A/N: And we're back! Sorry it's a little later than intended, but I've been dealing with a couple of really busy weeks, coupled with a nasty cold and an even nastier bout of anxiety. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, favourited and followed - your support does wonders for my mental health. I'll address a few of them here and now:
Female Fantasy Fan - I know, Ford's decision was a little annoying considering everything he'd done to stop Bill up until then, but I honestly think that's part of a common weakness among the Pines - both generations of Mystery Twins in particular: stubbornness. Dipper, Mabel, Stan and Ford all demonstrate an impressive sense of resolve and determination - I mean, when was the last time you saw ordinary twelve-year-olds putting as much effort into anything as Dipper put into unlocking the journal's secrets or Mabel put into her art projects? Trouble is, not only do they have a tendency towards obsession, but they can also get extremely rigid and inflexible - Dipper working himself into a corner with his lists in "Double Dipper," Mabel driving herself to chronic depression in her attempts to satisfy the Unicorn in "The Last Mabelcorn." And Ford was on the verge of giving up because he'd run out of ideas and as far as he was concerned, giving Bill the answer was the only way to save Dipper and Mabel; Stan sacrificing himself honestly hadn't occurred to this rigid mindset. And I believe that's why Dipper and Mabel seriously need each other - and why they really shouldn't be alone - because without differing opinions and the determination to make the other see them, they're doomed to suffer the same tragedies as the previous generation.
Kraven the Hunter - the use of rules is actually one of the major kinks in Bill's plan. He says he wants to make a world of chaos without rules or restrictions, but in reality, he wants chaos in a form he can control. He wants his own warped, twisted brand of not-quite order. As we've seen, he doesn't much like it when his playthings bite back, a logical consequence of randomness, so he has to allow some rules for the sake of his own supremacy - and for the sake of his entertainment. One problem though: rules allow the players some advantage, but they allow Bill an advantage - in part because he can loophole, rules-lawyer and just plain rewrite his way out of any problems. Can I resolve this story without a Deus Ex Machina? We'll see.
Northgalus - brace yourself for this chapter, it's going to be cruel. I agree with you - we all need some darkness in our lives. Of course, after the anxiety of the last few days, I can safely say that we seriously need some light in our lives every now and again. Rest assured, I'm going to include some in the story to avoid Darkness-Induced Audience Apathy, but first thing's first...
Anyway, on with the show! Lovely long reviews and critiques are always welcome! Read, review and above all, enjoy!
Disclaimer: Gravity Falls cannot be mine, my many varied personalities tell me so.
The first thing Soos noticed, once he'd finally awoken and managed to work his way through all the intervening stages of consciousness from "snoozing" to "I just need a strong cup of coffee, guys," was the distinct sensation of asphalt against his chin. It had been a while since he'd last awoken to find himself on anything as rough as this, but he could tell right away that he was lying on a road of some kind.
This didn't make much sense to Soos, as the last thing he remembered was being transformed into a tapestry back in the Fearamid, which wasn't something you forgot in a hurry; he remembered the electric jolt of Bill's power washing over him, feeling his eyes roll into the back of his head as his body rose into the air… and the last thing he'd felt had been the prickling sensation of his flesh transforming into woven cloth, before his entire body had gone as flat as a pancake.
So why was he lying on a road all of a sudden?
Did all tapestries feel like this, or was it just him?
Groaning, he opened his eyes and found to his surprise that he was human again – a living, breathing, 3-D human being. And more to the point, he really was lying in the middle of a road, a perfectly average modern road complete with a median strip and a refreshing lack of potholes. On the upside, there didn't appear to be any cars coming, so at least he'd be able to avoid getting run over for the second time in a week; on the downside, other than "in the middle of the road," he'd no idea where the heck he was.
A quick look around him revealed that he was obviously in a desert, but there were no signs or landmarks or anything that could have pointed out exactly where he was; just a long, flat stretch of barren desert, with no trees, no truckstops, no diners, no towns, no mountains, no cliffs, no canyons or cacti. All he could see – all there was – was the road ahead of him, stretching off towards the horizon. It seemed to go on forever… and maybe it did. The last he'd seen of the final battle, Bill had gotten the upper hand, so Weirdmageddon was probably still happening; maybe Soos was still in Gravity Falls, and this was another bit of Weirdness in action. After all, that angry orange sky looked pretty similar to him.
