Chapter Text
Arc I - The Beginning
"Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." — Haruki Murakami
Dipper didn't consider himself to be an idiot, but now in his current predicament, he surely felt like one.
Running for his life from a large, dark and hairy demon wasn't on his agenda for the day.
It had started out normal enough, with him in the forest, casually grasping the journal in one hand while drawing out a summoning circle into the ground with the other. It was just like any other day, really.
His intention had been to summon a small, lower class demon, something that should've been around the size of a small dog, but instead was met face-to-face with a large beast-like demon.
It was around eight feet tall and had multiple limbs jutting out of its body. Dark matted fur that was covered in mud and a mixture of whatever the forest had to offer shined in an oily, unwashed appearance.
Its bulbous head was littered with eyes around the entirety of it. They bore deeply into him. It also sported a terrifyingly large, near-grinning mouth filled with many sharp, pointed teeth. The sight was like that something out of a cheesy horror movie, with the way the mouth stretched across from one side to the other—unsettling and macabre.
Dipper had watched in abject horror, frozen, as a thick dribble of drool fell from its bared lips, landing in an audible plop onto the leaves beneath them.
When that creature had appeared instead of the intended dog-like demon, he hastily tried his best to de-summon it, so to speak. His attempts were futile. As he nervously flipped through the pages to find a solution, the demon had taken a step forward, the ground beneath him shuddering from the heavy weight, causing him to lose his grip and drop the journal.
The demon's eyes had all simultaneously flicked to his in an instant.
That's when he had panicked, quickly turned around, and ran in the opposite direction.
Dipper had to stop himself from reliving the last minute in a panic, focusing instead on the adrenaline running through his veins and putting each foot in front of the other as fast as he could. Panting, he narrowly missed running into a thicket of trees and bushes as he maneuvered through the forest. Random sticks poked at him as he went, slicing into his exposed arms and giving him a nasty cut on his right cheek.
Dipper could feel the ground physically shake with the thundering steps of the demon, forcing his heart to leap into his throat and his stomach to drop to his feet in pure terror. His lungs screamed for oxygen, burning, but he couldn't gulp in air fast enough to satisfy them.
Every snapped twig behind him was a drum beating—a symbolic countdown to what could be his last day on earth.
A loud guttural roar made the trees themselves seem to recoil. It was close. Too close.
Shit, shit, shit, Dipper thought to himself, trying to come up with a way to get out of the situation.
He turned his head behind him quickly, briefly, seeing that the demon was gaining on him, and then made a beeline in the direction of the shack. Maybe, just maybe, he could there fast enough and call for Ford. He would know what to do.
But Dipper didn't make it that far.
The moment he looked straight ahead of himself again, he tripped on a large tree root, letting out a sharp yelp as he went down fast.
He was inevitably hit from the back by the large mass of fur and darkness less than a second later. It landed on him with a thud, knocking the wind out of him.
His face hit the dirt, the smell of damp soil and decayed leaves filling his nostrils. For a fleeting moment, all he could register was the pressure—the immense, crushing weight pinning him down, and the hot, foul breath of the demon huffing against the whole back of his body.
The air flew out his lungs in a short wheeze as it pressed into him further, forcing him to desperately gasp for the lost oxygen. Pain shot up his spine, his whole body beginning to ache from being slammed so forcefully into the ground.
Dipper then felt a deep, cold terror seep into his entire body. The demon was pinning him to the ground, snarling into the back of his head as if taunting him. Its fiery hot saliva dripped onto the back of his shirt. His mind raced.
Was this really how he died? He had his whole life ahead of him with a multitude of things he hadn't yet experienced. He was ready to head to college with Mabel in the fall. He still hadn't had his first kiss. All of those little things that people take for granted, they all flashed before his eyes, a collage of what ifs and nevers.
...He didn't want to die here.
With a choked whimper, he tried his best not to move, to play dead like a possum, even though he knew it was a silly and futile choice. He could feel the burning heat from the creature pressed against him. It was loud, too, roaring into his ears in fury.
Fuck, he was was scared, but he only had himself to blame. If he wasn't so curious, he wouldn't be in this situation. He was too much like Ford, in the way they both seemed to have a predilection for getting into situations involving the supernatural.
