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phantomtwitch · 9 months

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For angstfest! I'm a little late, but here's one for a No One Knows AU.

They’re already moving as soon as he’s gone.

Tucker grabs Danny’s legs while Sam picks up Danny beneath his arms and shoulders. He’s long past the point of being embarrassed about Sam being stronger than him, and they have to move fast as they drag Danny’s body into an empty classroom nearby. He mutters curses under his breath as the heavy classroom door bounces off his side, and Sam huffs and rolls her eyes. “Drama queen,” she accuses, and he sticks his tongue out at her as they carry Danny’s body the rest of the way inside and the door shuts with a too-loud slam behind them.

But they’re not worried about the noise attracting attention. Most of the students are staying within their own classrooms, ignoring whatever odd sounds they might hear as the ghost alarm goes off in the background. The harsh, blinking lights cast odd shadows on Danny’s face, making Tucker queasy for a minute as they prop his body up against the wall below the whiteboard.

“How long?” he asks, panting heavily and trying to catch his breath.

“Two minutes and forty-five seconds,” she says with a grin as she sits down next to him. “Pretty sure that’s a new record.”

“Nah, we did it in two minutes and thirty-eight seconds last month, remember?” he says as he sits down beside her and starts to unpack his backpack. The defibrillator is buried at the bottom, tucked beneath his things. It’s the smallest one they could find that’s still effective, even if they’re not exactly using it for its intended purpose, and Sam carries another just in case. For a normal person, it wouldn’t be possible to restart their heart and lungs with an electric shock, despite what the movies claim, but for Danny? Electricity is the only thing that works, the only thing that will bind his spirit back to his corpse as it infuses and activates the ectoplasm flooding his blood stream.

The Fentons could no doubt provide a scientific explanation as to why and how it works, but to Tucker, it’s an odd kind of magic, of horrifying necromancy as they forcibly, painfully force the electricity to run through him again, so similar to the accident that caused this problem in the first place. It’s only by chance that they know it works, having tried the defibrillator hanging on the lab wall in the basement after he came out of the portal and his body fell to the ground as his ghost hovered over it in shock. He didn’t give it much thought the first time. Tucker merely assumed the movies were right and that they restarted Danny’s heart. It wasn’t until later that they learned the truth.

With practiced ease he pulls Danny’s old NASA t-shirt off, and then scowls as he notices that Danny’s wearing a new necklace with a constellation on it that Tucker probably should know the name of after being Danny’s friend for so many years but doesn’t. “Great. More stuff to take off. Wonder who gave it to him,” he grumbles, twisting it around in his fingers until he finds the clasp and removes it. He checks him over for any more metal and finds none. “How long now?”

“Four minutes,” says Sam, and he nods. They worry one day it’ll be too long, that there will be no forcibly stitching his soul and body back together, that all will remain is a ghost and the body of a boy who’s been dead for longer than anyone knows. The longest Danny’s ever gone is thirty-three minutes, yet they were still able to bring him back that day even as it seemed to take longer than usual. But there’s no one they can ask for help or advice, no one that’s dealt with this before besides them and Jazz, and none of them trust the Fenton parents enough to not shoot their own son in the face if they learn the truth. Because so far, at least, when Danny’s back he is alive again. He’s grown a few inches since this started a year ago. He’s been forced to get his usual haircuts, to trim his nails when they get too long. His heart beats within his chest, and he breathes and smiles and laughs like there’s nothing different, nothing wrong, and absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about him.

They shift Danny again, laying him down flat on the floor on his back as Tucker kneels down beside him and sets up the defibrillator and sticks the pads to Danny’s chest. There’s nothing they can do until he returns, so they wait, Tucker drumming his fingers against the side of his leg as Sam continues to glance at her watch every few seconds. “Did you hear that they’re remaking the first Nightmerica movie?” he asks, looking for any distraction he can.

“Ughh, yeah,” she groans. “Which completely misses the point of why it’s so good in the first place. I don’t want a modern version with modern effects. I want cheesy 80s costumes and music and horror and the chance to cheer as stuck-up cheerleaders get murdered. I mean I guess there’s a chance they’ll keep the original charm, but I doubt it.”