But if Bill really had won and the Oddpocalypse had gone global, what had happened to the others? Where was Dipper and Mabel and Mr Pines and Ford? Were they all imprisoned now? And what about Wendy and Pacifica and Old Man McGucket and the other members of the Zodiac? Where they still tapestries? Was Soos still a tapestry? He didn't know how tapestries were supposed to think – maybe this was all a dream and he was still hanging on a wall in the Fearamid somewhere.
Soos shook his head and wearily hauled himself to his feet. He couldn't get caught up in wondering, not when his friends were in danger; he needed to find the others as quickly as possible. As soon as they were together, maybe they could find a way of fixing the world – after all, there had to be something a good handyman and his friends could do, right? If nothing else, it had to be better than sitting around doing nothing.
So, without another thought, he set off down the road at a brisk walk, hoping that he might be able to find some sign of life if he went far enough-
A medium-sized road sign bounced off Soos's head, clattering noisily to the ground; once Soos had been able to blink the stars out of his eyes and retrieve the dented metal signpost from where it had fallen, he realized that it didn't show directions or the name of his whereabouts or anything of the sort. In fact, all it said was a message.
HIYA, QUESTION MARK! It read. YOU'LL FIND YOUR FRIENDS AT THE END OF THE ROAD. YOU'D BEST HURRY UP IF YOU WANT TO SEE THEM AGAIN – I'M GETTING BORED ALREADY. HUGS AND KISSES, BILL.
An ice-cold droplet of fear landed in the pit of Soos's stomach and began swiftly freezing his insides alive. This was bad – really, really bad. He'd seen what Bill had been doing to Ford back in the Fearamid, seen the burns he'd left on his wrists and the singed mess he'd made of the poor guy's hair; Bill was a psycho, no doubt about it, and if he'd been able to capture the others alive… well, there'd be no guessing what he'd be willing to do to them. He couldn't afford to waste time standing around, not now that he was the only one who could save them.
Taking to his heels at a swift jog, he set off down the road as fast as his feet could carry him. Sprinting along the median strip, he charged towards the blood-red sunset, eyes set on the horizon, trying desperately not to think of what would happen if he arrived too late. It didn't work: he'd seen more than his fair share of awful things during his three days alone on the wilds of Gravity Falls, and now all he could think about was those same awful, awful things being repeated on Dipper, Mabel, Mr Pines, Melody – everyone he'd ever known in his entire life being made to suffer and die at Bill's hands.
I can make it, he told himself. I can make it. I'm the Handyman of the Apocalypse. There's nothing I can't fix. I can fix this. I can save them. I will save them.
After about five minutes of straight running, he stopped to catch his breath, trying to guess how far he'd gone and how far he had left to go. Unfortunately, he quickly discovered that it was just about impossible to tell: the road behind him was virtually identical to the road behind him, and the horizon ahead of him was no closer. He'd gone several hundred yards at the very least, but he might as well not have moved at all. How long would it take him to get to the end of the road? Would Bill have already started torturing the others by then? Could he get there in time?
Don't just stand around asking questions, Soos, he told himself furiously. Just get out there and save them!
Setting off again, he jogged down the median strip as fast as his aching muscles could carry him; it took just about every last grain of concentration in his head, but eventually he was able to force his mind away from the growing pain by thinking of the lives he'd save just as soon as he reached the end of the road.
Just as soon as he reached the end of the road…
Ten minutes later, Soos looked up at the distant horizon and found to his despair that it was no closer than it had been at the start of the journey. For a moment, he could only stand there, trying to figure out if the road was really just a cunningly-disguised conveyer belt; he didn't appear to be moving backwards, but he didn't seem to be moving anywhere else. What was going on?
Am I ever going to get to the end of the road if I keep running? he wondered.
Then, just as he was starting to lose hope, something flat and papery thwacked into the side of his head: prising it off, Soos found that it was a postcard from Gravity Falls, complete with a hastily-scribbled message on the opposite side.
Soos, it read, don't know if you'll ever get this; Bill's keeping us somewhere at the end of the road, and I don't think we'll be able to escape on our own. I'm hurt pretty badly and I can't get out of these chains – can barely hold this pen. You're the only one who's free right now – please come and rescue us. From Dipper.
Soos's heart skipped a beat as another ice-cold droplet landed in the pit of his stomach.
A moment later, a gust of wind sent another wisp of paper fluttering down the road, and Soos barely caught it as it whistled past him: it was another Gravity Falls postcard, once again scrawled with another desperate-looking message.
