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ckret2 · 5 months

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Chapter 29 of human Bill Cipher will find a way out of being the Pines' prisoner or so help him, featuring:

Summerween!!!!

and also:

Henchmaniacs.

Kryptos doesn't actually talk like that, it's just how he's currently feeling.

####

January 1, 1982

"You're late," Bill said, a bit reproachfully.

Ford gave him a surprised look. "Did we have an appointment?" He didn't remember one. He was pretty sure he'd remember an appointment with his muse, even if he'd made it in a dream.

"Pfff, appointments are for people without an eternity of time! No, I'm just used to you dreaming by midnight. It's weird for you to stay up past two when you aren't working on a project."

"I suppose it is." Ford was flattered Bill was paying close enough attention to notice his sleep habits. "I thought I'd stay up late to bring in the new year."

"The what?"

"The... new year?" What wasn't registering. How do you explain New Year's to an alien/angelic messenger? "It's when—"

"Oh, oh right." Bill waved off the rest of Ford's explanation. Several calendars and clocks spiraled in the air like a Ferris wheel in front of Bill, "Between trying to figure out whether you meant it was 0 Pop or Tishrei 1, I completely forgot about Chaos 1. You guys have too many calendars!"

And he'd skipped over January entirely. Wryly, Ford said, "The next time somebody asks for my input, I'll let them know you want us to use a few less."

Bill laughed. "Smart aleck." The calendars and clocks vanished. "And all you did to celebrate was stay up a little later than usual? No parties? Okay, I know you don't know anyone throwing a party—but you didn't even celebrate at a bar?" Bill ruffled his hair. "All work and no play makes Ford a dull boy!"

Ford endured the ruffling. He wasn't quite sure whether Bill was scolding him for staying up celebrating, or for not celebrating enough. "I... suppose I could celebrate in here?"

"What do you want, a fireworks show?" In the distance in Ford's mindscape, a single large firework exploded. It shifted colors, purple to yellow to green to red, before fading. "I don't think so! If you wanted fireworks, you should've gone to the show on the lake. I've got some prophecies to pass on, and I'd rather get to them this REM cycle."

By "prophecies" he probably meant a random assortment of warnings about Ford's upcoming week, which historically had varied in severity from "don't visit the lake Tuesday evening or you'll get caught in a snowstorm and die of hypothermia" to "you'd better get groceries in the morning before they sell out of your toothpaste brand." And Ford was always grateful for such messages—but now he wished he could see what sort of fantastical color-changing dream fireworks show his muse could put on. "I take it it's not a new year on your calendar."

"I don't keep track of that stuff. When you're as ancient as me, celebrating the new year is like celebrating a new hour."

Bill had so easily brushed off the implicit invitation to discuss "his" calendar. Ford wasn't surprised. Over the years of sporadic meetings with his muse, Ford had noted that Bill never shared information about where he'd come from or how he filled his time when he wasn't bestowing his wisdom—as if Bill was a thing that simply is, a muse that offered inspiration because it was made to inspire, with no history or identity outside of its role in service to humanity. He always dodged the questions gracefully.

But he never seemed bothered that Ford had asked. In fact, as long as Ford didn't pry into Bill's history and kept his inquiries comfortably shallow, Bill always seemed happy to receive personal questions. Ford had found that even when Bill talked like he was in a hurry, it was very easy to get him off track (and consequently extend his visit to two or three more dreams) by asking him about himself.

Ford wondered why that was. Was it a part of his duty—was he compelled to answer his chosen students' questions, to enlighten them on the mysteries of the universe, to help tug back the curtain of reality to reveal wonders unknown—wonders that included Bill himself? Or perhaps Bill was used to students seeing him as a source of knowledge without seeing him. Perhaps he was grateful that somebody was interested in him enough to ask.

Whatever the case—Bill clearly liked being asked about himself, and Ford liked getting his muse to stick around a little longer than planned. So rather than letting Bill get on to the prophecies he'd promised, Ford asked, "Do you ever... participate in any human holidays? After all, you've offered so much to humanity. I'm sure any of your prior protégés would have been honored to invite you as a guest to our celebrations. I would be honored." And Ford wouldn't mind having friendly company on the holidays that he'd gotten in the habit of ignoring until they shrank to nothing but a square on a calendar.

