Discover Top Posts Tagged with #billdipss24

Hello! This is my BillDip Secret Santa gift for @pierrotguru. It's based off two of their very fun prompts. I had an extension due to having started a month later than everyone else, but did miss that extension by a few days -- I apologize for the lateness, but regardless, I hope it was worth the wait! I had a lot of fun making it and hope people enjoy.

Beta'd by @knubpin -- thank you so, so much!

Summary: Dipper's never been in such a dire situation—snowed in at the Mystery Shack, with no one for company but... Bill Cipher.

Bill Cipher, the supremely annoying supreme being confined to a human body—but still hell bent on making the life of every human in his vicinity miserable. It's just, you know, now he's bound to Gravity Falls and can only piss off Dipper and his family rather than the entirety of the multiverse.

But when Bill suggests an eggnog-drinking contest — no, Pine Tree, he cannot let all this sheer, concentrated holiday cheer go to waste! — things get strange... stranger than Dipper could have ever predicted.

Read the fic beneath the cut, or read it on ao3.

-------

"You don't know the things I had to do, Pine Tree. The skin-suits I had to invert. The skulls I had to crack like little squishy jelly beans. The people I had to kill."

"Who did you have to kill for eggnog?" grumbled Dipper.

"People, obviously!"

Dipper smeared one tired hand down his tired face. "Look, Bill, this isn't working. The fridge is absolutely stuffed" — he swung the fridge door open wider, gesturing wildly at the rows of eggnog — "to the brim with that gross drink. I just bought groceries!"

They were staring down the barrel of the worst storm Gravity Falls had ever faced, and already the snow was piling like sticky, gummy dandruff on the front and back lawns of the The Mystery Shack. Everyone else—Stan, Ford, Mabel, Soos—had been away or abroad when the newscasters had announced the oncoming menace. None of them could make it back in time, leaving just Dipper and Bill alone in The Shack in the week leading up to Christmas. So much for Dipper's plan to explore the Abyssian ice caves deep under Gravity Falls' crust. He wouldn't be able to make it out there in the storm, and, of course, he'd be stuck babysitting Bill the next few days lest he wanted to risk The Shack's fiery destruction.

Despite his disappointment, Dipper had thought he'd, you know, be nice for once—go out shopping for the both of them before the storm. Bill didn't have to eat, being the thin, wiry six-foot-two embodiment of a dream demon and possibly an interdimensional serial killer, but he enjoyed stuffing his face nonetheless. Dipper had even gotten him those little gummy triangles he liked so much. ("It's like eating little mes, Pine Tree! I've been left feeling so deprived since the demonic council outlawed cannibalism in 1523…")

"Well," Bill said, rolling his eyes, "how was I supposed to know you'd take a stroll to the human store for some human sustenance?"

"Because I told you," Dipper said flatly.

Bill raised an accusatory finger—then the disgruntled squirm of his mouth seemed to smooth; he deflated like a tent. "You did tell me that, yeah."

"I guess you weren't paying attention. As per usual."

Bill's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Aw, Pine Tree, I always pay attention to you! It's just that, ah, I was distracted this time. See, you were under that mistletoe and I was thinking about eating your face…"

Dipper sputtered. "Eating my—"

"Yeah, I haven't had human flesh in a while."

"Bill." Dipper brought his palms together, pointing his pressed-together fingers towards Bill. "People kiss under the mistletoe. They don't chew on each other's faces."

Bill's eyes grew wide. He brought a hand to his chin and stroked it, his eyes getting far away. Wonderingly, he said, "The odd customs of your barbarous race never cease to amaze me."

Dipper groaned, wiping a hand across his face. "Just—we have to do something about all that eggnog. I need these groceries to eat for the next couple of days while we're snowed in, in case you didn't figure that out."

"Groceries, schmocieres," grumbled Bill. But then he sighed and said, "Well, only one thing for it, kid. We're gonna have to" — he smiled conspiratorily, giddily, maniacally — "drink our way out of this."

