The excursions he's taken into Stan's gray matter will be giving Dipper nightmares for years to come. The door of a room that can only be described as thoroughly traumatizing slams shut behind Dipper, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He did NOT need to know that about Stan's preferences.

It was time to put his idea into action. He can conjure anything, so why not make something that can lead him straight to the source? A compass? A map? After a moment's consideration, he settles on dowsing rods. An occult method for an occult problem. He conjures them with barely a thought. The metal is cold in his hands. Dipper starts on his way through the changing landscape of his uncle's mind, searching for anything he and Ford had missed in their previous excursions.

Following the pull of the rods he finds himself making his way through memories of Stan's less-than-savory past. He's a great guy at heart, but that doesn't mean he hasn't done bad things… lots and lots of bad things. Stan's really got all seven bases covered, from greed to gluttony. It makes sense in a weird way, that he's being led into the parts of his uncle that a demon might find appealing. Ford had said that there was some overlap between Stan's usual personality and the more demonic things he's done and said. Like an infection, the nightmare-like landscape radiates out from it. He's getting close, closer than Ford had ever gotten them.

It's a hypothesis at best since all he's got to work with is the knowledge Ford shared and his own prior experience with one particular equilateral jerk, but for once he's going to trust his gut.

Time warps around him, it's been an eternity but also moments since he entered. Dipper approaches a door labeled "JACKPOT!" in flashy embossing and covered in filigree. If there were any color in the mindscape, Dipper's sure it would be gold. Greed, he suspects, has always been his uncle's favorite sin. The dowsing rods have split open, indicating that this is exactly where he needs to be.

The door opens easily to reveal an endless space filled with money and trinkets, with boats and cars, photographs and statues of his uncle at different ages, veritable mountains of all the things Stan loves, and at its very center is a replica of the shacks living room complete with its couch, tv, and other furnishings.

It's a humble contrast to the finery that surrounds it. Dipper makes his way toward the center of the room, and the hair on his arms starts to stand up. The dowsing rods quiver from an unknown force.

The feeling that hits him is overwhelming. Fear. Maybe he should go back, but he's already made it this far. He knows what to do, and what incantations to recite. Dipper shakes his head, clearing the uncertainty from his mind. He can do this. He will get this thing out of Stan and keep his family safe.

That's the last thought that crosses his mind as his foot falls on the carpet and flames erupt around the little room. His hands come up to shield him on instinct but no pain follows. Everything else crumbles away like shattered glass and he's left in the Mystery Shacks' living room floating in an empty void. Beneath him, a sickeningly familiar symbol is lit up in bright white light. The Cipher wheel.

"Oh shit!"

The television flickers to life behind him, spitting static, and a jackpot wheel appears. The wheel spins and spins until landing on 3 consecutive pine tree symbols. It rings a winner's bell in an eerie distorted tone.

" W̷͈̒e̶͉͑l̷̜͗l̴̀ͅ,̶̧͑ ̷̪̀w̵̹̿ẽ̷͖l̴̥̈l̷̫̈́,̴̻͑ ̷̥̆w̴͇͘e̶̲͠ḽ̴͋ḻ̶̐,̶̣͊ "

Tv static rises to a deafening pitch, roaring in his ears. He can't utter a word of the banishment incantation, not that it would work on him. When Dipper forces his eyes open he's no longer in the room in Stans's mind. Instead, he finds himself standing in his own mindscape, in his tidy manor full of organized files, books, and labeled doors. Pictures of him and Mabel at different life milestones line the walls. Dipper is met with the sight that's been haunting his dreams for the last decade.

Bill's triangular form comes into existence with an audible *POP*.

"Long time no see kid, thanks for the wake-up call!" He straightens his hat and buffs non-existent nails on himself before looking around. "Nice digs you got here, Pinetree!" He gives a little whistle of appreciation.

Dipper panics. Ford said the likelihood of Bill returning was less than one percent. He'd sounded so sure of it, like the idea wasn't even worth entertaining.

"The face you're making is hilarious! Oh no, it's Bill! I can't believe it!" Even though the voice he uses to mock him is silly as hell, Dipper feels no humor.

After a moment and then a few more, realization dawns on him that his body is still entirely his own and that he isn't about to repeat the last time Bill hitched a ride. "Hey," Dipper starts, brows furrowed, "Aren't you supposed to be dead?" He wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and wonders briefly why he can even sweat in the mindscape.

Bill chuckles brightly "I've told you before, kid, I'm a being of pure energy! I can't die like you can, your uncle just scattered my molecules into a billion tiny pieces. But it probably would have taken a LOT longer to come back if you kids didn't jog his memory!"