"Ha, I know you would! But no, not really," Bill said. "Don't get me wrong, it's not that I look down on your cute little local festivals. They just don't have any relevance to me! A celebration of a bountiful harvest, a prayer to get through the winter, the veneration of a local long-dead celebrity... I come from a timeless realm of divinity, sublimity, color and light! Most of your planet's holidays are about issues that don't matter to me."

"Ah. I see," Ford said. "Are there any human holidays you care about?"

Bill mulled over the question. "Maybe one or two."

####

June 22, 2013

Bill thundered down the stairs, charged into the kitchen, and announced to the Pines, "If I don't get to wear a Summerween costume I will literally die."

Without looking up from the morning paper, Ford said, "Then die."

####

It took ten minutes for Bill to bargain Ford up from "death" to permission to wear a costume—provided that it was free; that Bill agree to stay inside for the holiday without complaint (WITHOUT COMPLAINT) no matter what fun activities he heard happening outside; that Ford didn't have to do anything to help Bill obtain said costume; and that Bill take a dang shower.

Bill groaned. "Another shower already?"

"You wouldn't need so many if you didn't insist on running around in an acrylic sweater and polyester leggings in summer."

Bill knew that. That was one of the reasons he did it. It was useful for the humans to think the showers were their idea.

Bill agreed to all terms, and even volunteered to get the dang shower over with now so they could both get on with the rest of their days.

He'd never admit it, but Bill had been wanting a shower. Not for the hygiene, but for the privacy. This was the first time he'd had a door between himself and the Pines since he'd broken the shack's unicorn hair barrier.

Time to call in reinforcements.

Bill covered the mirrors, turned on the shower, undressed, stuck his head under the shower stream so that if anyone barged in on him he could use his wet hair as proof he'd been showering, and squinted through the wooden door to confirm there weren't any humans lurking nearby. Coast was clear—but wow, it hurt to bend his eye that way. He rubbed at it irritably as he set up his ring of candles again, and wasn't surprised when his fingertips came away bloody. He thought it hurt more than it had last time. He wondered how many more times he could glance into higher dimensions before this body's eyeballs gave out on him. Hopefully he wouldn't need them that long.

He drew Kryptos on the floor, lit the candles, and started muttering the chant to summon him. "Rhombus sapphirinus. Fraternitas, caritas..."

The steamy air went chill, the water pattering in the tub grew muffled, the whole world slowed and paused. For weeks, Bill's every attempt to break into the mindscape had been a futile strain; but now, instead, the mindscape surged up and swallowed him into its gray twilight, like evening embracing the land on the heels of sunlight's departure. Bill knew he wasn't awake anymore. It was working.

A force outside of Bill borrowed his throat to speak the last of the ritual—it worked!—and before his eyes, a diamond window opened into the Nightmare Realm.

####

Standing at the edge of one of the Quadrangle of Qonfusion's many perpendicular floors, arms crossed, scowling deeply, Pyronica glared at a neon-acidic cotton candy nebula light years away. "Guys," she said, "it's doing the thing again."

8 Ball, Keyhole, and Zanthar glanced away from their video game toward the nebula. Amorphous Shape peeled a few squares off a column to peer at it with Hectorgon.

"Look at this." Pyronica clapped her hands.

In the nebula, crackles of lightning-like bolts of light millions of miles long shot through the starry clouds. A noise like thunder boomed from it, rattling the Quadrangle. An ugly statue fell off a column-shaped pedestal and landed on a wall.

She clapped twice more—each time, eliciting more lightning—then gestured emphatically at the nebula. "How am I doing that!"

"Can't be you controlling it," Amorphous Shape said. "That nebula's over a dozen light years away. That light had to have happened years ago, we're just seeing it now."

Already turned back to his video game and determinedly trying to murder Keyhole, 8 Ball said, "Maybe the nebula's controlling you."

