Chapter Text
Everything was going incredibly for the Pines twins, there was nothing that could get in the way of their joy. This was because ever since Bill had entered their lives, it was like being on cloud nine. They always felt inspired, actionable, and in control of their lives in a way that they never had. Ford’s paper had been so well received the grant committee accepted it in lieu of a visit, and Stanley wrote his comic which had, appropriately, been picked up by a publisher after coming up with a cohesive story. All of their newfound success could be attributed directly to Bill.
Stanford sometimes explained to Stan what he was working on down in the basement, a portal to the source of all the weirdness in Gravity Falls, a leak in reality. Stan didn’t get most of it, but from what he did understand it would be the discovery of a lifetime. Something that would make Stanford Pines be used as shorthand for genius, the same way Albert Einstein was. And as for Stanley, early reactions from editors were eliciting buzz to the point where the studio producing the Jersey Devils movie had asked him to supervise the script, giving him creative control.
“I’m so proud of you two boys, you know that?” Bill said when he appeared in Ford’s lab. The two had discovered that while he was incapable of effecting things corporeally, he could appear to them quite regularly on occasion, during which time the two entered a trance-like meditative state, as he explained it. Stan had moved his drawing space into the basement along with Stanford’s portal so that when Bill appeared, he could easily talk to both of them. “I think it's about time we kicked things up a notch, though.” he offered.
“What do you mean?” Stanley asked him, unsure as to what exactly taking things up a notch would entail. If it was something Bill wanted, it was probably fine, but regardless they needed clearer instruction if there were going to do what was being asked of them. Bill seemed to think for a moment, as if trying to consider how he was going to phrase his request. Meanwhile, Stan and Ford waited patiently to hear what he was going to say, practically hanging off of his every word, as every time he spoke he inspired them more.
“Well, you’ve got the blueprints complete, and you’ve gotten your comic approved. I think it's about time we try and take everything to the next level, by starting construction, and by producing as many strips as possible,” Bill explained, gesturing to each of the brothers as he acknowledged them. Patience was a virtue, and it was one Bill didn’t have in spades. Now that he had two people under his control, working to achieve his vision, he was in a race against the clock before they turned against him if history was anything to go by.
“Well, I don’t have a lot of construction experience, but I’ll do my best!” Ford said seriously, and it was true. He’d begun stockpiling multiple tons of scrap metal, tools and other implements he thought would be useful for the portal. He had no idea how he was going to get some of the required parts, such as the tons of nuclear waste, but he was sure Bill would help him when the time came. After all, he was a muse who’d shown him how to make the thing, surely he knew how to turn the machine on.
“And don’t worry, I can get, like, fifty of these comics done today if you keep inspiring me like you have been,” Stan said, and that was true. Whatever knowledge and insight Bill had been pumping him full of, it was better than drugs. Stanley had been working at a pace he thought was impossible, and even better, everything he produced was amazing. He’d even been smoking and drinking less, wanting to focus fully on his creative process. Plus, Bill advised them it’d be better for them both if they laid off the vices, and they listened.
“That’s what I like to hear! Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” Bill said, and both gave him a sort of serious nod, diving quickly into doing what they’d been instructed to. Stanley couldn’t believe just how easy it was to write his story, how quickly it just flowed out of him, and how high quality his art was. Ford meanwhile had gathered several pieces of scrap metal and had a blow torch, intended to weld them together. Bill stayed with them in the lab for a while, watching and offering much appreciated encouragement, or advice.
“I’m going to grab some food from upstairs, you want anything Sixer?” Stan asked as he took a break from his work to address his growling stomach. His brother shook his head, and Bill couldn’t eat, so he shrugged his shoulders and started upstairs to grab a bagel. “Suit yourself,” he said, and with that he exited the basement, leaving Ford and Bill alone. This was exactly what Bill had been hoping for, since himself and Ford needed to have a private chat. Bill watched Ford’s attempts at construction with amusement before offering some advice.