“Yeah, there’s already rumors that they’re casting, like, Scarlett Johanson as Nightmerica,” adds Tucker. “Doesn’t really bode well.”

“Seriously? If she gets cast, I’m just going to nope right out, pretend it doesn’t exist, and hope everyone else does the same,” she says, and then goosebumps erupt across their skin as the temperature in the room drops precipitously as Phantom enters the classroom, phasing through the wall.

He looks rougher than usual as ectoplasm drips from his arms and chest, deep claw marks gouging through the thin black and white hazmat suit he wears even now. His eyes are consumed with green light, his hair floating over his head and flickering like sparks, and there’s a faint hint of white beneath the dark suit, of the shape of bones even as Phantom is nothing but ectoplasm. “Rough fight?” he asks.

There’s heavy static behind each word. Talking to him like this is almost useless. They can’t understand the ghost speech, the odd echoes and noise and whirring, and trying to teach Danny sign language or morse code or any other method of communication when he’s whole again is worthless, none of the knowledge transferring to his ghostly self, the wall between his two halves too solid for even Phantom to phase through. They don’t know why Phantom is one of the only ghosts that can’t speak without the noise and distortion, that can’t make his words understood, but it’s a truth that’s held fast for as long as Danny’s been like this.

But Tucker’s gotten better at reading his unnatural body language, the way he twists upside down and curls his tail around himself as his sharp, pointed teeth flash. “Sorry, man,” he says. “I wish you didn’t have to do this.”

They don't know why he feels compelled to fight the other ghosts. They don't even know what triggers the transformation, even as they've come to recognize the warning signs, like the odd vacant stare that sets in, the way Danny’s hackles almost seem to rise as he silently snarls. And it's not as if Danny can tell them.

Phantom whispers something in response, the words still lost in the static, and then he floats over to himself, putting a hand over his own corpse, because as hard as it is for Tucker to think of it that way, he knows, on some level, that’s what Danny's body is without Phantom. There’s no life in it, no presence, no spirit. It’s merely flesh, an empty vessel, and he shudders to think what could happen if another ghost found him like this, if he might be able to possess him somehow.

"We're at nine minutes," says Sam, and Phantom lets out something like a sigh as he floats back into the corpse. Danny's eyes snap open, green and glowing, and they move quickly.

Unlike the one in the lab that was old and lacked the safety features of most modern AEDs, they had to make a few modifications to this one to get it to work. A modern defibrillator won't let someone shock a body with no heartbeat. Messing with the tech felt dicey, but they couldn't find any other methods to safely deliver a shock to him that wouldn't risk their own safety, too.

The pads are already placed, and he pushes the button, biting his lip as he waits. It delivers the first shock, but aside from a twitch in his shoulders and a confirmation from the AED, there's little to no sign it happened.

A hiss of soft static, and Tucker understands the meaning despite the noise, a bitter plea for them to do it again. It takes three shocks before they see it, the strange white light around his midsection, and Tucker turns off the AED as he and Sam scramble a few steps back.

The light spreads, eventually too bright for them to bear the sight of it as little arcs of electricity dance along Danny's skin, and when it finally stops he's sitting up, staring vacantly. The daze won't last, but they take this moment to put away the defibrillator, removing the pads from his chest. Tucker puts the necklace back on, his fingers shaking as he snaps the clasp together. Much as he tries to act like this doesn’t bother him anymore, he can’t contain his relief at seeing Danny sitting up again, his chest slowly moving with each breath, his pulse steady beneath his wrist and neck.

They've just pulled his shirt on when he blinks, and Danny looks down at his hands, wincing as he touches his chest. "I feel like I got run over by the GAV," he groans, and Tucker forces himself to chuckle.

"You might as well have. You hit the floor hard when you fainted," says Tucker. The injuries are never there, but some phantom pain always seems to remain as his ghost heals. "I'm sorry we never manage to catch you, man. I know it’s gotta hurt."

"It's fine," mumbles Danny. "How long was I out?"

"About ten minutes," says Sam. She doesn’t point out that they time this, now, down to the second. It’s not as if timing it changes anything, but it makes them feel better when they revive Danny in under twenty minutes. More than that and they start to worry. Tucker’s still not sure how Danny doesn’t have any brain damage at this point from the lack of oxygen.

