Lifting up a sheet, then another, Bill found his little puppet wasn't nestled between his comforters as he'd last left him. A peek out the window; day-break. Not the broad spread of light (not yet), but a billowy yellow, soft against the window panes and sidewalks. Dipper would've left by now. The apartment was empty, and he was alone.

Not that he minded. It hardly mattered.

Hardly.

Bill lied down, fully clothed and suddenly stiff. His eye burned and pulsed against his palm when rubbing away sleep. Sleep. Which he remembered his body was beginning to need, and despite his apprehensions toward becoming human, would require being fed, bathed and treated as such for the time being. Until he could halt the transformation entirely.

With luck.

Drawing in a breath- holding it- and pushing out through the nose, Bill sat back up. Aching, aching, aching. Longing for bed. Hungry in ways that craved, lounging in a space that could never appease it, with food that was more liquor than substance, and bread for show; gone bad since last week. Taking care of a body- It was like caring for a pet. Somehow, the simile made his situation a bit easier to face.

He could handle a pet.

Bill arrived at work only an hour after, strung thin by his night, or early morning, out. Whatever it'd been that roused him into driving several miles into the suburbs- put on his old tap-dancing shoes and pull off a number he hadn't in over a decade- quickly seeped away. He felt a mild drone in his mind, like injecting horse tranquilizer to the brain. He rubbed below the eye and let his body sag.

Oh, this wasn't good.

Making his way into the elevator didn't help him much either. He stepped inside, leaning against a bar, and nearly dozed off in the process. The ride up felt good. Bill's head ducked- lolled- before he pat himself awake.

"Aw, shit." He groaned, prying his eye open. "This thing's falling apart at the goddamn seams." Bill bounced his shoulders, rolled his neck, before straightening his back. Let it never be said fighting off sleep was an easy task. Bill of all people knew that, and knew it even more now.

Well, hell. He was a damn good sport. The irony wasn't lost on him; if he had a top hat to tip, he might've just tipped it in the direction of whatever deplorable deity had erected this practical joke on him. If he wasn't the least bit salty, maybe. No, no. Bill was a bit too sour at the moment. A bit too cranky. There was no doubt he'd be ringing a few necks once he retrieved a more suitable, more triangular figure.

The elevator doors slid open, and right away something about the mood put Bill off. The office- their office- was out of sorts; spilt papers, sideways blinds, and an upturned chair lying on its side. Dipper stood (animated, buzzing, shaking) before his desk. Elbows planted low, back hunched and the receiver of a telephone pressed against his face; he wore a bright, eagre smile.

"-and we'll be over as soon as we get clearance." Dipper's fingers wound about the phone's coiling cord. He worked mindlessly to straighten out each bend, hand smoothing over and over again, with an odd shock about his features. He smiled really, really hard, and with teeth (nothing near Bill's record, but creepily familiar) and a pinched brow in disbelief. Each word funnelled from line to ear had Dipper shaking his head, smiling, and looking down-right blown away.

'I don't like this.' Bill's mind informed him from the odd twist of his gut; intuition. His body was tingling with billions of microscopic alarms throughout his skin. Not that he showed it. He slicked his hair back and made a straight beeline for Dipper's half-empty coffee mug, seated precariously on his desk, nested against the brunette's elbow.

"Yes. Yes, absolutely. I've already-." The nod Dipper made was annoyingly enthusiastic, made only worse once he noticed Bill had arrived, and oh. Now he was beckoning him over, pointing crazily at the telephone he held, balling up his fists and rocking on the tips of his feet, because yes!

Something- yes.

Whatever- yes.

Bill picked up Dipper's coffee mug; it was downright sinful how quickly it drained down his throat. Bill smacked his lips, hardly fazed when his partner grabbed for him, speaking faster-faster-faster as he pressed his face impossibly close, like he might get sucked through the line.

