarf, his eyes shining like they used to, his head held up high – and Bill thinks about Shooting Star, and Pine Tree, and Stanley Pines. He thinks about coffee and the one-eyed cat lady. And Pyronica, somewhere down below, accumulating her army of pink and fierce small humans.

“I want a statue,” Bill says abruptly. “I want a statue of myself – three statues! Solid gold! With engravings!”

Stanford pauses, scratching his ear thoughtfully.

“We can probably make that happen,” he muses. And he offers his hand to Bill.

They shake hands. Stanford glances down.

“There appears to be some kind of a miniscule – deconstructed Rubik’s Cube trying to climb on my shoe,” he observes.

“Oh, just step on it,” Bill says, waving his hand.

Stanford does. Amorphous Shape disappears under his shoe with the tiniest little squeak.

*

 “Mabel is teaching Xanthar how to knit,” Stanford says.

“Great,” Bill says sourly. “I can never say no to that mug. Now I’m gonna have to wear a sweater!”

“I think you’d look good in a sweater,” Stanley pipes up mildly. “It’ll enhance your – you know.” He gestures. “That triangle shape.”

“Ya think so?” Bill brightens a little. “Ha! I knew I liked you best, Ace!”

“Finally!” Stanley exclaims. “A nickname! At last! In your face, Ford!”

“Yes, yes,” Stanford says dryly. “I never said it wasn’t going to happen. I just told you not to get your hopes up.”

“The hopes were way up! And it paid off, big time!”

“Hey!” Bill pipes up. “Why don’t I have any nicknames from you guys?”

“Well,” Stanford coughs. He exchanges glances with Stanley. “You do. Actually. But nothing we can repeat with the children around. I’m sorry.”

Bill preens a little.

“Hey, you guys!” Pine Tree calls out from Mabel’s reconstructed castle. “It’s starting! Get ready, here we go!”

“Oh boy,” Stanley says, rubbing his hands together. He opens up a can of Pitt-Cola, passing it on to Pyronica.

“Now, remember,” Stanford says somewhere slightly below Bill, “we’ve been inside a spell that keeps the time frozen, which means that by my estimation, at least a few months have passed outside. Maybe even half a year. It’s going to need some getting used to.”

“So many TV-shows missed,” a human called Soos says. “Oh man. I think I’m gonna need a jar to pee in.”

Somewhere high above them, the sky starts to slowly turn blue as the spell melts away.

Bill Cipher, absently holding Stanford’s hand as if they were going to shake on it, but forgot, settles into his victory.