“You know, this entire process would probably go a lot faster if you had some help. Have you considered hiring contractors?” Bill asked casually, as he floated near Ford’s shoulder. Of course, from reading his mind, he knew very well that the answer was no, but he wasn’t going to say that right away. Himself and Ford had built up something of a more intimate relationship, however, so he knew Stanford was very willing to take his advice seriously. That meant he’d give Ford the opportunity to prove him wrong before he moved on to phase two.
“But if I did that, what if word somehow leaked to someone else? Or, what if they made off with my blueprints or-” Ford started as he began to spiral. Bill figured he should have expected it, someone like Stanford Pines would never willingly agree to sharing glory with anyone, and much like Bill he preferred to having subordinates to having equals. But, unlike Bill, he hadn’t found those subordinates yet, which meant he fancied himself the lone genius, constructing his vision without outside input. Bill didn’t have the patience for that. “It's too risky,” Ford concluded.
“What if you had someone who you could trust helping you? Someone who you knew wouldn’t get in the way?” Bill offered, knowing that was really what Ford was concerned about. All of his hand wringing about it being too risky was just a cover for his real fear, which was that someone would be smarter than him. When they spent time alone together, just the two of them, Ford had revealed this particular insecurity as the reason why he was locked in a battle with that Russian prick to prove who was better.
“Well, that would be lovely, but I don’t exactly have anyone like that. All the acquaintances I made while in school would be too selfish to be trusted with a project like this,” Ford said, and Bill couldn’t help but think he was projecting a little bit with his comments about selfishness, considering he knew Ford just didn’t want to split credit. Not like Bill was judging him of course, he was very selfish himself, after all, and found it was a lot more fun than being the other way around. Bill offered him a solution to his problem.
“Why don’t you leave that to me?” Bill asked and Stanford simply shrugged and went back to working. There was a reason that his deal with Stan had included the ability to borrow the other man’s body when he needed it, and this was exactly why. Bill exited the basement, floating easily up to the kitchen, where Stanley was smearing cream cheese onto the bagel he’d been talking about earlier. “Hey Stanley, I need a bit of a favor from you,” Bill said and when Stan looked at him, he explained. “I’ll need to borrow that body of yours this evening.”
“Why? I mean, I trust you of course, but you said it would only happen when I agree, and I just want to know what I’m agreeing to,” Stan said, quickly backpedaling and hoping it didn’t sound like he was accusing Bill of something. After all, if there was someone Stan didn’t want to piss off, it was the guy he owed a massive amount of his success to. But, just like he was known to be, Bill wasn’t angry at him at all. Instead, he just waved him off and gave Stan the context he’d asked for so that he wouldn’t have to worry.
“Hey now, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I want to help your brother with his portal, but unfortunately without a physical body, I can’t do much more than bark orders, which isn’t exactly ideal,” Bill said, before adding something with a nudge and the closest he could perform to a wink. “Besides, I promise there’ll be something in it for you if you do. No cartoonist has ever won at the National Cartoonist Society awards for gag comics and story comics. Imagine how seriously they’d take you if you did,” he offered slyly.
“You can really help me do that?” Stan asked, probably less skeptical than he should have been. Then again, he was already in so deep with Bill that if he started being skeptical now, it’d be like trying to save yourself from drowning by drinking the water. A pointless, embarrassing endeavor that didn’t do any good to anyone. Besides, the idea of proving himself to his artistic peers in the form of awards… well, no publisher would be able to reject him if he had that. It’d be the ultimate example of respect, and give him more control over his life.
“Of course I can, I can do anything, it's like my entire situation. I promise it’ll only be for the evening, just like we agreed. And you can kick back and relax, it’ll be like sleeping.” Bill mentioned casually, and there was something about his cadence and how simple he made everything seem which got Stan hook line and sinker. He was just so good at selling people on things, in a way like who Stan might’ve become in some other universe. Though, even in that one, he wasn’t sure he would’ve been anywhere near Bill’s level.
“Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal,” Stan said before finishing scarfing down his bagel and returning to the stairs, with Bill floating close behind him. Stan suddenly felt a boost of confidence that typically only came from waking up after speaking to Bill in a dream, and they spent hours working in that basement, parallel to each other. “Should we open up the shop today?” Stan asked, and ostensibly the question was directed at Ford, but both of them looked at Bill for his answer, because he was guiding them now and they valued his input.
“I say go for it. I’ve got some things I need to take care of on the other side, but I’ll be back tonight. You two try not to get into too much trouble, alright?” Bill offered, and both of them gave him a nod before he disappeared, leaving them alone. The two got ready for the day and prepared to launch into their normal routine. Ford was once again going to be the cashier, as had become a forgone conclusion at this point, and Stan would give his tours to mega fans and tourists who were interested in his process.
The opening of the shop and museum were relatively quiet, selling the merchandise they’d been sent in a new shipment from the company that owned the rights to Jersey Devils. Stan ran his tours, and still told people that his previous art room was where he drew the comics, even though nowadays it was merely a stage, with all his real work being done in the basement. He enthusiastically told people about a new story he was working on, an amazing one they’d love, and instructed them to look out for it. All of them seemed enthused by the idea.
Not even the continued harassment of Preston Northwest could stop Stanley from being in a good mood as he thought about how soon, he wouldn’t be so small that the kid would be able to bother him. Soon he’d be someone, someone with control and who couldn’t be made to act by money or anything else. He had something better than money, and that was control for the first time in his life. The day was less busy than normal, which neither himself nor Ford really minded, as the two of them simply closed a bit early.
“Are you still drawing over there?” Ford asked, apropos of nothing, as he sat on the other side of the basement later that evening, struggling to do even basic engineering. He supposed there was a use for the workhorses of the science world after all, even if they were little more than construction workers compared to other scientific disciplines who were more like architects. Still, without construction workers, no buildings would get made. He figured he should remember that thought, save it as a passive-aggressive comment for Nicholi.
“Not at the moment. I’m reviewing the Jersey Devils movie script. I think… I want to try and get them to add in some depictions of triangles. They can be, like, a symbol of goodness and enlightenment or something. I think it’d be a nice thanks for all the help Bill gave me,” Stan said, and he’d been mulling the idea over in his head for a while. The deity who helped the heroes in his new, still unnamed comic was based directly on Bill, but he figured he should get some praise in the Jersey Devils sphere too, considering his help with getting Stan control over the movie script.
“Oh, he’d probably really appreciate that! I was just going to turn my office into a meditation center with depictions of him,” Stanford admitted slightly sheepishly. Maybe that would have been a little too much, but he couldn’t help it. Bill was the closest to religion that Ford had ever felt, and he suddenly understood why people filled their homes with religious imagery. It felt… good, to be surrounded by depictions of your deity. And he was sure Bill would think it was flattering, if not a bit creepy, but that was something he could accept.
“I wouldn’t if I were you, he told me when we first met he wasn’t out to be worshiped. I think he’d be more grateful if you finished that damn portal and actually published a paper. Then maybe you can make him a co-author or whatever you science dorks do to say thank you,” Stan chuckled to himself, and even Ford had to admit it was a good point. He couldn’t wait to get this portal up and running as the impact of dimensional travel could surely change the world, and he had the honor of being on the forefront of it, all thanks to Bill.
“That’s actually not a bad idea, thank you, Stanley,” Ford said, and there was silence that settled over the two of them for a moment. The silence was comfortable, like when they’d play their own separate games in the same room as kids. It was Stanford who broke it first, with something nice. “You know, maybe I should make you a co-author as well. It was you reading those words that allowed us to become acquainted with Bill in the first place,” Ford said with a smile, and Stan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“I think I’m good on that Sixer. Wouldn’t want a bunch of geeks bothering me about other dimensions and stuff when I’m trying to make art,” Stan said, only slightly joking, as it was clear he didn’t relish the idea of being seen as some important scientist. It was fair, Ford supposed, considering that was his dream and not Stanley’s, but still, reducing the impact of authoring an important paper to just being bothered by nerds was far too reductive for his tastes. Though, it didn’t matter, as it wasn’t Stan’s call to make.