"What."

"That's right, we're just gonna have to drink all that eggnog ourselves to make room for the groceries. And we better do it quick, too, you humans sure like things that rot faster than a dead skunk in July."

"We?"

Bill shrugged. "Well, duh. I can't drink all that eggnog all by myself. I've got a gaping interdimensional pocket the size of the Marianas for a stomach, but even it can't fit that much concentrated holiday cheer. I can drink, oh, probably, 90% of the stuff. I'll leave the rest to your, hm… delicate constitution."

"I'm not helping you drink any—"

Bill shrugged, the curl of his mouth much too pleased for what he was about to say. "It's either that or your groceries go bad. 'Cause, uh—I'm not letting this eggnog go to waste. Like I said…" His lips unfurled; his teeth gleamed, as white and sharp as the edge of a shell. "The things I had to do, Pine Tree…"

"Just put them out in the snow, Bill…"

"They'll freeze. C'mon, kid, you know how that ruins the taste!"

Dipper sighed. Learning to live with Bill had been an adjustment, to put it mildly. It meant dealing with a monomaniacal being of pure energy stuffed in a human meat suit—and pissed about it. But, well, those were the terms of the deal Ford had wrangled out of Bill: forced into a human form, confined to Gravity Falls, and unable to harm anything else with a human form. And Dipper figured that at least it was better for everyone if Bill ping-ponged around the Shack rather than terrorized the multiverse. Too bad Bill seemed to want to take his anger out on the Shack's residents—the various schemes and plots he came up with were expressly designed to make them miserable. Bill had admitted as much to that years ago.

And woe unto anyone who tried to thwart him or, even, gently redirect him to less destructive pursuits. Which meant that when Bill's obsessive, greedy little heart set its sights on something—something like consuming thirty cartons of eggnog—it didn't let go for the world. If Bill wanted him to drink the eggnog, he had better do it. If he didn't, he risked fire and brimstone, calamity and catastrophe—or, even worse… a week's worth of nightmares about middle school.

(Which was a low blow—Bill knew what had happened back then, how Dipper's life had been irreparably broken. But like an ass he sent the nightmares anyway.)

"Fine, Bill." Dipper threw up his hands. "I will drink your stupid festive drink."

Bill's smile this time was softer than his usual—this smile was only paper-edge sharp—this smile wouldn't cut you unless you asked nicely. "And a Merry Christmas to you, too, kid."

-----------

"Say, Pine Tree," said Bill, pouring out his first glass of nog, "why don't we make things… a little interesting."

"No other words have ever struck as much fear into my heart as those," Dipper said flatly.

"It ain't no big thing, kid," crowed Bill. "It's simple. Rudimentary. A paltry little game while we indulge in the creamy goodness of Spectral Relativity Farms."

"And just what are you suggesting?"

"We make this into a little… contest. There's thirty cartons. Right now I'm drinking twenty-seven twenty-ouncers and you're drinking three. If you can finish all your three before I finish my twenty-seven…" He smiled wolfishly. "Then I'll give you your Christmas present early."

"You got me a Christmas present?" Dipper said in disbelief.

"Sure did! And it'll be, naturally, the best, most thoughtful, most enriching present you're ever gonna get." He hummed. "But if I win… then you get your Christmas present early…. and I get to go to the Abyssian ice caves with you."

"Absolutely not." Having Bill tag along would be a headache and a half—the asshole never shut up.

"Ah, well, y'see, the pass up there sometimes closes in January… and with the storm… I mean, I could get you up there, for sure, storm or not. I'm just that kinda guy. But if you'd rather not go…"

Dipper eyed him suspiciously. "What's the present got to do with it?"

"Yeah, well, it could get you up there, too, no demonic involvement required."

"I don't know," Dipper said carefully. This seemed too good to be true—three glasses against twenty-seven… and he got to go to the Abyssian ice caves either way… Finally, he said, "You're in a giving mood."

