Chapter Text
It’s been a few years since the death of Bill Cipher. However, if you ask the dream demon himself, it’s been far longer. The bones of the Pines family had turned to dust and that dust returned to the stars. Worlds started and ended during his stay in the Theraprism.
However, time as such is not so linear.
In this time, it’s been months ever since the end of the failed Weirdmageddon. The young Pines twins have celebrated their 13th birthday and returned to their home in California, the elder twins have begun their oceanic journey. Bill himself knows neither of these things, he does know that he opens his eyes in familiar woods, breathes in the smell of pine and grass. His heart beats, when before he had no heart- at least not in the tangible way, but one could argue he had no heart in the emotional way either (Bill would argue that he did have some form of heart, as his heart was set in its ways of destruction and chaos, but his therapist would remind him he did also have a physical heart too). He watches the sunlight twinkle between the leaves that rustle in the slow wind, he lets himself be momentarily blinded by the source of the light and relishes in the minor pain and the black spots that dance behind his shut eyes.
It’s been a long time since he’s seen a star, much less the Earth’s sun.
From where Bill lays on the ground, he turns over. His back faces the clearing and his front faces his stone corpse. The pebbles and grass poke him uncomfortably through the fabric of the Theraprism mandated uniform. He opens his eyes again and his voice keens in despair, two hands, both with five fingers connected to long arms that lead to a body. To a human body. His human body. Bill hugs himself and bites his lower lip until it bleeds and the pain is awful, not funny. It’s terrible and horrible and it’s no longer muddled by the veil of possessor and possessed. He knew a human body would be what he got, he’s the one who signed his rights away to Ax to begin with- in addition to this recent development.
“This sucks.” He says to nobody. Maybe his corpse, which Bill touches with shaking hands after he kneels before it. The stone is cold, covered in moss and graffiti. Chips and cracks cover the structure and the earth around it has begun overtaking it. Pitiful, a dull pang in his chest that quickly fizzles out. He misses his old form, it was close to what he looked like as a child trillions of years ago, the one he occupied the longest was now cold, motionless stone. He rests his new head against his old eye, and shuts his new ones. “Good riddance slick, you got therapy, and now you really suck.”
Bill sighs and braces against the statue as he wobbles to his feet. The dirt, stone, sticks and whatnot pierce those new feet of his and make him flinch from the new sensation. Bill realizes he may not have a single callous on his body, and he suddenly feels meandering through the woods is going to be a more annoying (painful) task than originally anticipated. Which raises a secondary concern in his mind, where the fuck is he going to go? Going to the Mystery Shack was out of the question, even if he was mostly reformed, he doubted the Pines family wanted anything to do with him. That also leaves out staying anywhere near Gravity Falls, including but not limited to the woods. Or maybe…
Bill tries to summon a ball of fire in an outstretched hand, but a flare of pain erupts through his body and abruptly breaks his concentration. He grabs his throat with both hands and wheezes, falling back to his knees. The pain immediately dies down and as any rational being with any scientific inclination would do: he tries it again. The same result is produced which leads Bill to one logical conclusion. No magic allowed.
His eyes dart from his hands to his wrists, circled there is the zodiac. The symbols which didn’t kill him, but got so, so very close. Now binding his magic, hats off to Ax for still making them relevant. But boy, does that fill him with an unbridled rage.
To say he slams his fists into the ground and screams and kicks and thrashes until he’s sufficiently tired is an understatement. His body is covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair sticks to his forehead and the Theraprism coveralls stick uncomfortably to his back. Small cuts on his hands and feet begin to clot, and the body’s thumping heartbeat reverberates unpleasantly in its new ears. He’s uncomfortable and he would like to be a pure form of energy again please and thank you.
(But he knows this is impossible, he committed crimes and he did and is doing his time. He can no longer be what he once was, he must be this for now on, but a triangle can sure dream!)
Bill struggles more, and forces his body to its feet. He walks on trembling legs away from his statue to a destination unknown to him. He would love to leave Gravity Falls, forever. Leave this place in the dust or make it dust he’s not so sure anymore. Bill’s hand reaches heavenward, who knows if that barrier will keep him in now. He’s human, frustratingly so. Mortal and flesh. Blood and bone. His heart beats and it reverberates through his skull to the tips of his toes. The hum of pure energy is a bliss and the beating of a heart does not mimic it well.
He’s not sure where to go, not really. The Theraprism dropped him off here with a hope and a prayer and a new body, which are better odds than what he’s used to as of late. So, frustratingly, he walks away from the clearing. Bill’s steps start unsteady but he gets a rhythm. Pride in being a quick learner, and spite to be as such.
The air is clean and pleasant, the bird chirp and fly around him above head. The rustling of their wings is something he stops to listen to when he has the chance. He spots a few gnomes running around chasing squirrels, and he steers clear of their hovels but watches quietly. An observer, which is what he’s used to be, but now he can touch and feel with his own body. Bill shudders, odd, fulfilling. Maybe the Axolotl was onto something bringing him to this mortal coil.
Once Bill masters the rhythm of walking, he takes on the mantle of running. It makes his lungs burn and his feet blister from the rocks and twigs and roots, but it’s so freeing. He hadn’t gotten to run like this for so long, the warm soil beneath his feet a direct contrast from the cold of the Theraprism. He actually can’t remember the last time he found himself frolicing like this- perhaps in his youth he was able to do the approximate, but perhaps not. Flying and floating are much different than walking and running after all, so certainly not when he became a demon. Bill’s unsure if he should count when he borrowed bodies under his possession, so he doesn’t, because this is different. This is his vessel. Not borrowed, not to be returned, this is his and his alone.
Bill laughs like a madman and dashes forward, ignoring the pain in his lungs. The glee he feels is interrupted when his foot catches on a root of some stray oak tree while he runs downhill. First he feels a sharp pull and twist of his ankle, which makes him trip and fall forward. He tries to catch himself but falls flat, he shouts in pain. The second thing he feels is after he falls, which things become hard to recollect for him.
He lands, horrible and awkward, and his hip pops. Then the pain erupts. Bill screams, or he thinks he does. His vision blacks out and he’s unsure how long has passed, how he dislodges his ankle from the root, or how he ends up on his back staring at the dark sky above him. All he feels is the red hot pain and tears streaming down his face. It feels like a supernova erupted on his right hip, he can’t even feel his ankle now. He’s not sure he could move his toes if he wanted to. Bill tries to sit up to look at the damage, but that makes him black out all over again. Something, something is wrong.
“Fuck.” His voice is hoarse, he’s thirsty, his hip is in inexplicable amount of pain. He needs to think and think quickly, so he does. He tries to remember anything he can about human or humanoid biology. Bones rest in sockets, he’s not sure his hip is in a socket right now, so that must be the source of his issues.
Reaching out his hands, Bill wills magic to come to him. It burns at his wrists, neck, and ankles, but he needs to do this. There’s either this or death. He chooses this. Using his magic Bill encapsulates his leg in blue energy, lifts it- which forces Bill to bite back a scream- and resets his hip.
When he wakes again, it’s morning.
What a waste of a day.