Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Gravity Falls.

Nightscapers

Dreams are constantly evolving and changing as the mind of humans develop in years, decades and centuries. But no two dreams were ever the same. And Bill Cipher lived by this rule. They may have the same themes and fears, but the layout of their dream would be different. Always different. It is another thing to say if the person were to have a recurring dream, that is an entire subject itself. But he never did like to visit those dreams. Messing with dreams like those gets boring after awhile, as the same scenery plays itself over and over again like an artist put on replay every night to draw the same painting. He would find catching himself from using the same trick he had used the night before, and that was not fun. Bill didn't run out of tricks easily.

Bill stretched out his fingers, his right hand gripped onto his long, black staff. He was drifting randomly again through the Dreamscape, as the day had turned into night. And another night meant just another opportunity to mess with someone new and interesting. Bill didn't limit his choices of his victims to only the small community of Gravity Falls, Oregon. It wouldn't be interesting otherwise. A person from Seattle may woke up screaming from a nightmare, and he would be the cause of it. But, Bill mused, Gravity Falls had always been made a fascinating target for him. The surreal vibe that it emits had attracted many people to its lands, and the horrors that they have experienced whilst there made great nightmares for him to exploit and play around with.

Which reminds him, he had not visited his favourite Pine Tree for awhile now. Bill tsked, chiding himself for being carelessness of not giving the young Pines enough nightmares and horrors to occupy his mind. After all, he thought bitterly, his longest prisoner had just escaped from his clutches thanks (he thought sarcastically) to that bothersome Crow-Eyed Stanley Pines as well as his blasted family.

Stanley Pines...Honestly, Bill had thought that the con-man extraordinaire would have lose himself to frustration from the numerous dead ends he had received over the decades (most courtesy of him), and would finally give up from finishing up the machine. Yet, he exceeded his expectations that annoyingly persistent Pines. He should have tried harder to burn the third journal when he had the chance. Again, Pine Tree had impressed him by his sheer determination and managed to wrestle him back for the control of his body.

Bill flexed his fingers, trying to remember what it felt like to have had physical fingers again. It had been utterly satisfying to be wholesome and no longer a mere spectrum trapped only to the realm of Dreams when he had possessed Pine Tree's adolescent body. And just when he getting used to the feeling Shooting Star just had to intervene and stop his plans for, what they and everyone else would have assumed, 'world domination.' Bill chuckled mirthlessly, as it was still a fresh, bitter memory. His plans were far more complex than what two hormonal teenager twins could ever comprehend. And much more terrifying.

Shooting Star. Mabel Pines. In comparison to her twin brother and great-uncle, Bill could understand that one would feel overshadowed and diminished. Yet, Shooting Star showed neither of these traits, and seemed to be the living and breathing driving force of that detestable family bond the Pines all have. She had power, Bill could give her that. He wondered often whether or not that it was not mere coincidence Shooting Star has been placed in that impossible position, which had forced her to choose between her bond with her twin and great-uncle. The author, Stanford Pines, would not have been able to escape if she had not chosen to trust her great-uncle. But it was at the high cost of losing Pine Tree's trust in her. Bill contemplated if he could manipulate them with this recent development. Pine Tree would certainly be more susceptible to his taunts and jeers now that he had lost trust in his two closest allies.

His hands itched with the tell-tale signs of blue flames, wanting to make a deal so badly. But he couldn't, not yet. It was too early. If he approached the young Pine Tree now, it would send him crawling back to his family, and he wouldn't get the chance to swipe the journal. No, he needed to wait it out, plant careful seeds of distrust in his mind, and when at his most vulnerable only then strike.

But even as he thought this, the itching didn't stop. It only intensified, but it was still bearable. He grinned. Bill Cipher was definitely in the mood to make deals.

As if responding to his thoughts, a soft hum suddenly filled his ears (if he had any) and without thinking he dived headfirst into a random unsuspecting dream. His body rippled slightly as it passed through the weak protective barriers of the victim's mind, and landed gracefully into an endless corridor filled with locked doors. Dimly lit street lamps swath the place in an eerie glow that had Bill straight away thinking that he might have just entered the mind of a Goth. Or, a psychopath.

Naturally using his telekinesis, he found the right door and went ahead to turn the knob that would lead him straight to the dream that had drew him in, in the first place. The knob gave him a funny zapping like sensation up his arm, and he decided that he was wrong on both accounts; the mind belonged neither to a Goth or a psychopath. Bill sighed. He had just (willingly) entered the mind of a recluse with a guilty conscience. Lame.

Bill entered a dark room (predictable and cliché), and surveyed it impassively for anything that could be the source of the nightmare. But it was pointless, because the room was too darn dark for that. Seriously, where are the lights to this place? He stepped deeper into the room, taking care to close the door shut behind him (you never know what could come in and go out, especially in the mind). His body glowed an unearthly yellow light, that was enough to shine through the gloom and doom so that he could see the floor a few meters ahead of him. Armed with his cane in his hand, he began scouring the the place for the creator of this horribly cliché dream.

Lucky for him, it didn't take that long to find her.

"Well well well, if it isn't my favourite Shooting Star." Bill Cipher grinned maliciously, twirling his cane around in a happy-lunatic manner.

Unlucky for her, she wasn't quick enough to hide.

"G-go away y-you stupid Triangle! G-get out of my h-head!" Mabel Pines wiped her tears with the back sleeve of her sweater and tried her best to glare at her uninvited guest.

Bill tilted his head, pretending to consider her words. "Hm...How about we play a game instead? You know, I feel like playing Encirclement," he said eyeing her predatorily, idly still swinging his cane.

Mabel stared at him, confused. Frightened. "W-what?"

"I'll pick the mouse, hm? Eenie, Meenie Miney-" he said slowly and deliberately, pointing at himself and her alternatingly. Meanwhile Mabel decided it was best to slowly inched away from him.

But she hadn't gotten far before she felt herself froze to the spot as his steely gaze suddenly rested on her.

"You."

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