Bill gave an easy smile. "I've been infected with the Christmas spirit."

Dipper stared.

Bill's lips twitched. "And I think it'd be funny watching you choke on eggnog."

"Of course you do, Bill." Dipper sighed, shaking his head. "It just seems kind of silly, to decide this over an eggnog-drinking contest…"

"Huh. Sheesh, kid, if you didn't think you could beat me, why didn't you say so?"

Dipper scowled. "I didn't say that." Flexing his fingers into a fist, he continued, "Look, if you promise to play fair, I guess I can… humor you."

Bill flashed a smile so dazzling a diamond would cry. "Alright-y then. Cross my heart and hope to choke, I'll give you a fair game. Now. Let's pour your drinks out—I gotcha, kid, allow me… Now… on your marks… ready—set—go!"

Dipper rushed the cup to his face, slugging down the eggnog like breathing had just become optional. It slathered down his throat and coated his gullet; it sunk like sludge into his waiting stomach. Tilting the cup back, his chin nearly horizontal now, he downed the last swallows and gulps across several desperate seconds. Then he slammed his glass face down on the tabletop and looked over at Bill—

Who was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, ten empty bottles strewn like a set of marbles across the counter.

"What," Dipper said.

Bill grinned, his eyes crinkling playfully. "Look at you," he cooed. "One glass down."

"You're cheating," Dipper said. "You cheated!"

"I don't know," Bill said casually. "Maybe you shoulda been recording if you were so concerned. But, nah. I promised I'd play by the rules—so I really am just that good." He thought for a moment. "Oh, and I can unhinge my jaw to consume bigger prey. Wanna see?"

Bill brought a cup to his lips, his jaw starting to—

"No!" Dipper whacked the cup out of Bill's hands, gobs of eggnog splattering onto the table and floor. "No," he whispered.

"We're not counting that one against me, right."

Dipper made a choked sound—it was awfully high-pitched, more shriek than groan—and then slammed back his second glass. After several long seconds in which he couldn't breathe, he set the glass down, chest heaving. He looked back over at Bill—

And at least twenty more empty glasses littered the table. Bill was smacking his mouth, looking at his watch. "Huh," he said. "I'm usually much faster than this."

"Come on, dude," Dipper groaned.

"See ya in the ice caves, Pine Tree," Bill said brightly, bringing another glass to his lips.

But—no—Dipper only had one cup left, he was almost freaking—there—! He tipped his head back, the glass standing practically vertical above his face, and didn't so much as swallow as inhale. That's right: let Bill win against gravity.

Finally—Dipper was done. He plunked the last glass down on the table, the dull clang of the glass grabbing Bill's attention.

Bill stopped drinking, and looked at Dipper, brows raised. Then he looked down at the glass in his own hand, his very last one; a few gulps lay at the bottom, the kind of sick, creamy yellow that wouldn't be out of place on the walls of a children's hospital. "Would you look at that," Bill said. "You won."

Dipper stared at the three empty glasses in front of him, blinking in shock.

Bill leaned back, his face disgruntled but contemplative. "There's some lesson to be learned here. Something about hubris and pride and not counting chickens before they squawk. Yeah, something stupid like that!"

Dipper couldn't keep the smile from his face; he'd won, he'd actually won, and he'd get to go to the Abyssian ice caves without Bill tagging along, thank you very much. He'd be able to meet the Yetis; study their language; investigate the source of the curious crystals that powered their lights and cars and toaster ovens. He opened his mouth to gloat—but instead what came out was a dry, wracking cough.

Bill froze.

Dipper coughed again, this time louder, rougher.

"You don't…" Bill cleared his throat. "You don't have a problem with spicy things, right?"

"S-spicy?" Dipper stuttered out, still coughing. His throat was starting to burn and smart and sting. "It's e-eggnog. The s-s-spice is cinnamon."