Danny hums, flexing his fingers for a minute as the ghost alarm shuts down. "I . . . Doesn't it seem like this is getting worse? I can't even remember seeing a ghost. I . . . I never can."

"You know this messes with your memory–"

"Yeah, but that makes this seem more like I'm having seizures or something, not fainting. And it's always one of you or Jazz when I wake up, which seems weird, maybe? I just . . . Maybe we should tell my parents," he whispers, and Tucker's heart aches.

"I don't think that's a good idea–" begins Sam, but he cuts her off.

"--why not?" He looks between the two of them, scowling, his fists now clenched. "What aren't you telling me?"

He and Sam exchange a long look. It always comes to this eventually, yet despite their best efforts, it's pointless. Some part of Danny refuses to hear the truth, to acknowledge that he died or at least half-died in the portal, and within an hour he always forgets they even discussed this at all. They don't know why. They've proven over and over again that they accept him and love him despite how he’s changed. But the wall is still too solid to break through.

They should explain it to Danny again anyway. Tucker knows that. But he's so tired of repeating himself, and he knows Sam is, too. Jazz says his psyche needs more time to process and accept the truth, but it's been a year with no sign of things changing.

Sam eventually sighs, forcing the words out. She's always been the strongest of the three of them in more ways than one. "A year ago, you had an accident. You were hurt badly, and we saved you, but–"

The door swings open suddenly, and he sees Mr. Lancer there, the relief evident on his face. "Lord of the Flies! Is everyone okay?" he asks as he takes in the sight of the three of them on the floor. At least the AED is back in Tucker's bag and out of sight, since Tucker doubts Mr. Lancer would be willing to ignore what that might signify if he saw it.

"We're fine," says Sam. "We thought we heard the ghost and hid. I'm sorry we worried you."

"Somehow that always seems to happen with the three of you," he says with a frown, clearly questioning it, but thankfully he doesn't push it further. "But I’m glad that you’re safe, at least, and now that the ghost is gone you three need to get to class."

"Okay." They stand up, and Tucker can see the worry and distrust as Danny clenches his jaw and refuses to look at them as he heads out into the hallway. But that’s not the worst part. No, it’s knowing that by the time lunch rolls around, Danny won’t remember his suspicions or his fears. They’ll be pushed down, slowly hidden beneath the protective part of his mind that refuses to let him know the truth, and instead of questioning why he constantly faints whenever there’s a ghost, why he has strange aches and pains, and why he often sets off his parents’ equipment even when he’s human again, he’ll talk to them about the latest video games and movies and gossip and homework.

He desperately wants his friend to know the truth. It hurts, even as he knows they’re not lying to Danny about what’s happening, that they’ve tried to explain it before. And despite how naturally taking care of his body comes to him and Sam now, despite knowing the signs that herald Phantom’s emergence, Tucker knows they can’t keep this a secret forever. Inevitably, they won’t be there one day, they’ll miss an obvious sign, or someone like Lancer will walk in a little too soon. And once they learn the truth, he and Sam and Jazz know that Danny will be taken from them as he’s locked away in a lab by the GIW or his parents and becomes some gruesome science experiment, tortured as he can’t even remember the reason why.

More and more Tucker’s beginning to think they’re running out of time. They need to find a way. They need to get Danny to understand who and what he is so he can protect himself, because Tucker’s not sure how much longer he can keep up the lie, too.

EDIT: I wrote a Part Two, it's here.

#danny phantom #angstfest2023 #my writing #no one knows au #just this time it's Danny who's clueless #corpse au #electric core au #if you squint #probably medical inaccuracies #very mild gore #tucker pov #again #i might do a second part for this for the everyone knows au bit #but i'm not sure yet #i might cross post this to ao3 after editing it more too

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tswwwit · 7 months

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Med student dipper finding bill on the verge of dying and panics, I mean sure he's an ass but he doesn't deserve to die

Sure, here's a thing!

The body lying before him is a mess. And that's putting it politely.

Dipper's clenching his jaw tight, and the expression he's wearing can't be reassuring. He schools it back to a neutral state, trying to take in -

There's a lot to take in.

All his training, the tests. The patient practice and medical diagrams. Nothing prepared him for a body like this. All this blood, not in vials or on the cool white sheets of a hospital bed, but bare and leaking on the ground. Nothing between him and the reality that life is fragile, and can end so, so soon.