"Thank you so much! Yes, we-. Yeah! Okay, Lake Gravity Falls. We'll be- we can- thank you!" If Dipper's smile could get any wider, Bill's stomach could drop lower. Not that the way he clung to Bill's arm wasn't a dead give-away, but something was definitely askew this morning. He lifted the empty mug to his lips, remembered that it was empty, before lowering it.

Bill had to remind himself that anything good for Dipper was probably bad for him in the long run. Especially now.

He was right.

Once Dipper got off the phone, it was an immediate kiss. Which- alright. Not terrible. But, close-mouthed and without any real finesse. Kinda tough, actually. Bill could feel his teeth through the stretch of his lips, on account that Dipper was still- still- smiling. Hands on either of Bill's cheeks, and why was he kissing him like he'd just returned from war?

Bill backed up.

"Easy there, Tiger. You're bruising my best features." He placed a hand on either of Dipper's shoulders, willing him at arm's length. The motion didn't register, as the brunette- On drugs? Replaced by an exact copy?- simply rode his hands from Bill's face, down his arms, to his hands, wrapping themselves over either wrist.

"What's got you all riled up?" He asked.

The smile Dipper wore in response was triumphant. Or, close to. Something very, very good for him; very bad for Bill, he reminded himself, whatever it was. The thought only solidified itself as Dipper, well-set, well-composed, took a step back. He straightened his uniform (Which Dipper hardly ever did), framing his intense gaze with something whimsical. He spoke through a grin.

"We've got a lead."

If only the smile on his face would just split him in two-.

Dipper clasped his hands together and brought them to his mouth, forcing down a nervously optimistic chortle. It took a moment for Bill to register what that must be code for, being that- Side quests, side quests, side quests, all summer long.

Then;

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

"Lead?" Bill fought back the urge to sit down, because his body certainly said he needed to sit down. The wobbling of his knees were definitely signs. His blood crashed in one pumping vein down the line of his back to the base of his feet. Bill needed to sit down. He needed to sit.

"We have-." Dipper muffled himself, biting at his smile. He sucked in a breath, covering his face, before continuing in confident, fluid terms. "-a big fucking lead."

If Dipper found it odd that Bill was by no means as ecstatic as he was, it didn't show.

"How big?" Bill asked; not grimly. He couldn't risk looking upset just yet. Simply realistic; cautious. Bill was only being critical about the whole situation. Before he'd gotten all the facts, of course.

Of course.

"Alright, so- Okay-." Dipper steadied himself, placing a hand over his heart. Racing, racing, racing. Oh, god. Oh, god.

'I should've taken my meds today.' He thought to himself, before realizing- oh- he wasn't anxious.

'Excited.' It told him. Excited, and nervous, and maybe about to puke, but excited nonetheless. His smile buttered up and sharpened.

"Our first case, we-we-we-." He rolled his hands through the air, trying to catch up to the racing tail of his thoughts. "That- Um, that old lady. The shape-shifter-."

"Bean paste."

"Yes!" He pointed at Bill, enthusiastic and oh god he needed to sit down, too, he realized. Dipper began to pace. "Her. She came into our office, and- and thought there was a ghost, but it was a, um-... But, but she died, and we found her body at the bottom of the lake, in the trunk of her car-."

"My car."

"Your car now, but it'd been her car, and- and- and-. Oh my god, Bill."

Dipper took a seat.

Bill took a seat.

Both of them flopped down, riding their hands over their faces, trying to regulate the blood rushing past their ears. Dipper sucked in a hitched breath; Bill needed a smoke.

"When they craned her car out of the water, they found buckets of just- shit." He explained. Bill cocked a brow despite the tight flip of his gut.

"Shit?"

"No, no, not-. 'Shit'. Shit; Purses, bikes, sunglasses-. People had been dumping their garbage for years, the city council found out, the mayor signed an order to clean out the lake."