But dying because of his own stupidity? Ford would no doubt blame himself, even if it wasn't his fault.
Suddenly, a large furry hand grappled at his neck and roughly pulled him up from the ground, whipping him around to face the demon dead-on. The sudden pressure had him coughing and wheezing, hands coming up to instinctively grab at the thick clawed fingers wrapped around his throat.
He clawed and scratched at the arm helplessly to try and free himself from its grasp. It snarled at him, hot and loud directly in his face, ruffling his hair with the force of its breath.
With a short hiccup of an inhale, Dipper's vision began to swim, chest burning and mouth parting on useless pleas that weren't able to make it past his lips. He couldn't breathe. He blearily noticed the demon slowly raise an arm, sharp talons ready to strike.
There wasn't time to prepare, time to even fully process what was happening before it was too late.
The demon wasted not another second, forcing its talons straight through Dipper; sharp, agonizing pain erupted in his abdomen as blood immediately began to leak from the large wound and seep around the intrusion.
Dipper tried to scream, but no sound came out. He couldn't hear, see, or sense anything else beyond the agony. The gnawing feeling traveled up and down his body in sparks and flashes. It made his mind go completely blank aside from the sensation of pure pain.
He was going to die. That, he knew.
His slowly vision blackened, growing fuzzy around the edges, faintly feeling the ground under him again as the talon was forcefully removed from his gut and he was carelessly dropped. His body went limp with a shuddered, hysterical exhale.
I'm so sorry, Mabel, he thought, as he faded into unconsciousness.
I'm so sorry, Mabel, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Mabel. I'm sor-
A voice boomed inside his head.
"Having all the fun without me, Pine Tree?"
The echoing, familiar voice pulled Dipper from the depths of unconsciousness. He weakly peeked his eyes open in response. Glancing around revealed the forest had gone into grayscale, the large demon above him frozen in time.
Time had completely stopped, and momentarily, the pain in his body.
And there in front of him, the one responsible for his PTSD and constant horrible nightmares from six years ago, was there in all his disgusting glory.
Bill Cipher.
Just how... Was he here, though? He was supposed to be gone for good, completely erased from existence. It's what he remembered when he and his family had defeated him all that time ago. He shouldn't be here. He just shouldn't.
Dipper's brain struggled to catch up, sluggish with blood loss and the sheer impossibility of it all.
Bill looked almost joyful, hovering in front of Dipper, his bright triangle form the only color in the now monotonous world. It nearly blinded him, and from his prone position on the forest floor, it made his head spin and his stomach lurch.
The pain and crescendoing nausea nearly made him forget how pissed, disgusted and genuinely frightened he was with the dream demon.
Almost.
He suddenly coughed, lethargically bringing a hand up to his mouth to cough again, pulling away only to see bright red blood splattered across his palm.
Fuck, he thought with a miserable, quiet moan.
"Oh, gross," Bill remarked, sounding quite the opposite of disgusted. "Anyway, kid, how about we make a deal? Your predicament right now is not great. Let me lend you a hand."
The offer was accompanied with a hand appearing in his view, gesturing towards him almost mockingly. Dipper would've glared daggers at him if he'd had the energy. Bill's eye only crinkled in thinly veiled amusement.
"F-fuck you," Dipper managed to spit out. He felt blood drip down the sides of his mouth. Warmth around his nose told him blood was more than likely coming from there, too. Bill laughed, his triangular body shaking with mirth as he brought his arms back to wrap around himself.
"I'm flattered, really. But your death would be so," Bill drew out the word, floating in a circle around Dipper's broken form, "boring. You're one of the only humans I've ever found even marginally interesting aside from Sixer. Can't let some low-level furball have all the fun, can we?"
A finger tapped against where a chin would be. Dipper watched it with tired eyes. "What's it going to be, Pine Tree? Your life for a... favor. Nothing unattainable, I promise." He winked—or blinked, though Dipper wasn't sure which.
The words hung in the air, thick and heavy. Dipper wanted to reject it, to let his pride take over, tell the demon to go fuck himself to hell, and die with some semblance of dignity.
But he didn't want to die. Not here, not like this. Especially with the possibility of Bill deciding his death was interesting enough to stay and watch and have a good laugh over his corpse.