Training fails. So does tact.

Dipper takes a shaky breath, and says, "You're dying." "Pfft, hardly." The demon waves an idle hand - the one not holding his chest, failing to keep that weird, viscous blood inside. How he manages to smirk despite everything is a mystery. "I've had way worse!"

Bullshit, he's - A demon, sure, but anatomical facts are facts. With a hole that big, Bill Cipher shouldn't be moving, much less able to talk.

"This? Is basically nothing! Not even a patch on the times I've had a limb come off, or been impaled." Bill Cipher lies on the grass, waggling his hand in a so-so gesture. Despite the half-circle of chest missing, bitten right out of the torso. "Or even the time someone blew up this body's entire skull!" A low whistle, a shake of said very intact head - then a grin. "Though that one worked out pretty well, if I do say so myself."

Bill buffs the nails of his free hand against his ruined shirt, examining them with a bit of pride. How is he still moving.

Dipper stares at the concave gap in his torso. The slow leaking of the thick blood hasn't spread far, but it's just. Part of Bill is missing, Dipper finds it tough to look at. His stomach churns.

If it hadn't been Bill, it would have been him.

A dragon is. Well. A dragon. Who the hell knows why Dipper got snatched up and flown back to the den in the first place, but once he was there he wasn't getting out anytime soon. Or in one piece.

Dipper's talents aren't meant for combat, only trickery, and his chosen profession. Five minutes and three bites later, he'd have been a fairly forgettable snack. A random demon wandering in was the best stroke of luck Dipper's ever had, or could ever have, in a million years.

Hell, there's a lot of people who would take this entire situation as a win. One fire-breathing lizard gone, one fire-wielding demon about to follow. Two monsters, taking each other out with one stupid, pissy, ego-powered destructive battle.

Dipper, though, is perfectly fine. Aside from some burns and acid spit marks on his jeans, he's in great shape. He could just turn, walk away, and leave this monster to die next to the other, slaughtered one.

With this amount of damage, Bill Cipher isn't going anywhere. Eventually, he'll bleed out, pass out, pass away-

And Dipper would never forgive himself for letting it just... happen.

He takes a deep, calming breath. Lets it out, slow.

Okay. Back to basics.

He drops to his knees next to his patient. The scene is safe, the dragon's - Dipper glances over his shoulder - very, very dead. Bill himself is in no position to do much but be mildly annoying, by continuing to talk about more grievous wounds he's seen and experienced.

No airway trouble, since he's talking. It's amazing he's breathing at all. Even with a good portion of the lower chest gone, Bill hasn't passed out. And has enough air to talk, so. Probably fine? Yeah.

Dipper takes Bill's free arm in both hands. As a neat side effect, it stops the dramatic gesturing.

Pulse is.... slow, at first. But it picks up as Dipper takes it at the wrist, then a bit quicker at the neck. If this were a regular human he'd consider it bradycardia. By demonic standards, it's... probably fine? He thinks?

He checks Bill's face - grinning, and wiggling his fingers at Dipper - so, no signs of distress. He's not certain how to evaluate disorientation in a demon, either. Skip that for now.

So far, Dipper's working with the idea that this isn't immediately fatal. The next step is inspecting the wound, and see whether or not he can do anything about it.

"Okay." Dipper moves to check the damage, and finds it covered with ash, and shreds of cloth, and that acidic dragon drool - with this much in the way, it's hard to evaluate. "Bill, I'm going to have to cut your shirt off."

"Sure! Need a knife?" Bill produces one from seemingly nowhere. Dipper leans away, startled. That's. More enthusiasm than he expected. Bill notes his response, eyebrow rising. "What, you squeamish or something?"

"Uh." Dipper hesitates just a moment, but that's long enough for Bill to do the job himself, splitting his shirt open bare from chest to groin, which is. A lot. With a flourish of the knife, he lies back, tucking his arm behind his head.

And. What is there to say to that. "Thanks?"

Bill just gives him a slow, slow smile, and tucks his arms behind his head. Whatever look he's going for, it's too oozy to be effective.