Pryonica said flatly, "You think a bunch of stars is making me clap."

"Eh. Like astrology or something."

Hectorgon said, "Could be a time loop thing."

"Could be," Amorphous Shape said thoughtfully.

Pyronica threw up her hands, which made the distant nebula's colors shift slightly. "If it's not weird butterfly effects or faster-than-light light, it's time loops. I hate this place. All it'd take is a hard sneeze to knock the whole dimension down."

She'd been saying things to such effect for the past few months. Consequently, nobody really paid much attention to the latest round of griping about the Nightmare Realm's poor maintenance, until she said, "I'm bailing on the Quadrangle. Soon as I can find a decent rock in some other dimension. Who else is coming?"

8 Ball glanced down at Pyronica from the floor with their gaming setup. "Hold on, are you serious?" He quickly had to look away as Zanthar took advantage of the distraction to attack.

"Yeah, I'm serious. I don't wanna break up the gang, but I'm sick of this dump."

Huddled on a nearby wall like an unemployed gargoyle, Paci-Fire said solemnly, "I will stay, Mother. The Quadrangle of Qonfusion is the only home I have ever known."

"Probably one of my worst life decisions," Pyronica muttered. "The Quadrangle isn't our home, it was Bill's. We're just... just..."

Ducking in from between two columns that seemed to lead to a purple-shadowed nighttime meadow, Teeth said, "Eternal couch-surfers."

"Ha! Yeah, that. Hey, where you been the past week?"

"Took a wrong turn to the bathroom. I ended up in that pocket dimension Bill grounded the electrical wiring into."

"Again?"

"I never know how many times to cross that one infinitely looping hallway!"

Pyronica gestured at Teeth. "See, this place is a complete mess. We'd be better off moving to any other dimension. And you'd like living in a real dimension if you gave it a shot, Paci!"

"No." Paci-Fire crossed his arms. "I do not want to."

"At least think about it. Wouldn't you like to live somewhere that has moons? Instead of going on a road trip to another dimension every time you want to drive a civilization to extinction?"

Keyhole muttered, "I hate those stupid road trips. They're always a zillion light years long and we never do anything fun."

"Hey!" Pyronica pointed at Keyhole. "Watch it! My kid's a lunarcide prodigy, he gets to go on as many moon-destroying trips as he wants!"

Keyhole cringed. "Right, right, sorry." 8 Ball muttered something disparaging about Keyhole's intellect, right before blowing him up for the second time.

Paci-Fire asked, "And say we were to move to a dimension with more moons. What would we do when the authorities follow us home after another successful slaughter?" A side-effect of growing up in the Henchmaniacs was that Paci-Fire regarded The Authorities as a nebulous bogeyman that was personally out to get him and all his family and friends. "Are we to lock the door and cower from them like—like cowards? Or constantly flee from one dimension to the next? No, Mother. I do not wish to live like a pariah in the dark corners of—" his lower mouth sneered around his pacifier, "civilized dimensions. There is nowhere safer for us than the Nightmare Realm."

"Sweetie, you don't have to be afraid of the authorities in other dimensions—"

"Mother! I know no fear." Paci-Fire's eyes flared a bright, dangerous red.

Pyronica playfully tugged one of his horn. "We can find a dimension as primitive as 46'\ without any interstellar cops. Like—which dimension were you from, Teeth, it doesn't even have any organized space authorities, does it?"

"Oh, yeah, pretty much every world in my galaxy was still ground bound when Bill recruited me." Teeth stepped on a column, slid off, and shuffled around it, trying to remember which side doubled as a walkway to the kitchen. "I don't really mind staying here, though. I mean yeah, we don't have a roof, or consistent walls, and the wiring's a mess. But the rent's really reasonable for a place this size in this part of the Nightmare Realm."

Hectorgon processed that. "Hold on." He lay on a wall and slid up it until he was mouth level with Teeth. "You've been paying rent?"

Teeth paused mid-column. "Wh—yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"

Pyronica bit her lip to keep from laughing, elbowed Paci-Fire, and hissed, "I thought Bill was joking about charging Teeth rent!"