Soos, it read, it's me, Mabel. We're somewhere at the end of the road, I can't tell exactly where, but I can tell it's one of Bill's lairs – it's very pyramiddy. Dipper's in bad shape and I don't know how much longer he'll last with the way Bill's been hurting him; I came so close to losing him, Soos, I can't just let him slip away but I'm still chained up and I can't do anything to help. Please help us.
By the time he finished reading, Soos was in motion again, jogging down the road with renewed energy and getting faster with every step. He'd no idea how he was supposed to get to the lair at the end of the road, and by now he hardly cared: he had to try – for the sake of Dipper and Mabel, he had to at least try. As he sprinted onwards, a colossal rustling sounded from overhead, and Soos looked up just in time to see a gigantic cloud of familiar-looking postcards swirling through the air not too far away, a vast blizzard of tiny cardboard squares rippling towards him. Postcards rained down on him from above, dozens upon dozens of them bouncing off his forehead and leaving vicious papercuts on his ears. And though he tried not to look at them, Soos couldn't help but catch brief glimpses of the messages written on them as they scraped painfully by:
…Soos, its Wendy. Never thought I'd say this, but I don't think I can fight my way out of this one…
…know I've had to ask you to go above and beyond the call of duty for the sake of the boss once already this year, but Bill's got Dipper and Mabel…
…it's my fault they're in danger in the first place and even after all the time we've spent fighting, I don't want Stan to suffer on my account either…
…we haven't talked much but you seem like a pretty decent person…
…please hurry, I don't want to find out what Bill's going to do to us next and I don't want to see anyone else forced to…
…I'm so sorry to ask this of you; you must feel like the unluckiest man in the world right now…
…Soos…
…would you kindly…
…HELP…
Halfway through the storm, one of the postcards caught him square in the face, and a good look at the message on this one just about turned his blood to ice.
Soos, it pleaded, They told me you could save us. Don't know what happened. Just woke up covered in bruises. Portland's on fire – done by something calling himself Bill. Always laughing. He hurt me – cut me. He's got Dipper, Mabel, your boss, and a lot of other people chained up and he's torturing them. I think you might be the only one who can help us. Please hurry – Melody.
Heart hammering behind his ribs, Soos charged onwards through the storm, gritting his teeth against the papercuts and struggling to ignore the messages as they swarmed past him. Eventually, the fluttering cloud of postcards passed him by entirely, and the road ahead was clear – a perfectly straight line from here to Bill's lair, wherever it was currently hiding. He'd find it sooner or later; just needed to keep running, and he'd get to the end of the road eventually; he just needed to stop and take a deep breath every now and again, and he'd-
Without warning, another postcard whizzed past him, except that this one was travelling in the same direction he was. Were they being returned, now? Was it because he hadn't answered any of them?
Scant moments later, two more rocketed by, and on instinct, Soos snatched one out of them out of the air (immediately earning himself a fresh paper cut across the length of his thumb), and with an unpleasant jolt of his heart, recognized his own handwriting.
Dear Dipper, it read cheerily, sorry I can't be there for you right now. Hang in there, dude – I'll be there someday. Love, Soos.
This time, Soos wouldn't have been surprised if his heart had stopped entirely. He hadn't written those words; yes, it was his handwriting and his exact choice of words and even his choice of pen for good measure, but he couldn't have written that message – he simply couldn't have written something so… heartless. It was impossible, but here it was in his hands, promising Dipper that he'd be there next year, champ.
Had he been thinking clearly, he might have realized that Bill was playing head-games with him in much the same way he'd played with Dipper and Ford, but after what felt like hours of running and panic and heartache and papercuts, Soos was even less in the mood for thinking clearly than usual – in fact, he wasn't up to thinking about anything other than the agonizing memory of over two decades worth of missed birthdays and the gut-wrenching sensation of history repeating itself in the worst possible way.
A harsh gust of wind ripped the card out of his hand, sweeping it northwards. Then, just as before, more postcards followed: at first, only a trickle, then a stream, then a massive flood of messages flowing towards the end of the road, carrying all replies that Soos had never written – never could have written. Soos wanted to look away, to shut his eyes, to ignore every awful thing written on those terrible messages; it didn't do any good. No matter how hard he tried, his eyes refused to close, and no matter where he looked, another postcard fluttered in slow-motion, impossible to ignore.
Hi, Mabel…
Sorry, Mr Pines…
It's not as if it's such a big problem, Ford…
…Seriously, Wendy, it's not like Bill's actually going to kill you…
…He'll just bring you back to life, dude…
…so I can show up anytime I like. It's not like there's any hurry…
…just sit tight. After a while, dying just stops hurting…
After about fifteen letters, Soos's badly-frayed composure finally snapped.