Despite Bill's best attempts to be an ass about it, Dipper clears the wound area, as best he can. Not fully making eye contact, it's going to be bad. It's going to be a mess. Odds are he's going to have to tell a demon he's dying, even, and it's -

Dipper glances down.

It's.

The first, insane comparison that comes to mind, is 'like a cake'.

Bill's human enough. On the outside. Layers of skin, and muscle, and bone, and a considerable amount of 'blood' from the - Dipper feels it deserves the quote marks, now - 'body'.

But where there should be organs, and interstitial fluid, and a broken, leaking, seeping mess, a tangle of bitten flesh, there's. Not.

Organ-like shapes, certainly. They work unimpeded by any holes, pulsing, and alien. Apparently alive. Not spilling anywhere, either, since they're threaded through a pitch-black, non-leaky substance. This demon's body is like... layers of human fondant, over a weird jelly filling.

Dipper grimaces. Shakes his head, hand hovering. Not certain where to touch. Or if that would even be a good idea.

The human part is leaking everywhere, though. And when Dipper tentatively presses against it to slow the bleeding, one finger on the other bit - a couple drops of bright yellow ichor ooze slowly out, landing with a sizzle on the ground. He flinches back -

And Bill starts giggling. Like that freakin' tickled.

Dipper sits back up, shutting his eyes tight. He raises his hands as if in surrender. Which he's not doing, he just. Needs a second.

Overall, his professional evaluation is that the patient isn't dying. Not having a great time by any means, but outside of immediate danger. Theoretically, something could be done to help the... damage -

But. Bill Cipher's way, way outside of any of Dipper's experience. And that includes the several courses he's taken on nonhuman beings. Even the ones about demons, and otherwordly creatures, and spirits. Hell, the seminar he attended about elementals didn't mention this.

Bill is - or rather, Bill's wearing? Bill exists in? Some type of bizarre, semi-organic, mostly-magical hodgepodge of kinda-human kinda-demonic.... molded material? Specially created container? Oddly organized organic goop?

Whatever it is, Dipper's got no idea how it works. Or what would work on it.

"I don't-" Know what to do, Dipper almost says. Despite himself, his mind is racing. "I don't think I can fix you?"

The upturned inflection betrays him. Bill's grin brightens by several degrees.

"Now there's my curious guy! Part of you does know you can fix me! Don't overthink it, kid." He slaps the wound with a wet sound, making Dipper cringe back in sympathy. "You've got the mojo, so let's get things moving."

"I have life magic, yeah," Dipper adds. He fails to disguise the irritation in his voice. Shit, he has to learn to control that. Even if the patient's being a condescending dick. "I just. Don't think that works on demons."

"And typically, you'd be right!" Bill raises a finger, wagging it at Dipper. He almost looks proud that Dipper knew some random demon fact, like a weirdo. "Lucky for both of us, I'm in an... interesting body situation. Your stuff'll work just fine."

"No matter how much 'stuff' I have, there's nothing to reattach." Dipper gestures vaguely at the still-steaming corpse, smelling of iron and salt. There's a portion of Bill's torso in its stomach, and though the dragon's dead, he's not going digging around in there. He'd lose a limb in the attempt. "You can't regrow-"

"Stop thinking 'human', then. I'm nothing of the sort!" Bill chides, wagging a finger at him. Dipper pushes his arm back down, but it pops up again to snag him by the shirt. "All I need is some tailoring done on the flesh-suit. Super-duper easy for a guy like you!"

Dipper starts to protest. Then shuts his mouth, and ducks his head.

Maybe - just maybe - Bill has a point. Whatever this is, it's miles away from normal, what with how Bill's still alive and talking, to boot.

The sheer absurdity of Bill's body situation did make him hesitate. Wondering what he could do, with something this clearly, purely magical.

What Bill's proposing is still insane, of course. Dipper doesn't know why he entertained it in the first place.

Despite not having graduated yet, Dipper's used to helping save lives. He's done a few rounds, and shadowed several doctors. Bill's injury is the worst he's ever seen. He's the worst, most deadly being Dipper's met. Leaking and immobile as he is, he's still a demon. They're absolutely the worst.

But in terms of patients? Bill doesn't even rank in the top ten.

"Hello!" Bill's glaring. He clears his throat, and snaps his fingers twice. "Tired of waiting, kid. Do I gotta ring a bell for service here or what?"