“Whatever you say,” Ford said with a fond smile on his face, clearly having made up his mind to do it anyway. He didn’t blame Stanley for not understanding the importance of what he was offering, as being given a co-authorship, was life changing in academic circles. It might not have meant much more than being pestered by scientists to Stan, but to someone like Bill, certainly he’d understand the nuances better. Speaking of Bill, without him around, the room felt too empty, a piece of their trio missing.
“I’m back, hope you two didn’t miss me too much!” Bill said upon returning to their presence. Both felt that sense of contentment rush over them upon his arrival, as if everything was going to be fine. He floated over to Stan, extended his hand out as if to remind him of their agreement. “You ready to give this a try, bruiser?” Bill asked, and Stanley felt weirdly happy that Bill had given him a nickname, considering he almost exclusively called his brother by a nickname. Stan nodded, and in an instant he felt pulled from his own body.
“What just happened? What’s going on?” Ford asked as he whipped around, staring at Bill, who was now inhabiting Stan’s body. It would have been the perfect spitting image if not for the eyes, which were still clearly Bill’s. Regardless, he hadn’t been briefed on the idea that this was even possible, much less that it was going to happen today. And yet he was staring at it, his brother’s body being used almost like a puppet by someone who wasn’t his brother. It made a shiver crawl up his spine, though he wasn’t sure why.
“Wowie, it's been a long time since I’ve had a body. This is pretty neat! Anyway, Sixer, don’t get yourself all worked up, I’d hate for you to burn your brain out before you can prove your hypothesis. Stan and I had a little deal, you needed someone to help you with the portal, and now that I’ve got a body, I’m here to help!” Bill explained happily from Stan’s lips, his voice sounding just like Stan’s did. It was certainly an out-of-body experience for Stanley, watching Ford hand his body tools so they could start to work.
“What do I do now?” Stan asked, slightly incredulously. He supposed it was his own fault as he’d agreed to all of this, but he didn’t realize just how little impact he’d be able to have while in this form. Without his body, Stan couldn’t write or draw, and without his senses everything around him seemed painfully dull. Stanley suddenly wondered if Bill felt this way all the time, and how he survived if he did. This existence was so boring, Stan was pretty sure he’d kill to have a bit of entertainment, just to feel something.
“Just relax, only I can hear you, so you can really do whatever you like. Though, it can be pretty annoying not being able to manipulate anything. On the bright side, being able to fly is a pretty cool power, I think you’d have to agree. Why don’t you go sightseeing? Get some inspiration for the big story climax where the twins have to battle their way through shadow monsters on the roof?” Bill offered casually, and Stan’s eyes lit up at his words, fears of being bored discarded as he was full of inspiration and excitement.
“I’d been trying to come up with a climax and that’s perfect, oh man!” Stan said excitedly, and it was true. Even when he wasn’t trying to, Bill always knew what to say and what to do, always managed to say exactly what Stanley needed to hear. He honestly probably should have been more concerned about it than he was, but all he was thinking about now was how he’d frame the fight, whether it would take place during winter or summer, and how the girls would get out of the situation. He floated to the roof of the house to get a feel for his setting.
Stan’s exploration of the outside world was actually quite relaxing, as he got the chance to look over the beautiful world of Gravity Falls at night. The moon hung heavy in the sky, and the air had a stillness to it that was as calming as it was unnatural. It was fun getting to see the town from up as high as he was, and Stan tried to keep the image of how it looked from the roof in his head so he could draw it when he had his body back. After a bit of watching this idyllic scene, Stanley started thinking about his newfound success pitching his comic.