"They turned into a couple of tree-hugging eco-soldiers? Is that it?" Bill tried to come off disinterested, if not for the rigid set of his shoulders giving him away. His features were lax; the only thing about him. Foot bouncing, fingers tapping, hairs standing; Bill's body responded as violently on the outside as it did, the inside.

"They turned into CSI." Dipper retorted passively.

"We're CSI." Dipper waved him off, sprouting an irritated look.

"I don't care, I don't care, I don't-." His shoulders rolled up. "The point is-. They discovered something big." Dipper leaned in, seated at his desk across from his partner, who was perched atop one of the tables. Where his hand sat, it stretched out just an inch, looking to reach him. Looking to hold him. Surely, this was great news for the both of them. Surely, Angle was having just as hard a time processing as Dipper.

"Bill, how do you think Cipher escaped Gravity Falls?"

Bill could almost pretend they weren't discussing the man himself. He could almost pretend, as he'd done the entire summer, this was some obscure, no-faced stranger. At the time, Bill really, really wanted to believe he wasn't the same man. He wasn't on the run. There weren't people after him.

It hadn't occurred to him then, that Bill Cipher could actually be caught.

He said nothing of Dipper's question; didn't want to give the keys to unlock even an inch of the room that contained Bill's identity. If he played deaf, would his partner play along? Could he play along? Dipper had been docile recently. And patient to Bill's antics; admirative, like following in the footsteps of a majestic beast. If Bill said nothing, would Dipper (Please) say nothing in return? If he only took a vow of silence until further notice, could he avoid this? No. No, he could not.

"Originally, I'd thought-. The bus system here, it's shitty, but it's reliable. Cash or pass, anywhere you wanna go. It's an easy out, right?"

"Right." Bill supplied a bit too apprehensively. Dipper didn't notice.

"I checked over the buses'- those round little- kind of like cameras- the black things on the ceiling. Those. I checked their security footage, dating back from when Bill first resurfaced, to about two days prior." His body made a motion to rise and pace, only for his legs to wobble. Try as he may, Dipper's heartbeat only thrived in his anticipation. His mind went a mile a minute; if only his body could keep up.

"The town gets dozens of tourists a day, sweetheart. You're wasting your time." Dipper tried again to stand, just a little, but his skin was vibrating. Exhausted, and sweating like he'd run a marathon. Wanting to expel his excitement, but not having the control to do so. Bill fumbled for a cigarette, but damn it all, he couldn't help but strangle the stick in his hand. It dusted crumbs of tobacco into his lap and he, for the first time, felt lighting it with his self-sustained powers would take too much out of him. He grit his teeth.

"I'm not. You wanna know why? Up until today, we've only had group vacationers; groups and pairs." Dipper preened.

"So?" Bill shot back. He knew 'so,' though. He knew exactly 'so.'

He was 'so' fucked.

"So," Dipper continued. "Bill's one guy. He works as a unit in of himself. And- and maybe he has minions, but no one on hand to just- play family." Dipper paused to lick his lower lip, which had split just slightly in the midst of a wide grin. "If he really left Gravity Falls, he would've had to go alone."

"You're making a lot of assumptions here."

"Good. The last month and a half, we've been going off the belief that Bill was just- somewhere else." Dipper waved his hand, making a nasty look. He sighed in remorse for all their lost time; all their time, fumbling around, chasing different cases, chasing each other, while there'd been this looming threat in their midsts. "But, what if he's not? What if-?"

"What if the earth's crust is made of Silly String? What if my aunt's a monkey?" Bill slid off his seated position, bouncing to his feet. "What if you're just wrong, and we let him get that much farther away?" He stretched his arms wide, showcasing an exaggerated reference in distance between them. Sweeping behind Dipper's chair, Bill leaned in just a bit, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"We can't risk bringing up hypotheticals, darling-."

"Listen." Dipper quickly shrugged Bill's condescending hand off, giving him a very familiar, dirty look. He swivelled around in his chair, looking cross, feeling belittled, but-. Oh, Bill was just being skeptical. He couldn't really get mad at that (Even though he absolutely could.) His features softened, and before he could so much as hiss in his direction, Dipper let it go; decided not to question his partner's apprehension.