Maybe in the top nine, or eight, though.

Dipper takes a deep breath, and lets it out. "Look. This is way beyond what I'm qualified to do." He squeezes Bill's hand, held in his own, and feels a deep sense of relief. "I can help stabilize you. Though you're, uh, pretty stable, and I can call an ambulance - " He glances around the woods. "Or. Get us at least closer to where I could call one. I might have healing magic but I can't just. Do it."

The entire idea is insane. Recklessly use medical magic on an unknown being? On a strange, unfamiliar semi-organic whatever the fuck body? Without knowing how, and where, and what type to use, any part of it could go wrong in so, so many ways.

Bill's asking so casually. Like it'd be easy. Maybe he thinks it is.

Sure, his 'body' might be fine. But it really deserves the quotation marks. Assuming that it's a type of magical construct, trying to 'fill in' his missing parts might work. Demons could, in theory, be able to synthesize a... something or other, out of Dipper's efforts.

But even if it is a construct - Dipper doesn't have the blueprints.

Bill's 'body' is very, very real, not some gossamer-thin creation. Both solid, and living enough to bleed. Without a plan to follow, while he poured regeneration into an organic form? One this complicated? He'd totally screw it up. The sheer amount of magic it takes to sustain it alone is absolutely insane.

"Fine. Then back the fuck off, if you're squeamish." Bill interrupts his train of thought, voice sharp. His teeth bare as he sneers, and Dipper makes another note on the 'not human' chart. "Or hey! Find a neat stick or something." He pats at the gap on his side like it's more of an annoyance than a grievous, leaking wound. "Gotta get something to prop me up so I'm not tilting forty degrees just trying to get around."

"Cut that out." Dipper uses his stern, professional tone, to zero effect. "You need to keep that clean." Probably. Does Bill even have an immune system, or-?

His train of thought gets interrupted as Bill pats around, finding a chunk of a blasted-apart log- then compares it to his wound, with a contemplative look. Like he's judging whether it's sturdy enough to replace the flesh and bone missing from his friggin' torso. Like he only needs to plug it up as a structural issue.

"Oh my god," Dipper says, and swats the stupid splintery thing out of this idiot demon's hand. "Do you want an infection?"

Bill opens his mouth. Presumably, he was about to make some quote-unquote 'witty' response, but Dipper's already covered his mouth. Running his over hand over his face.

"If I try to patch you up," Dipper starts, slowly. Already knowing he's doing something dumb, just so someone else won't do something dumber. "Will you please not shove anything into it. After."

"It's a deal, sapling." Bill gives him a smug grin, and an irritating thumbs up. "Go for it! And tell you what." The wink is totally unnecessary. "I'll even back you up on the magic front."

"Sure," Dipper says, very dry. Because transferring magic being-to-being is that easy. Everyone just. Hands it over, on a whim. Bill has lost a lot of blood, though. Maybe it's made him loopy. "Go for it."

That, at least, shuts Bill up. He hums a little tune, lying back and waiting for....

Dipper to do the dumb thing.

With a sigh, He sets his hands on Bill. His skin is bare, so there's a the brief relief that Dipper won't have to channel through it; a total lack of modesty does have minor benefits.

Another breath. Dipper shuts his eyes. focusing on his magic. Drawing it down, through his own source of life, through is arms, to his fingers, pressed into Bill's soft skin like he's testing the ripeness of a peach.

Welp. Here goes nothing.

Literally nothing, mind. Demons are powerful, and weird. Mortal magic doesn't mingle well, or easily, with the kind that demons throw around, and the form Bill's wearing looks hand-crafted. Whatever made it is going to be way beyond Dipper's ability to fix. Possibly beyond his ability to comprehend.

If he's lucky, though, he might be able to slow the bleeding. For some reason that hasn't really stopped, but it'll make transporting him less messy if he can manage to stem it. but the best case scenario is that he doesn't murder Bill outright in the attempt.

The first trickles of magic bleed into Bill's flesh, spreading through that layer of fondant, down into the jelly-donut center. His magic feels bone and blood. He feels the little tangling twine of veins, and the strings of muscle.

Following his training, Dipper pushes magic in. Carefully. Slowly.

