Chapter Text
There are many things Dipper enjoys about Bill. His endless energy; his flowing hair and erratic curiosity. His mad laughter and witty remarks.
This is not one of them.
“I’m sorry,” Dipper says, voice flat. “What was that?”
Bill, unperturbed, opens his gaping maw filled with silver teeth and ancient secrets to answer—
“No.” Dipper interrupts. “Shut up.”
Bill pouts. “Whats the matter? Here I am claiming my undying love for you, and yet here you are, throwing my words to the sea!”
Dipper grimaces.
“Bill,” he tries. He settles a beseeching hand on the tentacle currently toying with his shorts. “I know you are…not human, and therefore have…nonstandard practices when it comes to….this.”
He makes a helpless little gesture at their current position; himself, flat on the floor of his room surrounded by half-finished manuscripts and empty ink cartridges. At Bill, looming over him with a shot of Ford’s emergency antidote in one hand and a set of police-grade handcuffs in the other.
“—but please believe me,” Dipper struggles onward, already sensing Bill’s admittedly limited attention span wandering south, “that when you say…that. Its kind of, er, scary? To me.”
Bill blinks. “How so?”
Dipper takes a deep breath. Then, at Bill’s continued bafflement, another.
“Bill if you tried to cut me open to crawl into my ribcage I would die.”
Another blink. “Yes.”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Just being honest!” Bill chirps. Then, a bit hesitantly. “I’m not going to, y’know.”
Dipper levels a glare at the leviathan on his lap and says, his voice oozing sulfur, “Oh really.”
“Really,” Bill rolls his one visible eye, looking for all the world that he would like to take it back. “I already agreed that I wouldn’t hurt or maim or kill you, didn’t I?”
At Dipper’s disgruntled noise, Bill sniggers. His humor is at odds with his actions; his arms wander and caress with a sweet cadence; a soothing balm to his seething ire.
He was getting better at diverting Dipper’s negativity; sometimes to an extent that can only be described as terrifying.
“Come on,” Bill drawls, setting the antidote on a nearby stack of paper to better drag Dipper forward, his breath a whisper of death on his lips when he hums, “Certainly theres something ‘nonstandard’ that you’d like to do to me, hm?”
Dipper, rather unhelpfully, does not say that he wants to, on occasion—just fleetingly, like a glimmer of the sun on the sea—rip out Bill’s heart. To eat the organ, fluttering and pulsing, in front of his surprised, pleased face.
“I guess.” he says instead, obligingly folding his hands behind his back to greet the sheer cold of the cuffs.
Bill smiles at him winningly. He’s a warm current on a cold day, dragging Dipper deeper and deeper into his darkest abyss.
He’s not sure how far down he wants to go, but knows that he may never reach the bottom of the infinite cataclysm that is Bill.
He succumbs to the inevitable pull of his obsession.
Into the void.
Into everything.