Thunk.

The pencil embedded itself in the rough wood of the ceiling alongside its brothers, quivering slightly with the remainder of its momentum. Bill smiled contentedly. A perfect triangle. Except… He tilted his head, considering, then grabbed another handful of pencils from the jar that sat nearby, tossing them up with pinpoint accuracy, adding a little…personality to his artwork.

Much better.

Next to him, Dipper grunted in annoyance. "Great," he said flatly. "That's the last pencil. Grunkle Stan is going to flip when he finds out we need another pack. Again."

"Stanford can go chew on his tail," Bill said, tilting his head from where it rested on the deertaur's flank to look at his erstwhile research buddy. "This," he said, gesturing grandly at his pencil portrait, which bore a strong resemblance to his natural form, "is a far better purpose for these than plain old writing."

"Mm." Dipper rolled his eyes, not looking away from the battered journal he was studying with fierce intensity. "You can explain it to him, then."

Bill cackled. "Only too happy to, kid. Nothing better than seeing that old coot get all riled up."

"What is it with you and him, anyways? You keep talking about how the two of you go way back."

"Oh, you have no idea, Pine Tree," the former demon said, chuckling to himself. Funny that Pine Tree would be the one to ask about his relationship with Stanford, considering his personality. He felt like it was 30 years ago all over again practically every other sentence with this kid. He knew Stanford saw it too. The pain in his expression when Pine Tree wasn't looking was delicious.

"And from that cryptic response, I'm going to assume you're not going to tell me anything," he said, sighing defeatedly.

Bill grinned, bopping the kid in the back of the head. "You're learning," he sang. Then he rolled to face Dipper, grinning slyly. "You know, this would go a lot faster if we both were allowed to look at the journal," he said casually, inspecting his fingernails with an air of utmost nonchalance. His response, as was expected, was a light whack on the head with the empty pencil jar.

"Not a chance, Bill," Dipper deadpanned. "Besides, I just found a lead anyways."

Bill sat up instantly, looking over the kid's shoulder with interest. "Where? What is it?"

"Well, it's not much," Dipper began hesitantly, "but…" He showed Bill a picture of what looked to be a large, dilapidated mansion. "According to the journal, there's an old mansion nearby that used to be the home of a collector of magical artifacts. There might be something that breaks curses there."

Bill shrugged, and sat up. "It's better than sitting around ticking you off all afternoon." He bowed deeply. "Lead the way, deer boy."

"Can't you teleport us there or something? I'm still not exactly the best at walking with these." He raised a foreleg for emphasis, only to quickly set it back down, flailing his arms to regain balance.

"Well, you've got to practice some time, right?" He chuckled, then stared at him, expression hard. "Now stop asking questions and start walking, kid." He stalked out the door, leaving Dipper to wonder what he'd said to set the demon off, before hurrying to follow him, journal in hand.

There were no two ways about it; the house was, in a word, terrifying.

Worn iron gates creaked slowly open as if welcoming them to the dismal mansion that stood before them which itself looked like something out of a Tim Burton film, all tall spires swaying in the wind and angular architecture that looked almost non-Euclidean in shape. Dipper trembled just looking at it, the atmosphere plucking at his nerves like the thin piano wire they were.

"I've got a good feeling about this place," Bill said loudly beside him, all smiles. "Seems nice and homey, wouldn't you say, Pine Tree?"

"Y-yeah." Dipper gulped. "Homey."

He took a single, trembling step forward, then another, then another, forcing himself to keep moving through sheer willpower and determination. Bill followed, lightly humming as he skipped alongside the deertaur as if to flaunt his ease of mobility.

"It's pretty pathetic how hard of a time you're having adjusting to those new legs, Pine Tree!" he said cheerily as the two arrived at the front door, a massive wooden construction that loomed imposingly over even the lanky form of Bill. "It only took me about 30 seconds to get comfortable in yours, after all."

"That's because," Dipper grunted as he attempted to push it open, "you didn't have to deal with two extra ones."

"How hard can it be?" He grinned. "Maybe you'll have to let me try them out sometime. Prove me wrong."

"Would you just help me get this door open?"

Bill pouted, walking over and throwing his weight into the door. "You're no fun when you're pissy, kid. Lighten up! If your theory's right, we're about to get rid of those pesky legs once and for –"

The sentence was never finished, as the door chose that moment to give way, sending the two of them toppling forwards. Groaning, Dipper pulled himself back into an upright position – and stared, openmouthed.