A moment later, his eyes shoot open.

He stares at the wound. Then he stares Bill.

All he gets in return a is a big grin, and a nonchalant wave.

Dipper blinks back down a the gap in this demon, and how it slowly, slowly closes up without even being guided.

Fixing up a person would be a multi-step, long, lingering process. Like repairing the circuitry on a delicate electronic, or gently guiding the weave of a tapestry.

With Bill, Dipper's just. Pouring wax into a mold. As long as he keeps putting magic into it, it reforms back into shape. No blueprints needed.

Holy shit, this is easy.

What the fuck.

Whatever form Bill's wearing is truly bizarre. This is - he doesn't know - technically organic, but absolutely a constructed thing. How the hell was this made? Who did it? And what the hell, why is it growing back so fast?

Dipper nearly pulls back out of sheer surprise, intending to stop - before quickly realizing he can't.

He slams his palms back on Bill's torso, shivering as the small plumes of flame fade. Bill doesn't seem to mind; which both is and isn't a surprise. No blisters form, either, which proves Dipper's startled assumption about what the fuck just happened.

Swearing again, Dipper shuts his eyes, shoving harder against Bill's skin. No backing out now. He has to keep focus, and see this through.

Bill wasn't kidding about how easy this would be.

He also wasn't kidding about backing Dipper up with his magic.

Even though this is easy, Dipper wouldn't have enough on his own, not to heal a huge chunk like this. Too much missing material, even in a magical construct. Too complicated, and strange.

But Bill's here. A guy who's very invested in getting up and around again, and - shit, demons can hand over power to humans, it's kinda their thing. God, why didn't Dipper think of that before.

Though he started with a trickle, just to see what would happen, Dipper amped it up as things seemed to be working. A little increase to the stream of magic, admiring the effects.

Somewhere along that line, it turned into a torrent.

It figures. Bill's power must be behind this, and he's a demon, and an asshole. While Dipper wasn't paying attention, Bill opened up some kind demonic valve, without Dipper ever noticing.

There's a whole river of demonic magic coursing through Dipper's veins now. Arguably still controlled by him, but fed by a pushy demonic asshole. The magic doesn't feel bad at all, but it's big. Vast, and seemingly endless.

Demonic power courses through Dipper, hot and thick in his arms, lighter in his chest, swirling around his own heart, both his and not-his -

And all of it has to go somewhere.

Underneath his hands, the flesh.... flows.

Dipper watches the arch of the ribs, gently connecting back together, and the sheets of muscle blossom back. Skin spreads over what was empty air. Something is made from nothing, as full and complete as that power inside him.

Bill pulls Dipper's hand away from his chest, and takes a long, deep breath. His eye shuts.

And Dipper blinks as if coming out of a daze, jerking himself upright. He doesn't know when he started leaning over Bill like that, but now it feels super weird.

As Bill mutters something under his breath, wiping a hand down his face. Dipper backs up, then sits down heavily on the ground.

He didn't know he could - but he did that. Or Bill did that, through him. It's. A lot. To think about, and to have handled.

Either way, the result's slightly dizzying. As is the sheer amount of leftover magic.

For a moment, Dipper stares at his hands. He flexes his fingers, then rubs at them.

There's still a heady, warm sense of having way, way more to work with than usual, which is. Weird. But what's left no longer feels like it's being rudely shoved forward, and that makes it more manageable.

So. Kind of a controllable, reasonable level of absolutely absurd power. Without Bill powering him ,it should fade over time, and Dipper won't let himself miss it.

"Oof," Bill says, sitting up and stretching. "What a huge pain in the side that was!" He rises to his feet, brushing off dirt and debris. "Do you have any idea how many muscles a human shape needs to ambulate right? And there aren't any backups? Shitty engineering, if you ask me."

Dipper only vaguely pays attention to the rambling. Bill's up and about, and the patch of ground where he was lying is bare. Stained, but empty, and it's all -

Bill clears his throat, and reaches down. Dipper blinks at the intrusion of a sudden hand, but takes it and lets Bill haul him upright.

"That worked." Dipper says. He saw it with his own eyes and yet. "I can't believe that worked. How..?"

Bill says nothing, only smiles. Enigmatic, and dickish of him.