Bill held his hand out again, this time with a blue flame arcing up and down the length of his arm. It felt taunting and almost mocking. It made Dipper's skin crawl. He didn't have a choice, and deep down he knew it. If he didn't take the deal, he'd no doubt be dead.
Still, just what exactly would this "favor" be?
Dipper slowly looked from Bill's hand to his own, which lay bloody in the dirt. His blood, still warm and sticky, was a reminder. He pressed the pads of his fingers together sluggishly. A few leaves were stuck to his palm, as if the blood were a strong glue.
Bill, noticing the apprehensive look, suddenly snapped his fingers and materialized a plush red sofa, which he then sat dramatically down on.
"Fine, I'll tell you what I want. I need a body—a human body." He paused at Dipper's soft sound of shock but continued, flippantly waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Not yours, obviously. It's... a little damaged right now."
"That's it. You help me create a mortal body, and in turn, I will heal you and let you live. No strings attached. How does that sound, Pine Tree?"
The demon was being unusually kind, for lack of a better word, offering him no tricks that were apparent upfront, at least. But this was Bill. He wasn't the type to do something for nothing. It seemed too good to be true.
Ignoring the absurdity of everything at the moment, Dipper noticed that Bill seemed less chipper than he remembered. The demon was almost tired—the manic, chaotic energy replaced with something deeper, something weary and more predatory, but still just as every bit dangerous.
"W-why do you need a body?" Dipper questioned, his voice rough and painful. An action as simple as talking sent jolts of pain through him. Every breath felt like dragging glass through his lungs. "T-thought you hated this dimension."
Bill barked out a laugh, floating up from the sofa as it disappeared, doing a little spin with flourish in amusement. Watching the motion made Dipper's stomach lurch again. The monochrome world swirled around him.
"Hate's a strong word, Pine Tree. None of that is your concern. Do we have a deal or not?" He held his hand out for what was probably the last time, blue flames licking up his arm once again. The warm flames cast an eerie light, making the grayscale world of frozen time feel even more surreal, more dreamlike.
Dipper was hesitant, rightly so. If he said yes, he'd be helping Bill. However, if he said no, he was dead. He had to think of Mabel, of his parents, of Stan and Ford. He couldn't die. He couldn't.
But helping Bill create a human body? That was a dangerous game. A completely fucked up, morally wrong game. He had no idea what that entailed. Did he need to steal a body? Kill someone? The thought alone made his stomach churn violently again, or perhaps that was just the blood loss.
The silence stretched, with Dipper's laboured breathing akin to that of a ticking clock. Bill's patience seemed to wane, the edges of his form sharpening, the furrow above his eye growing prominent, and the blue of his fire deepening into something more menacing.
"Tick-tock, kid. Your life is on a timer here. I'm offering you a golden ticket."
Dipper's eyes flicked to the large beast, seeing the claw-like hand raised above his head, ready to deliver a killing blow the moment Bill left. He shivered; the thought alone sent terror racing up his spine. He didn't want to make a deal with the demon, but he didn't see any other way out of this mess.
Dipper looked back to Bill, weakly grimacing at the look in his now-intense widened eye, frown completely gone. He was silent for a moment, focusing on each shuddering little intake of air into his lungs, then slowly, ever so slowly, moved his arm upwards to meet Bill's.
Reaching out, he grasped Bill's hand with what little strength he had left, recoiling violently at the burning sensation, though he didn't let go.
It traveled fast, up his arm, branching out into every limb on his body. It sizzled every nerve, almost as if binding himself to his very being. It hurt, but felt almost weirdly exhilarating at the same time.
His entire arm lit aflame at the contact, the blue fire climbing up his arm in almost a caress, although it didn't feel friendly in the slightest. It was a claiming. A brand.
Dipper couldn't help the choked sob that escaped his throat, his body wracked with tremors of both warmth and cold and some other, more complex feeling he couldn't name. Shame, maybe.
Bill's eye widened in a fervid, wild emotion Dipper didn't understand. Didn't want to. Didn't need to.
"Deal," Dipper croaked, and suddenly, everything hurt again.
He cried out in pain, then the world faded into black.