"Look. Since the 'Bill Dilema', the GFPD's had a doubling in staff just to-."

"Lots of help they've been." Bill snorted.

"-Help. Just to help. That's a few dozen potential suspects. Everyone who was hired since then- who showed up on their own- is a suspect."

"Oh." Bill supplied his (slightly smug) partner. Who, upon finishing, tried once more to stand. He wobbled a bit, only to lift himself with a smile so self-congratulatory, so sure, it could've put Bill's smirk to shame. That was, if not for one minor detail. "Which would include me."

Dipper's smile fell, by which he did as well, legs giving way, not in exhaustion, but a sudden douse of icy water.

That-.

No-.

Well, technically, what with his little theory-.

Bill did get caught up in the net.

"I… guess?" Dipper started, regretting his reply immediately. He scrambled to justify it. "I've had my eye on you the entire time. It's not likely."

"Not likely?" Bill acted insulted. Dipper grew frantic.

"It's not you, William. Jesus Christ, I know." He slouched a bit in his chair. "No one's accusing you." A hand worked its way to the bridge of his nose, where he tiredly massaged the bend connecting brow to nostril. "I'm just-. Listen, I'm not pointing fingers right now. I'll run my theory past Chief Blubbs and hopefully convince him to execute a more thorough background check on everyone. Maybe we can weed this guy out."

"If he's even in." Bill retorted, making Dipper groan.

"I'm not saying it's you, Bill." He leaned his head back with a 'thunk', trying not to pout at his partner's insistence. His reasoning behind it crumbled to pieces when the thought of Cipher being anything but repulsive became an option. "You're Bill, he's Bill; it cancels out, I get it." Like that made any sense, but Dipper assured him, he 'got' it.

"I'm still not convinced. Who's to say this guy didn't high-tail it on foot? What's stopping him from bumming a ride?" At this point, Bill was just running his mouth, trying to poke holes in his partner's little theory. He had the upper hand here, technically-speaking; the element of surprise, and all that. If he couldn't stop Dipper's mind from running a mile a minute, maybe Bill could slow the process. Even a moment's hesitation worked in his favor at this point.

"Which is why I brought up the lake." Dipper shot back.

"Oh?" The snide look on Bill's face was positively awful to look at. He spoke with a snap of his jaw. "Did he swim?" Pick, poke, and prod. Make him feel small. Make him think twice, if only for a second. Bill felt good for about two, up until Dipper had to go and pull the face he did; slanted, dirty eyes that stated firmly: Not this time.

"Pull your head out of your ass." He replied flatly. Bill snorted.

"Bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"Will you just listen?" Bill put his hands up like he was shielding himself. Like Dipper was attacking him, which he knew was perfectly false. It was a good look, though.

"Hey, hey, hey; I'm all ears! Just pressing your buttons 's all." Which Dipper 'knew.' Was trained to 'know.' The pressing was still harmful, Dipper wanted to argue. Even in his sureness, he found a slight stumble in his theory, having been thrown to the sky and almost immediately shot at. Didn't rightfully feel fair (even if it was) the way Bill so eagerly wore down his theory; he'd never done it before.

"What'd you dig up, then? Top hat? A letter to his beloved?" Dipper set him with a cold look, sniffing once before replying.

"An RV."

It's important to note that Bill didn't care about most things. He hardly remembered his henchmaniacs, and even the faces of his enemies were partially blurred. So, really, Bill wasn't to blame for the sudden fuzz of his brain when he remembered- faintly- four wheels, leather-padded front seats, and his noodly stone-arm placed on the dashboard.

"Oh?" He commented half-heartedly. An odd… something, gnawed at his brain, like forgetting to turn off the stove. Four wheels, leather-padded front seats, his noodly stone-arm placed on the dashboard, and-. What else? There was a piece there- Bill was sure- that he'd misplaced along the way. In the chaos of conforming to human interaction, the lawling drone of mundane life, and his half-slushed brain still molding within a newly constructed skull.