Paci-Fire murmured, "Bill Cipher was always a most droll prankster."

"Who are you paying it to?" Hectorgon asked.

"I mean—I was paying it to Bill. But I dunno who took that over, so I guess, kinda... no one?"

With a mildly offended tone, Hectorgon lied, "You were supposed to give it to me now."

"Oh." Teeth shifted awkwardly. "Uh... sorry, Hect, no one told me. I don't think I've got enough on hand to cover all the..."

"It's fine, everything's been topsy-turvy since... the last few months. Just give me what you have and pay back the rest as soon as you can, okay?"

"Sure, sure, no problem. Thanks, man."

Pyronica bit her lip to keep from laughing. "All right, so Teeth is stupid enough to stay here."

"Hey!"

"But I don't see why the rest of us should be." She looked up at the trio playing games below her, then tried to remember which stupid paradox staircase led to that level. She hesitantly headed up one that looked promising. "Moving out would be worth it just to be somewhere with consistent physics!"

"I am contented with the inconsistent physics," Paci-Fire said.

"It took you fifty years longer than most kids to learn how to walk," Pyronica said. "I know you're my little genius! It's this dimension that's holding you down!"

"Boo," Paci-Fire said sulkily.

"Paci, you don't even like the Quadrangle. Nobody does."

Amorphous Shape let out a chorus of sharp gasps. They slid around a corner and reappeared sliding from the underside of the staircase to the top, laying zigzag atop the steps to glare at Pyronica. "Excuse us."

"I'll step on you, Morph," Pyronica threatened. Amorphous Shape grudgingly slid over for her to pass. "Fine, Bill's stupid 2D groupies like the Quadrangle. But the rest of us don't."

"What's wrong with it?" Morph demanded.

"What's—?!" Pyronica gestured upward at the floor below them. "You don't see the problem with this?!"

"It's supposed to be like that. It's a shortcut."

"It's a—!" Pyronica covered her face and suppressed a scream. "It's giving me vertigo!"

"It doesn't give us vertigo," Morph said defensively. They partially peeled off the steps to look at Hectorgon. "Does it give you vertigo?"

"No, I'm fine."

"What about you, Kryptos?"

There was no answer.

"Krypt?" Morph reluctantly peeled off the stairs entirely and hovered in the air to try to get a better view.

"He probably got sucked into The Void," Keyhole muttered, "it was vibrating this morning."

8 Ball sighed. "Why do we even have that Void?"

"Man, I dunno."

Pyronica ascended to the bottom of the stairs, sat on the arm of the gamers' couch, and said, "The point is—none of us need this place. I got by fine before joining Bill, most of you guys did too, and we can get by just fine now without squatting in his weird architecture project."

She leaned behind Keyhole and 8 Ball to poke Zanthar's arm. "Big Z, you still have worshippers in your home dimension, right? Aren't you still getting offerings?"

Zanthar shrugged noncommittally.

"They've still got legends of you, you can whip them back into shape in no time. Keyhole, you've got family—"

Without looking away from the screen, where he was losing hideously, Keyhole muttered, "I'm not moving back in with my mom."

"I'm not talking about your mom, stupid, what about your sisters?"

Keyhole winced, though it was hard to tell whether it was from Pyronica's question or from getting killed for the third and final time. "I don't know... Bill and I were talking about them once, and I realized they're as bad as Mom was. Bill said probably the only reason they didn't treat me as bad is because they never got the opportunity—"

"Who cares what Bill said," Pyronica snapped. "Bill's dead! We don't have to listen to him anymore!"

"Hear hear," 8 Ball muttered; but he couldn't throw in anything else, lest Zanthar blow him up and win the match.

Pyronica said, "Face it: the only reason the rest of us didn't leave the Nightmare Realm millennia ago is because Bill couldn't leave."

Morph drifted through the kitchen—reaching around Teeth to grab a drink out of the fridge as they passed—and unfolded questioningly around a corner. "There you are."