"Yeah, it's not exactly eggnog," Bill hedged. "I just called it that for the benefit of your narrow human understanding. It's actually Karlaxian Firenog. You know, made from the crushed scales of Dimension 42/K's Karlaxi, a creature known for a quite effective evolutionary adaptation… an outer shell rich in Capsaicin."

"C-c-capsaicin—"

"Firenog takes a while to act, but once it does—well, it's supposed to be a nice little tickle. It's only, what, a million Scoville units." Bill brought a hand to his chin. "Which is chump change for a demon, but…"

A million units… and Dipper had had three…

Dipper shot up from his chair, staggering over to the fridge. He snatched up the milk and started to glug it frantically; it barely soothed the burn.

Soon he'd drunk half the carton. Okay, okay, think, Dipper, this wasn't working—what else—acid! Something acidic would balance an alkaline molecule like capsaicin. Dipper reached for the orange juice and downed half the bottle in a few hearty gulps. That worked a little better. But still the sting was aching and persistent—as sharp as a scorpion's sting, as strong as a shot of straight liquor.

Sugar, Dipper realized with a painful moan—sugar can neutralize capsaicin. He slammed open the cupboard, started pouring honey on his tongue. This worked the best—the excruciating burning of his tongue cooled to merely to a biting sting. Which was… almost bearable, but—goddamit, Bill!—this was all Bill's fault, why did that demon have to make him drink—

"Bill, you h-hideous t-t-triangle—stop—!"

Bill had grabbed his chin, was forcing something to his lips. Dipper tried to wrench his head away, but that grip was tight as steel; he cried out, and something cold and viscous dripped from the edge of a glass, past his open mouth and down his gullet.

The effect was immediate: an angelic coolness spread along his tongue and down his throat. It was heavenly and sweet, analgesic and soothing. His mouth felt like he'd been chewing mint gum, but with none of the tingling, just the pleasant freshness and chill.

"Sorry about the wait." Bill grimaced sheepishly. "Had to call a buddy to take a quick hop Dimension X9'3 for the Atlavian juice."

"Bill…" Dipper swallowed, his chest heaving. "Bill, what the hell."

Bill, for once in his life, wouldn't meet Dipper's eyes. "Congrats on winning, kid. No, seriously. Good job."

"Why the hell would you make me drink that—that death in a cup!"

"Cool it with the hyperboles, kid," Bill said wearily. "I didn't think it'd effect you like that. I knew what with you being a human you couldn't have as much, but I didn't—I didn't realize you'd be that—" He made a strangled noise, his face stricken. "That delicate."

"I'm not delicate," Dipper spat. "I mean, I'm not like you, I don't have the fortitude of a cockroach, but I handle myself fine. It's just—I'm human. You have to understand that!"

Bill closed his eyes, digging his fingers into the lids. After a time, he said—softly, dangerously— "I do know that. I know you're human, and everyday a million humans break their little necks and rupture their little hearts and batter their little brains to bits. You're like glass" — he opened his eyes, bared his gritted teeth — "you break."

Dipper scoffed. What a drama king. He made to reply—but Bill cut him off.

"Seriously, do you know often—how often I have to worry about you meatsacks! Ford's a walking monster magnet. Mabel has to be told twice a day not to swallow something inedible. Stan's just lucky he's not in jail. Oh, and Soos is, in fact, going to walk into one too many walls one day and get a brain bleed. Axotl, excuse me for overestimating a human for once!"

Dipper crossed his arms, thinking for a moment. Bill was a demon, he couldn't really… no, he was just hanging around the Shack due to that deal he made with Ford. But then again, said a voice in Dipper's mind, couldn't a demon like Bill have found a way around any deal by now… wouldn't a demon like Bill only stay—if they wanted to?

"Jeez, dude," Dipper said finally, trying not to let any amusement show through his voice. "Almost sounds like you care about us."

Bill's brow twitched, his mouth tangled into a sneer. But then his face smoothed into blankness, and he looked away. "I care about preserving my sole sources of entertainment."