Aw, hell. Bill'd probably just misplaced his keys.

Dipper took a moment to himself, deciding (He didn't have much of a choice) whether or not he could trust Bill to keep a straight face while he explained the nitty-gritty. He was an exhausted bastard this morning, and his partner only furthered his fatigue, what with the way Bill cocked a brow, angling the sole of his foot just a tad up, and sat the rest of his weight on his back heel. Somehow, that was the body language that sucked him dry right then and there. Geez.

Dipper sighed, nodding his head.

"A Dodge Travco; older model. Probably an heirloom." He beckoned Bill over towards his desk, which the one-eyed man soon realized- despite a mess of papers cluttering the space- had said-model printed out on a flyer. And, over the vehicle-.

Oh.

Again, oh.

'Missing'

'Liam McCarson'

'Age: 17 Height: 5'10 Weight: 110LBS'

'Last seen wearing white T-shirt and blue jeans.'

'Missing May 24th.'

That probably should've rang more of a bell than it did.

"The towing company ran the RV's plates to charge the owners for dumping in the lake, but-." Dipper paused, sliding the vehicle's photo aside, only to reveal a familiar face that Bill definitely recognized. Oily red hair. Pimply, pale skin.

He remembered a stiff, cracking statue confined to this plane of 3-dimensional nonsense. The changing seasons, a slow crawl of winter and spring and summer and fall. Isolation and defeat stinging bumps over his nonexistent tongue. And he remembered- how he often did- stewing there without a vessel able to carry him from his position, half-sunken in damp soil and baking in the sun.

That is, until an unlucky group of teenagers had stumbled upon him. Broke off a piece of his prison, and carried it away; the first sign of change in over ten years. Bill had hardly thought about it before. It had hardly mattered at the time. Now, though… Being human, he supposed, meant the potential of consequences. Here was a fine example:

It'd come full-circle.

"Liam McCarther." Dipper lamented quietly, smoothing a hand over the crinkled page. A little over a month ago he'd stared into those missing eyes, and they'd been filled with hate, and blood lust, and drive that wasn't rightfully founded on anything. It hadn't been worth dealing with a demon. But, Dipper supposed, his motives had only ever been human, if not naive. So, it had been with great disheartening failure at the time, when he came back to where it'd all begun- The ritual. Missing parts, desecrated graves, and the strange chanting of AXOLOTL- to find Liam's teenage figure disassembled and half-digested, without so much as a driver's license to identify the body.

"He, and six other teens, were the reasoning for Cipher's resurrection." Dipper sucked in a breath, sighing. "They died at the scene of the crime, but-. At the time… I mean- God, Bill. If you'd seen the bodies-. There'd hardly been anything left. There wasn't a thing to trace back anywhere. Half of them didn't have clothes, let alone an ID." Bill moved in, by which Dipper gave him space to observe the picture.

Yup. Oily red hair. Pale, pimply skin. An insecure teen he easily manipulated, with even more insecure friends to follow. It'd been so simple, such a clean break- somehow, a human concept like murder hadn't registered as something people would still be searching for an explanation towards after a month and a half. Bill had weirdly assumed the whole thing would just blow to the wind, as it often did in this town. Apparently not. Bummer.

"But, they ran the plates and sent a bill out to Mr. and Mrs. McCarther who, you might imagine, flipped their shit." He returned to the original photo, tapping once on the printed vehicle. "Liam and his friends had apparently been on some kind of summer road-trip when they'd gotten swept up in this whole mess." Dipper shook his head, looking pale. "Mrs. McCarther had tried calling her son, but he never answered. She contacted his friend's parents only to discover they were having just as hard a time reaching their kids. Who, um-. Were already dead."