"I'M NOT WRITING THESE!" he screamed frantically, hoping against hope that his friends might be able to hear him. "I'M NOT WRITING ANY OF THESE, DUDES! I'M NOT WRITING THEM!"
The only reply was an agonized chorus of screams and sobs from somewhere on the horizon; Soos couldn't be sure, but he thought he could recognize Melody's voice among them. For a while, he thought he could hear his own voice among the screams as well, as if there was another Soos out there somewhere – but then he realized it was himself, sobbing pathetically as he sprinted desperately onwards.
And then, just as he thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, the ground beneath him suddenly turned traitor: the road erupted upwards, shaping itself into hills and valleys and impossible loop-de-loops like the tracks of a roller-coaster, and suddenly Soos found himself struggling to keep his feet on a surface that was rapidly unspooling right under his feet. Suddenly, he really was on a conveyer belt, sprinting endlessly on the spot in a futile attempt to outrun the waves rippling down the road towards him – all while still trying to ignore the swarm of postcards bouncing off the back of his head and slicing his shoulders to ribbons.
Frantically leaping ahead of the nearest of the waves, he ducked to avoid a stretch of highway that was now corkscrewing over his head, tripped in a yawning crevasse that had suddenly formed in the median strip and plunged over the edge of the road – a road that was suddenly well over fifty feet in the air. Soos had just enough time to see that same ground rushing towards him at a breakneck pace, before it slammed into him facefirst.
Everything went black.
Sometime later, Soos awoke to find himself lying face-down in the middle of the road. Groaning, he sat up, slowly hauling himself to his feet. For a moment, he briefly wondered if the last few minutes had all been a dream, but a quick look around the landscape quickly crushed that hope: the road was littered with postcards, most of them too smudged and muddied to be readable.
Fair enough. He must have been knocked out. Stretching awkwardly, he took to his heels once again, this time at a quick march rather than the terrified sprint he'd adopted a few minutes ago. Hopefully, now that the storm had stopped and the road had calmed, maybe he could reach Bill's lair in good time. Maybe, if he was quick enough, he could even get there in time to explain that he hadn't written all those awful messages after all. Maybe he could even-
Soos stopped short, train of thought grinding to a halt as he took in the sight of the road ahead of him: something was lying on the edge of the road – something distinctly human.
Something that appeared to be lying in a pool of its own blood.
Something that was almost certainly dead.
Thankfully, Soos didn't need to turn the body over to recognize who it was: by the time he'd reached the side of the corpse, he could already tell that it was wearing the same t-shirt and cap as him. All the same, that didn't stop him from retching a little as he staggered away from his other self's corpse, his stomach lurching unpleasantly as he continued down the road.
I'm dead, he thought, heart hammering. Am I a clone now? Or was he a clone and I'm the real Soos? Is this gonna keep on happening if I stay on the road? Am I gonna keep dying?
From somewhere not too far ahead of him, the rustling of paper in the breeze broke the silence; the postcards were in motion again. Soos's pace slowly accelerated to a jog, even as the road began to ooze and bulge underfoot, and the screams of friends in agony began to echo from the horizon. This time he was able to shut his eyes as the messages streamed past him, but only just; unfortunately, the road seemed to be changing faster because of this.
It doesn't matter what happened to me, he told himself. I've got to keep running. I don't even care if it's impossible; I've got to save them. I've got to save them. I've got to save them. I've got to save them.
He was still thinking those words when the road behind him rose into the air and crashed down on him like a tsunami, crushing every bone in his body.
Sometime later, Soos awoke to find himself staring up at the sky, the back of his head throbbing from where it had bounced off the road.
Several yards away, he once again found his corpse – almost unrecognizable until Soos found the distinctive cap. Swearing never to eat raspberry jam ever again, he closed his eyes, plugged his ears with his fingers, braced himself against the storm of postcards and marched on down the road.
Doesn't matter, he told himself. Just gotta save the others. Doesn't matter what happens to me. Just gotta keep trying.
Unfortunately, since Soos's eyes were closed, he didn't notice the median strip unfold from the road and begin tying itself into knots, and because his ears were blocked, he couldn't hear the unearthly hiss of the strip dragging itself towards him. In fact, he didn't notice much of anything until the noose landed around his neck.
Groaning, Soos sat up got to his feet and staggered onwards, not even bothering to look at the strangled corpse lying on the side of the road, not even flinching at the paper cuts as the postcards descended.