The front hallway alone was suffused in a soft glow emanating from the dozens of artifacts of all shapes and sizes lying sedately on walls and display cases, not to mention the numerous halls and doorways branching off and likely lined with treasures of their own. Dipper slowly walked over to the nearest case, which held a small, ornate brooch marked with a small placard crammed with neat, minuscule paragraphs of information.

"Narcissus Cameo – very dangerous," he read aloud. "Wearer is gripped with uncontrollable sense of vanity; do not let them see a mirror." He laughed incredulously. "This place is perfect!"

"I'll say," Bill drawled behind him, shortly followed by the sound of breaking glass. He strolled over to the deertaur, twirling a simple black cane. "I've been looking for one of these for weeks!" He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Now if only there was a top hat around…"

Dipper rolled his eyes, moving to the next case. "Fan out and look for anything that might break curses, and don't steal anything else. Who knows what that cane does?"

"Who cares what the cane does?" Bill said somewhat petulantly, but began examining the cases nonetheless. Despite the brief annoyance, Dipper's mood had taken a definite turn for the better. With the sheer amount of artifacts in this mansion, there was bound to be something to help solve their problem!

For the first time in a while, there was finally some hope.

There was no hope, Dipper reflected glumly as he walked, accompanied by the clanking and clattering of the numerous artifacts clutched by, predictably, Bill, who occasionally piped up with a jovial description of one's effects ('and this one, believe it or not, causes all your food to become animate and beg you not to eat it! Hilarious, right?'). They'd searched nearly all the rooms in the old mansion, and quickly found that, while the previous owner had been fascinated by malicious enchantments, had not put much stock in their opposite number. Dipper sourly hoped the old coot had been taken out by one of his own artifacts.

His slump was broken abruptly by a long, drawn-out scream, causing him to yelp in kind and turn quickly, legs stumbling over one another and bringing him into an involuntary sitting position.

"Whoops!" said Bill, leaning down to pick up a small jewelry box that appeared to be the source of the unholy shriek. "Dropped my Wailing Box. You know how it is." He snapped it shut, the scream mercifully ceasing.

Only to be replaced by a low, rumbling growl far off in the distance.

Dipper glanced at Bill, who shrugged. "Wasn't me."

"Then who…" Dipper peered nervously down the hallway behind him, as the growl steadily increased in volume. "Or what is making that?"

He blinked, rubbing his eyes. He could have sworn he saw a flash of movement in the dark hallway. Some kind of…blue glow? No, not a glow, he realized, blood freezing in his veins. Eyes. Two of them, staring back at him, solid blue and predatory.

For a long moment, there was nothing, the two of them locked in a stare-off that seemed to stretch on into eternity.

Then, with a roar, the beast charged.

Dipper sprang into action, pushing Bill towards the nearest door as best he could, the demon yelping in protest, artifacts spilling from his laden arms. He yanked it open and dashed through the open doorway, slamming it shut just before the beast reached them.

There was a pause. Dipper took a shaky breath, hardly daring to believe it had been that easy to throw the beast off their trail.

Then the wooden portal shook, cracking slightly as the beast slammed into it with all its weight. Then again, and again. It was clear what the beast was trying to do, and somehow, Dipper suspected that the old door would not hold for long.

"Pine Tree!" Bill yelled from the center of the room, drawing his attention. "You're gonna want to see this!"

The demon stood in the middle of a very familiar pattern burned into the varnished wood of the floor. Dipper's eyes widened.

"The monster outside – it's a gargoyle!" He began pacing. "I-I've seen this before. We need to make it bleed somehow, and lure it into the circle. That's the only way to break the spell!"

"That's all well and good, but I doubt either of us is going to scratch a gargoyle's hide!" Bill shouted over the rhythmic slamming and splintering of wood.

"Agh, I know! I'm trying to think…" He began rapidly flipping through the journal, muttering to himself as he searched for something, anything that would provide an escape.

"Well, think fas –" Bill stopped short as, with a final, defeated groan, the door was slammed off its hinges, the furious gargoyle framed in the doorway, eyes glowing with the sky blue of mind magic. Dipper froze, the proverbial deer in the headlights. Distantly, he could hear Bill yelling something in the background, but everything seemed very far away all of a sudden.