Bill looked at Dipper, who looked at the vehicle's poster, gnawing his lower lip. It was safe to assume his partner hadn't caught on. At this point, it was safe to assume he probably wouldn't catch on; not until it was too late. He took the missing flyer off Dipper's desk- tilted it this way and that. Yeah, yeah. Vaguely. He remembered vaguely.

Damn.

What had Bill been supposed to do? Just ride around in that hunk of junk with those smelly teen's fingerprints all over the place? Was he expected to live in that thing? An RV? Hell no. That human atrocity had been a fickle rust-bucket on four wheels at best, what with the things Bill had seen. Someone like Bill. Someone like him. He didn't need some elongated wagon, with soda pop staining the dash, and a bra slung over the passenger side, and lipstick smeared on the windows. He didn't need it.

Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Bill was starting to remember.

Resurfacing. Resurrected in a body designed for mischief. He'd stolen those kid's clothes, their wallets, their room key, and-.

Their RV.

Temporarily, of course. Which was why it'd ended up at the bottom of a fucking lake, where it was supposed to stay. Nobody in that town was environmental enough to give a shit if gas started bubbling up. No one would bat an eye if a hat or boot floated to the surface. If, on the off chance someone did discover the vehicle, he'd expected the town to be dense enough to mistake it for an alien spaceship, if he was quite honest. Which-. Well, shit. Hadn't he been the least bit wrong?

"What are you expecting to find?" Bill asked, setting the paper back down. Dipper shook his head.

"I don't know… There's no way telling how long it's been sitting there, or if Cipher left any fingerprints. If he even has fingerprints." He paused, taking a deep breath, calming himself. "It doesn't matter. I doubt finding any would do us much good."

"Then what's the point of even looking?" Bill put his hand in his pocket, searching for his cigarettes. A sour taste came about his tongue when he reminded himself of the last one he'd smoked on his way to work. An even worse taste, knowing a part of him was growing reliant on them. He slid his hand out.

"What's the harm?" Dipper remarked.

"Time."

"Time?"

Bill nodded, making an affirmative noise at the back of his throat.

"You think dusting off hieroglyphics are gonna get us any closer to this guy?" He scoffed, rolling an eye. "Sapling, he's on the run. Miles and miles away by now. Do you really think there's any point going over it? What do you think you'll find?"

"I-." Bill bit in.

"I'll tell you; Burger wrappers and cum-socks. The whole teenage shabang." He put an arm over Dipper's shoulder, ruffling his hair with the other. "I know it. You know it. So, why bother?"

"Because-." Dipper pushed him away with a step back, shooting him a dirty look. Planting his feet firmly, hands on his hips, he glowered. "If I find even a hair in that place, I'm adding it to his description. If I find a footprint, I'm investigating everyone with the same shoe size. If I find out he's left-handed, we- meaning you and I- are obligated to look into it. Bill, this isn't some school project. We're not not investigating that RV."

"I don't feel like it." Oh, the look Dipper gave him.

"How the hell did you get this job?" Whatever snarky remark Bill was about to give him was quickly waved away. "You and me; two days from now, okay? We'll be getting clearance in two. Days. That means I expect you to be at work, and-." Dipper hesitated, looking his partner up and down. "-Try to take things seriously. Please, Bill. Just-. Please."

Oh, Bill was going. Bill was going, because Dipper was going, and if Dipper was going, that meant Bill was going. Simple as that. Still, if Bill was going, he'd only do it to make sure things went absolutely, entirely awful. He could do that, right? There weren't any rules saying he couldn't. Really, Dipper should've been begging him to stay away. Somehow, he'd forgotten just who 'William Angle' was.

"I still think it's a waste of time." Bill grumbled after a moment, sucking a breath through his nose. He rode a hand down his cheek, rubbing below his nose and sniffing in apprehension. If he had to go, expect only chaos. "The guy's probably halfway around the world by now."

"If he planned on getting that far away, he shouldn't have dumped his only mode of transportation."

Which-.

Shit.

Fair.