Without Bill, he wouldn’t have ever come up with an idea, nor would he have been able to argue that female protagonists would work in this medium. When he managed to successfully get his new comic picked up, he remembered Ronnie telling him over the phone that he’d underestimated his skill, and that he had the chops after all. That sort of validation was something a man could get drunk on, just like when Bill had helped him leverage his new comic deal into creative control on the movie. He really was amazing.
“I’ll be right back Sixer! I’ve just got to take care of something first,” Bill said as he casually walked out of the house, right past where Stan was sitting on the roof. He looked around for a moment, and waved Stan over, which caused him to float down closer to where he was. Unfortunately, he didn’t offer an explanation for what he was doing, instead just zipping up his jacket and whistling without a care in the world. Stan stared at him dumbfounded that he’d been summoned over for this, and demanded answers.
“Where are you going? I thought you were just going to help Ford with the portal.” Stan asked incredulously as he saw Bill walking off somewhere. He felt nerves build up inside of him, in the way he was sure was just Tuesday for his brother. He knew Bill had done so many amazing things for him, and yet here he was panicking and fearing he was going to betray or hurt him in some way. Still, he felt at least a little justified in his fear, considering offering someone your body under very specific parameters and having those broken would put anyone on edge.
“Well, I was going to, but I realized I like you too much to not do you a favor while I’ve got this body. Come on, let me help you out,” Bill offered, and if Stan still had a physical stomach he knew it’d be tied up in knots at the suggestion. It was fair to be nervous, when someone so powerful and capable as Bill had control over your body. What would have been world shattering consequences for Stan were nothing to him. “Don’t you trust me, bruiser?” Bill asked, and Stan relented, following quietly behind him.
“Alright, all locked up. Now to go home and cuddle with my cats-” Susan said as she closed the doors of the diner, double-checking they were secure, so no animals could get inside. Suddenly, however, she got the feeling she was being watched. Usually when she got that feeling it was just a raccoon, but for her own peace of mind, she reached into her purse and held tight to her pepper spray. She started walking cautiously to her car, only to whip around, weapon at the ready, when she heard breathing close behind her.
“Don’t worry toots, it's just me, Stan Pines,” Bill said self-assuredly. He had his hands in his pockets and looked so effortlessly cool, Stanley felt somehow jealous of himself. Susan let out a sigh of relief upon seeing him, and a light blush dusted her face upon noticing how handsome he looked under the dim light of the lamppost which illuminated the parking lot. Stan had no idea where Bill was going with this, and he was a little nervous to learn what his plan was. He floated close above them, watching with bated breath.
“Oh! Sorry for panicking, I thought you were some sort of parking lot creeper!” Susan said more jovially than she probably needed to. Honestly, she was probably just happy that it was someone she recognized and not some weirdo coming to hurt her. Stan wasn’t sure how bad the crime in Gravity Falls was, after all it always seemed pretty safe to him, but himself and Ford tended to find their danger among oddities in the outskirts of town rather than crime. Stan figured it’d probably be hard to be a criminal in a town where everyone knows everyone else.
“Don’t worry about it, it can get pretty dangerous out here at night. How about I walk you to your car?” Bill asked her, voice a perfect mimicry of Stan. She blushed at him and nodded, walking slightly ahead of him so he could watch her back. Bill turned to Stanley and gave him a wink, that made him feel a rush of emotions he didn’t understand. Stan thought maybe he was jealous, which was crazy because Bill was doing this as a favor, in his own body. He shoved that thought down and continued to listen in on them.
“Thank you for making sure I was alright. It's really sweet of you,” Susan said once they made it to her car. Bill leaned slightly against the only other car in the parking lot, smile on his face, which Stan hoped looked as easy and casual up close as it did from above. He took one of his hands from his pockets and ran it through his haircut, which was still relatively fresh and hadn’t grown out too much in the front. “Your hair looks nice! Did you get it cut recently?” She asked, and Bill gave a nod, before continuing with his flirting.