"Right," Dipper said slowly, the corner of his mouth itching to curve. Then it did; he couldn't keep from smiling, then from laughing. "Oh my god. All this over eggnog."

"Firenog," Bill said automatically. He smirked. "Damn good batch, too, I still can feel the screams of the dying Karlaxi dancing on my tongue."

Dipper rolled his eyes. "Dude. Just… stop being a weirdo. Stop buying tastebud-killing eggnog, stop monopolizing my fridge, stop forcing me to drink your weird demon drinks. Be considerate of your 'delicate' human meatsack."

Bill thought for a moment, humming dramatically. Then he shrugged. "Fair enough, yeah."

Dipper eyed Bill, who seemed… sincere enough, he supposed, for a demon. Best to accept it and move on.

But they weren't done here.

"Alright, Mr. Dream Demon…" Dipper pushed a finger into Bill's chest. "Where's my present?"

"Ah, yep, that whole present thing. You have a present! It's just… well, you have more than one present." Bill rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. "You have three."

"Three presents." Dipper chuckled weakly. "And here I didn't get you one."

"Didn't expect you to," Bill said easily.

He led Dipper to the tree they had put up the day before, the lights wreathing the green like rings of colored halos. At the top was a felt star Mabel had made when she was thirteen.

Under the tree were three presents, each wrapped in holographic foil. Dipper knelt down to pick one up; he could see that it was patterned in little blue pine trees and colorful shooting stars. Twisting the box back and forth, he watched the trees and stars move with his eyes.

Ripping off the paper revealed glossy cardboard and striking patterns; on the front of the box was a technicolor photograph of a plastic, futuristic-looking gun. Beneath a large alien-looking font was the smaller captain THE STRAIGHTENER: The multiverse's leading organ liquidator!

"It kind of…" Dipper looked at Bill, confused. "…Looks like a toy gun?"

Bill sighed, then flipped the box over.

The other side read:

NOT A TOY! NOT FOR KIDS! (UNLESS YOU WANT THEM TO DIE!) ONLY FOR SERIOUS INTERDIMENSIONAL KILLERS WHO LIKE TO KILL THINGS!

The STRAIGHTENER allows you to STRAIGHTEN your enemies out with no fuss and no mess! Good for vampires, werewolves, Morlockxiwi eels, and yetis—yes, even those pesky yetis!—any kind of pest and pestilent creature can be felled by the STRAIGHTENER!

Then, in a smaller font:

The STRAIGHTENER is clued into the user's brainwaves and is only activated by an intentional press of the trigger. But once you take aim and shoot, watch out! A highly concentrated blast of PURE ENERGY will seek out your target and liquefy each and every organ! No organic being stands a chance.

Then, in a much, much smaller font:

The safety of this product has not been evaluated by the Interdenomic Trade Commission. Operate at your own risk.

"Um," Dipper said. "Thanks. I've always wanted to… kill organic beings."

"No, kid." Bill groaned. "It's for the yetis. They're, uh… well, you know they don't like outsiders."

"They liked Ford," Dipper protested.

"No, they almost ate Ford, but he happened to come at the end of mealtime when they were already full. Trust me, I was there."

"Oh. Well. Thanks. I hope I won't have to use it, but if things get sticky out there, I'm sure it'll… come in handy."

Bill's expression looked pinched.

Dipper opened the next present to find a thick winter jacket made out of some kind of tanned hide, lined with fur. He checked the tag, but only saw that strange alien-looking language again.

"It's not just any coat," Bill said. "Cold and snow won't touch it, and while you're wearing it you won't sink into the snow either. You could be submerged in icy water… and feel as fine as if you were in front of a fire. Should be helpful out on the path to the ice caves."

This gift was actually touching. Dipper felt his cheeks heat. "Wow, um… Thanks. This is awesome, dude. I couldn't ask for a better present."

Still, Bill didn't look particularly happy.

Dipper set the jacket down, hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. "Are you… upset about something?"