Kryptos was in the rec room, lounging on Bill's stupid tacky optical illusion throne with the fabric of reality upholstery, staring out a window (or skylight, depending on your point of perspective). He grunted at Morph.

Morph said, "Bill's gonna be furious you're using his throne."

"Whatever. Z's already spilled time punch on the armrest." Kryptos pointed at the patch of reality on the armrest that was out of chronological synch with the rest of the throne.

"He's not gonna be furious," Pyronica said, shouting through the doorway that inexplicably connected to the rec room. "He's not gonna be anything because he's dead. He died. D-E-A-D."

"He's not." And suddenly Morph were in Pyronica's face, all of their polygons and lines and piercing slitted eyes circling her head like angry moons. Keyhole leaned toward 8 Ball to see the screen around them, and 8 Ball elbowed him back over. Morph said, "He can't be. If Bill was dead, the Nightmare Realm would be falling apart even faster—"

"So let's bail while we can—"

"—but it's not," they said. "If anything, its degradation is slowing down. That would be impossible if he were dead, he's instrumental to holding the Nightmare Realm together—"

"Unless he lied about that, and he was actually making everything worse," Pyronica said.

"Bill's not a liar! We have the data to prove it, we've been measuring the degradation for billennia—"

"I'm sick of your stupid measurements! It was your 'measurements' that said 46'\ was perfect to take over! Was that stupid barrier part of your measurements?!"

"That barrier was extremely localized, there's no way we could have detected—"

"The portal was right in the middle of it! How did you idiots miss it?!"

8 Ball groaned as Zanthar whittled away the last of his HP. Zanthar let out a gentle hum like the sound of an apocalyptic vacuum cleaner as the game declared him the winner.

8 Ball tossed his controller at the TV. The TV squealed in fear. "If Bill is alive, that's just another reason to get out of the Nightmare Realm! Leave before he gets back! He can play king in this dump by himself."

Paci-Fire said, "Surely, you do not mean that. Were Bill still around..."

"No! No, I do mean it! The only reason we've stayed so long is because everyone's too starstruck or too scared to ditch him! Not anymore! If his flat-brained cultists wanna wait for him, fine! But why do we all gotta stay?"

"Hey!" Hectorgon rushed in from the kitchen to snarl at 8 Ball. "Who're you calling flat, cue tip—?"

Kryptos tuned out the argument downstairs/next door as 8 Ball and Hectorgon started brawling. Who were they kidding? Nobody was leaving. Maybe 8 Ball, he'd tried to split four or five times before crawling back, but Kryptos didn't care about him anyway. Bill had always been right about him: he was too selfish to care about the rest of the gang but too stupid to make it on his own. They'd taken in losers like that before and it had never been a big loss when they left. But no one else would leave. Where would they go?

Where could they go?

Kryptos didn't care about the outerplanar Henchmaniacs' reasons for joining Bill; but the shapes were here because Bill had promised to make them a new home. He was the only one in all of reality who could do it. Kryptos was as desperate to hear from Bill as Morph and Hect were. They'd held fast to Bill's promise for a trillion years—so how could they let go of whatever thin thread of that hope remained? Who would they be if they lost it?

But in his heart, Kryptos didn't really believe Bill was out there. He'd been gone too long. And Kryptos couldn't imagine anything less catastrophic than Bill's destruction could have reversed Weirdmageddon.

Yet he was still here, and still waiting, because he didn't know what else to do. He'd stay in the Quadrangle until the whole realm finally fell apart, just in case Bill casually floated back in one day. He'd do anything they could think of to find him and bring him back.

And then Kryptos got a call from Earth.

He sighed heavily.

Calls from Earth weren't unusual. Perks of having helped found the Fishmasons: Kryptos was occasionally summoned by the Fishermen high-ranked enough to be told their organization really did know an interdimensional alien who was their de facto secret leader and presided over their most important rituals. Assuming "de facto secret leader" meant "living equivalent of a beloved sports team mascot," and "presided over" meant "got free invitations to," and "most important rituals" meant "most fun parties." But the humans liked to pretend that their little group was a lot more important and cloak-and-dagger than the social club it really was; and all the wink-wink-nudge-nudge pretending-Kryptos-was-in-charge, while silly, was also kind of flattering. You didn't get many chances to be the star of the show when you lived around a supernova like Bill.