Doesn't matter. Gotta save Dipper, Mabel, Wendy, Mr Pines, Ford, everyone. Gotta save them. Just gotta keep trying. I'll get there soon.
A few minutes later, the asphalt beneath him suddenly formed itself into a massive set of gnashing jaws, immediately clamping down on Soos's unprotected legs and hauling them into its gaping maw.
Sometime later, Soos lurched upright, sidestepped the pulped remains, weathered the postcards, and went back to walking. And then he died again.
Sometime later, he awoke, got to his feet, set off down the road, and died again.
Sometime later, he awoke and promptly died again.
Sometime later, he died again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again…
And-
Several miles above the road, Bill sighed deeply.
Leave it to someone as unimaginative as Question Mark to take all the fun out of this game, he thought. He's probably in the middle of the biggest mental breakdown he's had in his entire life, and I'd never know because he just isn't interested in quitting! Yeesh, and I thought the Pines were stubborn as roaches. Ah well, maybe it's time to change the stakes a little.
Reaching into the fabric of the pocket dimension that contained the road, he drastically shortened the road, setting it from "infinite" to "10 miles." For good measure, he even added a suitably ghoulish-looking lair at the end of the road, complete with a passable duplicate of Melody tied up in the dungeons (the real one remaining safely tucked away in a cell somewhere in the Fearamid, just in case Question Mark needed some real motivation at some point).
Then, he tracked down the wreckage of the Shacktron, removing the bits and pieces of immobile architecture and replacing them with animatronics from some of the more disturbing brands of fast food restaurant from around the world. After a few minutes of tinkering, he eventually had a machine worthy of the next game; now, all it needed was something to animate it – something that good ol' Question Mark would respond to.
Reaching into the digital necropolis that had once been the World Wide Web, Bill scanned the cairns of long-dead forums and the mausoleum-like bulks of defunct websites, searching for signs of life among the datacorpses. It took a while to find exactly what he was looking for, what with the liberated game characters still using the place as an occasional thoroughfare; the tiny guttering campfires of humans still capable of accessing the Internet also drew off the search – mainly because Bill couldn't resist pouring bucketloads of lye through their monitors.
But eventually, after a long and exhaustive search of the netherweb, he eventually found the identity he'd been searching for, lying dormant on a dusty server somewhere in the vicinity of the old Fight Fighters arcade game.
"Oh .GIFfany?" he called out. "Are you alive in there?"
Somewhere between the heaps of dismembered pixels and corroding microprocessors, something pink, possessive and distinctively malevolent flared to life. A pair of candy-pink eyes flickered open, curiously-highlighted irises gleaming as they took in Bill's transcendent shape, and a face began to flicker into existence around them.
"WhO aRe YoU?" said an eerily synthesized voice, it's schoolgirlish tones warped by hardware damage and the changes wrought by Weirdmageddon. "I wAs TrYiNG to FiNd sOmEoNe VeRy ImPoRtAnT, aNd YoU oBvIoUsLy ArEn'T HIM…"
"The name's Bill, Miss GIF," Bill chortled. "And I think I know exactly who you're looking for, Sweetpixels - especially now that Rumble McSkirmish has gone bye-bye. I know who you want, and I think you're ready for a meeting in the flesh... so to speak."
.GIFfany's eyes narrowed, ribbon-cable bow fluttering ominously in the non-existent breeze as her pixelated features furrowed with consternation. "WhAt Do YoU wAnT?"
"From you? Nothing, really – just a bit of entertainment. See, I've got your ex-boyfriend tucked away somewhere nice and safe for now, but he's not playing the way I hoped he would, and I think you're just the girl to put the spark back in his blood. See, he can't run from you anymore, and as long as you can get him to play along with my next little game, he'll belong to you for all eternity – in whatever way you please. In cyberspace or in meatspace, he'll be all yours."
"Is tHaT rIgHt? FoR aLl EtErNiTy?"
"Oh, and I've also got Melody around in case you felt like breaking Ol' Question Mark in. I'm sure he'll be more interested in you once you've peeled her skin off and showed him just how ugly humans are underneath all that useless meat…"
An awful smile stuttered into existence on .GIFfany's distorted face. "It'S a DeAl," she giggled. "NoW tElL mE… hOw SoOn CaN I StArT?"
A/N: The soundtrack choice for this chapter is The Rite Of Spring (Ritual Action Of The Ancestors), Igor Stravinsky.
Coming up next - Wendy's game!