As it roared in his face and leapt, claws singing down with lethal force, Dipper felt a pang of sadness that he wouldn't get to say goodbye to Mabel, and closed his eyes, preparing for the end.

If it were anyone else, Bill would later tell himself, he would have let the gargoyle have them and laughed as their fragile human body was torn to pieces.

He just needed the kid alive to get the journal, that was all (except he didn't). He didn't have the patience to wait for the Pine Tree to be reincarnated again (except he did; he'd done it before, too many times to count).

It wasn't like he actually liked the kid. He was too nosey for his own good, after all, and had spoiled Bill's plans far too often. He was blind too, so very blind to what was right under his nose, so easily swayed by a little human weakness (because that's what it was; human, disgustingly so. How he hated it).

But the kid had spirit like he hadn't seen in years, and a burning curiosity that caused trouble more often than not, and that, at the very least, made him interesting. And after millenia of existing, watching (and sometimes aiding) the rise and fall of civilizations, and meeting human after witless human, finding someone that interested him was about as good as it was going to get.

Yes, if it were anyone else, Bill wouldn't have blinked an eye.

But Dipper Pines could not be allowed to die just yet.

He barely thought, barely considered what he was about to do, charging forwards at what seemed an agonizingly slow pace, yelling uselessly to move, kid, MOVE, and slamming into him with a tackle that would have made a varsity football player proud. Breathing a stealthy sigh of relief as he saw the kid rub his head, dazed but otherwise unharmed, he looked up – to realize that the gargoyle, momentarily confused by the disappearance of Intruder Number One, had quickly recovered, and was now charging directly at the hapless former demon who had dared to steal its kill.

Or, at the very least, it would have done so, had not a shimmering corona of blue fire exploded from his prone form, causing it to fall back, howling in pain as the flames licked across its stony hide.

Slowly, Bill's face broke into a grin so wide it seemed to defy the laws of physics. He stood leisurely, casually dusting off his suit as if to dare the wounded gargoyle to attack him. With a snap of his fingers, his cane flew upwards into his waiting hand, now glowing a bright neon yellow. A gleeful cackle escaped his lips as an imperceptible breeze began blowing around the room.

"Ohhhh, yes," he purred, voice carrying an echo of distant, incomprehensible planes. "This is so much better."

There was a brief, blinding flash, and the barest hint of a scream.

When it cleared, the only trace of the gargoyle was a large burn mark on the battered floor, and the faint scent of ash.

"You killed it," Dipper said hollowly.

Bill snapped around to face him, laughing madly and notably now sporting the catlike eyes Dipper had grown used to seeing during his romp as 'Bipper', as Mabel was so fond of calling him.

"Isn't it great?" he said, zooming forward until he was face to face with the deertaur, who stumbled back instinctively. "Loooooook, look look look you useless human, I KILLED IT."

"Hahaaaa, look at that yes you did," Dipper said, laughing nervously and not once taking his gaze off of Bill, who swooped forwards suddenly, grabbing something off of Dipper's face.

"Got your nose!" he said, flipping it between his fingers dexterously. Dipper yelped, reaching up to where the organ was formerly located. The demon cackled with amusement and snapped his fingers, replacing the nose. "I did that!" He zoomed around the room, whooping with glee, leaving Dipper to watch him with mild horror and apprehension, protectively clutching the journal's spine.

Eventually, he came to a stop, gently floating a few inches above the ground and still grinning like a madman. "HAHAAAAA, OH YES," he yelled to the empty air. "IF YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD TRAP ME IN THIS ACCURSED FLESH PRISON FOR LONG, YOU WERE WRONG, FLUVIUS, BECAUSE BILL CIPHER IS…" He trailed off, suddenly looking much more exhausted.

"Is…" He wavered, frowning and struggling to maintain his hover, and Dipper hurriedly ran forwards, already seeing the inevitable conclusion. No sooner had he reached the demon than he slumped gently to the ground, his eyes losing their golden tint even as they rolled back, eyelids fluttering closed over them with a strange finality.

"Bill?" Dipper said, shaking the unconscious demon. He did not stir, though the slow rise and fall of his chest confirmed he was indeed alive. Dipper looked at the prone figure, rubbing his head in exasperation and confusion.

"What just happened?" he whispered to the empty room.