So, Kryptos got calls from Earth from time to time—at least a handful a year—typically from a middle-aged man in a business suit trying to pretend he wasn't giddy about being the guy who'd gotten permission to pull out the candles and contact The Alien.

Kryptos was not in the mood to talk to humans. Humans were why they were in this mess. Humanity could go jump in a lake.

But it wasn't every human's fault that a handful had somehow taken out Bill. And maybe they were calling for a party. Maybe it would cheer him up.

So he sighed again, half heartedly shouted, "Guys—guys, shut up a second, I'm getting a call," and opened up a window to Earth.

His vision was filled with a brown-skinned golden-haired haunted-eyed human who, at the sight of Kryptos, gave him a relieved, face-splitting smile. "H—"

Kryptos hung up.

To reiterate: he took calls from middle-aged men in business suits. That was a naked woman crouched on the floor like an animal.

"Who was it?" Hectorgon asked.

"No one. Some woo-woo witchy type who probably dug up a leaked Fishmason ritual online."

Hectorgon laughed. "I bet it thought it could ask a 'demon' for lottery numbers."

"Sorry, sister, but that's Bill's schtick," Kryptos said. "My number is unlisted for a reason."

Kryptos wondered about Bill's human pals. Well—"pals" was a bit of a stretch—devotees and students. How often did he get calls? And now they couldn't reach him.

Stinks for them. Must be awful, reaching out to someone in another dimension for help and getting nothing back.

####

An ethereal, sourceless voice whispered in Bill's ear, "The all-knowing dream demon you're trying to reach is currently unavailable for visions and prophecies. If this is an emergency, wake up and call your nearest Masonic lodge. Otherwise, please leave your prayers or petitions after the beep." Beep.

Bill stared, jaw dropped, at the empty patch of air where Kryptos had been projecting just a moment ago. After several seconds of mute outrage, Bill said, "Kr... Kryptos. You... I swear, if you don't get back here this SECOND—"

The sheer force of his anger woke him up. His eyes fluttered open to the world of color and humidity and pattering water. He grabbed every towel he could reach, wadded them up, and screamed into them. "KRYPTOS YOU SON OF A— I KNOW YOU NEVER CHECK YOUR VOICEMAIL! AND WERE YOU ON MY THRONE, WERE YOU SITTING ON MY SPECIAL THRONE—!"

He shrieked until his lungs were empty.

####

At sixty minutes exactly, Ford knocked and opened the bathroom door. Bill stood scowling behind it.

Dryly, Ford asked, "Have a pleasant shower?"

Wet hair hanging in tangles, face flushed red, eyes even redder, Bill snapped, "Yeah. Refreshing."

####

"Mabel?"

Mabel glanced down from the stepladder at Bill, then pointedly looked away and continued taping Summerween decorations to the hallway wallpaper. "What."

"Mabel," Bill tried again, a touch more pleading. "O great Shooting Star. My hero. My one and only friend in this hostile universe. Last person who hasn't utterly forsaken me." He leaned on the wall, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead. "The sole illumination in the dark night of my accursed postmortem existence—"

Mabel grudgingly looked at Bill again. "What do you want?"

"Listen: I know I upset you at the mall, and I still need to make it up to you—I do, I do, I just haven't had a chance yet—and you're still a little mad at me, okay—buuut... can you help me make a costume." He pressed his hands together. "Please. I'll owe you one. I'll be in your debt. Just let me dress up for Summerween."

Mabel frowned at him. She frowned a little more. She said, frowning, "You're so lucky I love costumes."

####

(Next week: Summerween part 2!! Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed I'd love to hear from y'all what you think! I've been waiting to get to the Henchmaniacs for a long time. Mainly in the hopes y'all will yell at me for putting Bill through heck again.)

#human bill cipher #bill cipher #kryptos #henchmaniacs #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #my writing #my art #fanart #bill goldilocks cipher

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