Bill's eye twitched, his cheeks tented as he gave an explosive sigh. Then, suddenly, like he'd been holding himself back and had finally been given permission to let loose, he spat, "Listen, kid, you know it's dangerous out there. The yetis could kill you! That pass could bury you!"

Dipper was taken back. "Of course I know—"

"Then why won't you let me come with you!"

"Bill," Dipper said flatly. "You haven't asked to come with me."

"Well, what was that whole game with the Firenog then? Who do you think conspired to have you lose the game and force you to take me?"

Dipper sputtered, "You could have just asked, dude—"

"You'd say no," Bill said wearily. "You don't like me, kid. Admit it. You can't wait until Christmas is over and you can ditch me again."

"Going to college is not ditching you."

"And yet I feel ditched," Bill said archly.

"Well, you don't like me either," Dipper retorted.

Bill's face spasmed in—was that anger? Or hurt? "You haven't even opened your final present," he said softly.

Glaring at Bill, Dipper reached for the third present under the tree. It was small, no bigger than his hand, and thin as a board. He ripped off the wrapping none too gently.

Inside was a framed photograph.

"This one was harder to get than the others," Bill said, still in that soft tone of voice. "Had to do some real timey-wimey shenanigans. Pissed off more than a few time Time Policemen."

It was the photograph that had hung on the mantle at his old house in Piedmont—the one that had burned down when he was in eighth grade. Most of his possessions had been reduced to ash. His parents, too, had been mostly ash by the end.

The photo showed the entire family, Dipper and Mabel and their mother and father, smiling in soft delight. His mother and sister were in the middle of a giggle, their eyes crinkled, their teeth showing. His father was more subdued, but his contentment and peace were still apparent. And Dipper himself—he was sitting on the picnic blanket, looking at his sister and grinning so hard his dimples showed.

"I looked for it after the fire," Dipper said distantly. "But… all that was left were a few scraps."

Bill's voice was a bit sharper this time, less soft, but still more subdued than usual. "Amazing what you can do with a time tape these days."

"My parents…"

Bill sighed, not unkindly. "Not that amazing, kid."

Dipper set the photo down gently. He was finding it hard to breathe for some reason; his chest was tight and hot. Looking at Bill, he found the demon's face unguarded and wanting. He wondered what his own looked like.

He surged forward, wrapping his arms around Bill's neck, digging his nose into the demon's flaxon hair. Whispering into the demon's ear, he said, "I don't mind if you come with me, you know. To the Abyssian caves. I know I can get in over my head sometimes."

Bill's arms wrapped around his shoulders in turn. "Yeah, kid. Sure," he said, deceptively casual. "I can be helpful like that."

Dipper pulled back, swallowing hard. His face was a little wet; he wiped his cheeks. "How long?"

"Don't know." Bill flicked his eyes to the ceiling, his lips twitching. "But one day I just did. You were still an annoying little punk, but—I found that attractive for some strange reason. Ran into a wall one too many times, I guess!"

"Attractive." Dipper laughed. "I just meant—how long since you started to like having me around."

Bill gave a lopsided grin. "Oh, I always liked ya. You were always pretty amusing, after all. I can't hate things that entertain me!"

Dipper was trying once again not to smile. "Sure, dude. Whatever you say. I totally didn't hate your guts either."

Bill said nothing. He only brought a hand to Dipper's face, cupping his cheek. He had a jagged gleam in his eye, a look on his face that would be harsh on someone else's features: but for a demon it was gentle.

"I forgot to tell you," Dipper said. "I got those gummies you like. The… ones that remind you of cannibalism."

"See, kid," Bill crowed. "You did get me a present. Great present, too. Best present."

Dipper gave up the fight and smiled. He'd come home from college tired and drained and dreading spending time with a demon who seemed hell bent on pissing him off. And now he was grinning at that same demon: now he had a piece of the past he'd thought he'd lost forever.

He said, "You better get to the kitchen first before I eat them all," and scrambled to his feet, leaving Bill laughing in his dust.

#billdipss24

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#billdipss24