“Yep, I was hoping you’d notice. I was thinking I should look nice for when I asked you out.” Bill said, and when Susan didn’t immediately get what he was saying, Bill went in for the kill. “How about you call me sometime? I’ll take you on a nice date,” he said with a wink and from Stan’s perspective Susan honest to God swooned at the whole thing. She took a marker out from her purse, about to search for a paper when Bill stopped her. “Why don’t you write it on my arm? I won’t lose it that way,” he insisted.
“Why’d you make her write it on my arm?” Stanley asked, legitimately baffled, as Bill said goodbye to Susan and she drove off. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t lose it in the time it took him to go home and put the piece of paper in his nightstand, and she’d been reaching for the paper anyway. Maybe this was some weird flirting tactic where Bill was from, though it wasn’t like Bill had needed to flirt anymore. Stan felt that strange jealous feeling bubble up in him again as he thought about how easy it’d been for him to do what Stan was too nervous to.
“Cause, a marker on human flesh feels weird! Now, let’s get back home, so I can make sure Fordsy hasn’t blown himself up.” Bill said in a sing-song voice and from the first part of the sentence, Stan could tell that he was legitimately fascinated by the way that having a body worked. Stan figured that if he lived his entire life like this, feeling like he was in a sensory deprivation tank, he’d be fascinated too. Then, though, he honed in on the too familiar nickname in the second part of the sentence and corrected it.
“Don’t say that with my voice, it's weird.” Stan said, suddenly defensive. He cringed at the way his words sounded as memories of his dad telling him to stop crying and be a man suddenly flooded his mind. Well, his dad had been doing it to protect him from being weak, or even worse being perceived as weird. That was why he policed himself, even if it wasn’t himself but Bill. Even if himself and Ford were best friends, which they were, displaying that fondness in the form of anything but light ribbing was strictly forbidden once they got past the age of eight.
“Why not? When you were younger, you used to call him that all the time. And when you’re old, you call him that again to make fun of him.” Bill asked, looking over at Stan as if he didn’t casually drop information about the future on him. Stanley really didn’t have the energy to explain how sometimes things were cute when you were young, and endearing when you’re old, but strange when you were an adult because men had certain rules about how much affection they could show each other without being abnormal. “You flesh bags are so… interesting.” Bill offered.
“Well, not everyone can be an interdimensional muse. Some of us are stuck being normal,” Stan said, only slightly burned by the comment. Something about the way Bill had said it felt… not condescending but something else, something darker, maybe. It made Stan feel like himself, and all humans, were bugs trapped in an overturned glass that Bill was studying. Sometimes it was easy to forget, from his slick talking ways and affable attitude, that Bill was something else entirely incomprehensible to anyone who wasn’t himself and Ford.
“You’re not normal, Stanley. You’re powerful, definitely more powerful than the people trying to keep you down. That’s why they keep trying to downplay you, keep you from reaching your full potential. With my help, Ford’s portal and your art, the world is going to change. People get so afraid of change,” Bill said, almost mumbling that last part. Stan wanted to ask him what he meant by it, but he figured better of it, knowing it probably would have been out of his comprehension. Instead, he just asked for confirmation.
“You really think that’s true?” Stanley asked as the two of them entered back into the house. Stan floated behind Bill, watching as they entered the basement and found Ford passed out at his chair in the lab, having been engaged in tightening bolts in the portal before they arrived. Both himself and Bill snickered at the sight and left him there, considering Ford was a notoriously light sleeper and would definitely wake up if they tried to move him. Instead, they both returned to the top of the stairs, and finished their chat.
“I know it. Now take your weird body back and go to bed. I’ll be back to check on you and Sixer soon,” Bill offered, and with a snap of his fingers Stan was returned to his own body. It was almost religious, suddenly feeling all of his senses again after having them deprived. It crashed over him like a tidal wave and made him exhausted, so there was no hesitation when Stan collapsed in his bed. Before he drifted off, however, he traced the phone number written on his arm in marker, and thought about Bill calling him powerful. It felt better than it probably should’ve.