Dipper frowns as he runs a hand over the place where there was nothing only five minutes before. The temperature matches all the rest of the skin, and the stomach jumps a little under his touch. It's complete and solid, hot to the touch. Bill looks perfectly healthy, he guesses. But. "Are you doing okay?" Dipper asks, reaching up to take a pulse again at the neck. Much faster this time; maybe a sign that he's improved. "You look alright, but I don't know your vital signs." There's only one pupil, and it looks slightly dilated. Nothing to compare it to, sadly - Dipper frowns. "How are you feeling?" "Good question, sapling!" Bill takes Dipper by the wrist, lowering it to his shoulder. And winks, leaning in with what could only be called a leer. "How do I feel?"

"Uh." Dipper darts a glance down at his hands - resting on Bill's bare chest, the other on his shoulder.

This isn't - He was checking - Okay, fine, the assessment is over. Time to stop touching him.

Dipper takes a step back, clearing his throat. Bill follows, leer annoying wider.

Not that that's. Unnerving or anything. Dipper's just sweating because of the magic he used. That was pretty intense.

"Well, you're fine." He stammers, then grimaces at Bill's raised eyebrow. "I mean, you're okay-fine, not-" He manages to get one hand off the chest, but Bill's not letting go of the other. He lets out a nervous laugh. "So. You're all better, and I should, uh. Get going now."

Bill hums a little in thought. Clearly an affectation. Dipper doesn't have to be a mind-reader to know Bill's already made up his.

Pulling away doesn't work; Bill's grip is surprisingly strong. One might even say, inhumanly. So. Dipper offers a smile, weak as it is. "Yeah, I should really leave now."

"Nah, I don't think so." Bill shrugs, then grins again. "I didn't fight a friggin' dragon just for the prize to run off at the end."

Yep, Dipper figured.

Out of the dragon's den, and into the demon's.

He should have left Bill there to die and rot and be a dick somewhere in a demon realm. He should have known that stupid turn of luck was way too good to be true.

"Now you and I are gonna-" Bill's stomach jumps again, and he grimaces. Tapping a fist against his chest, he sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Ugh, life magic." He ducks his head, breathing slowly. "One sec, kid."

Dipper seizes the opportunity, wrenching his arm away and clutching it to his chest. He backpedals until he stumbles. In front of him, Bill growls - then rests his hands on his knees, and makes a small choking noise.

Oh thank fuck, Bill's not perfectly fine. Healed, sure - But something's gone wrong because he almost looks.... sick?

Dipper turns towards the woods - then pauses. He fixed him, sure, but - "Uh. Are you-?"

"Fine! Fine. 's just a side effect." A hiccup, and a dismissive wave. Bill stops, holding back a dry heave, then groans ."Won't last long, so don't try anything funny." He glares at Dipper, pointing at him like a command. "The second this is over, I'm-"

Before he can finish the sentence, Dipper's halfway across the clearing and rounding the dragon corpse. It blocks Bill's line of sight, and from there, it's a straight running contest. The nausea should by him some time to truly get the hell out of dodge.

Good thing it's still daylight out; he might be able to find his way back to civilization, or, like. Follow a river or something. With the extra power in him, he might be able to throw up a few illusions too. That should help keep the literal goddamn demon off his back.

What a goddamn mess today has been.

Dragons, demons. Magic and monsters and crazy assholes who have who-the-fuck knows what intentions after someone just helped their jerk ass.

This was supposed to be relaxing. A break before Dipper finally went into residency -

And much like other parts of his life, it's turned into a complete and absolute shitshow.

The pine trees whip past as Dipper keeps up a breakneck pace. God, he should slow down lest he sprain an ankle or something -

But behind him he hears Bill cursing, and there's a growing blue glow that's as terrifying as it is ominous. He picks up speed out of sheer terror, and makes a promise to himself.

Next time Dipper gets vacation, he's going absolutely anywhere that isn't Gravity freakin' Falls.

#answers #Warning for mild/moderately described gore but the person's fine cause it's Bill and he's a weirdo #Here is me attempting to break through the writer's block #Have some very silly bullshit #Written entirely in tumblr's draft thingy so apologies for any errors and the quality overall #I might have fun tag facts but I'll add them later when I think of it

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