He drums his fingers together, looking at ease. "Instead, he's been putting me back together brick by brick, but you make a pretty good catalyst! Thanks for fearing me back into the world of the living!"

Dipper can feel his mouth moving but he can't seem to form any words. This is too much.

He floats in a circle around Dipper, eye squinted in smug satisfaction. "Watching you figure out your fuck-up in real time is pretty great, but I'm a busy guy! You know, dimensions to conquer, parties to throw, so I'll catch you later kid! See you in your N̸̢̩͛̒i̴̛̬̾g̶̩͛h̵̦̃̐ͅţ̵̞̅̄͝m̴̛͔͓̟͑͛à̴͎̼r̶̭̣͉̎̚e̴̡͒ṣ̷̚̚!̸̢̻̳́͋̉"

Bill's echoing laughter sounds from what seems like every direction.

Bill makes a hand gesture that doesn't look physically possible and he gets the feeling of knuckles knocking on his head but from the inside. Bill looks confused and does it again. It feels like a building migraine. Behind them, the ceiling lights up in the pattern of runes tattooed on his head.

Nothing happens, and Bill is definitely still there.

"Hey hey hey, what gives!?" he demands, looking up and around. Then his eye, now red with anger, squints and he hums an appreciative noise. He floats up to examine Ford's handiwork before zipping back down to Dipper.

"Still hanging out with Sixer I see. Looks like he didn't fill you in on a few things, but I can't say I'm surprised. " The demon's body shakes side to side, hands propped on his… angles? It's a disappointed gesture, for sure.

He knows he shouldn't take Bill's bait, he's probably just trying to get a rise out of him but he can't help it. So like an idiot, he asks, "Like what?"

"Oh you know-" He does a little hand wave. "Like non-verbal agreements? How not to make a deal? Or sell your soul?" His voice goes deep and demonic on the last word.

Oh god, his soul? How did he fuck up this bad-

Bill interrupts his panic by wrapping a thin arm around him. "Kidding! That last one was a joke! Unless…?"

"No, Bill." He says bluntly. He plucks off the offending hand with disgust. It snaps back to Bill's body like a length of tape measure.

"Eh, can't blame a guy for trying." He continues, unbothered. "I'll say, it's not a bad defense if you know what you're doing! But you clearly don't. You entered my Sigil with a very specific intention, and deal-making is an art. Magic will always take the shortest route to your end goal. So when you wanted me out of your uncle's head, it sent me straight into the nearest connected mind. You!" Bill sounds chipper but he's changed from gold to an irritated red color.

Wow, that is a lot to process.

"And now, thanks to your blowhard uncle, it looks like I'm stuck in here until you die or your consciousness withers away and I'm trapped in a braindead husk. Not exactly ideal, is it?"

Dipper is fairly certain he's going to have a panic attack. The whole situation is so surreal, literally the worst possible outcome. His head falls to his hands unconsciously. He's starting to hyperventilate. Bill snaps his fingers in front of him a couple of times. "Hey, don't crack up just yet! Yeesh, I thought you'd last a little longer… Take a deep breath, kid."

He does, and then another, and another. His heart rate slows bit by bit and he can start to think. His voice cracks as he asks, "How- How do I get you out?"

"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? Depends, how attached are you to the whole 'having a head' thing?"

"Very, Bill. I need that to keep being alive." Dipper deadpans.

"Okay well, our options are pretty limited. 1. You could leave the mortal coil a.k.a. DIE. 2. transfer me to a new vessel. 3. I stay here and gradually drive you insane with nightmares, leaving you a braindead husk and me trapped inside until this body goes kaput." He counts the options down on his tiny black fingers.

Well, that's pretty bleak.

"I'm not going to kill myself Bill, don't be stupid," he says, crossing his arms defensively.

Bill is in constant motion, floating circles around Dipper and keeping him on defense. It feels like he's looking for a weakness.

"Well that really only leaves us with one option, doesn't it? Just like old times, helping your old pal find a puppet of my very own, eh?"

Dipper is quiet for a minute, considering. Is he really willing to foist this off on somebody? To let an innocent person deal with the consequences of his mistake? To allow a megalomaniac who has single-handedly destroyed dimensions back into their world?

No, I'm not. His expression must give him away because Bill is starting to look nervous, of all things. Mabel always did say his poker face was terrible.

"No, I'm not helping you do anything. This conversation is over, Bill." He clenches his fists tight, feeling like he's finally gaining some control over this messed-up situation.

"What do you mean, 'No'?!" Bill demands, sounding peeved. His voice becomes a multifaceted boom, like a hundred Bills are speaking at once. He jabs his tiny finger into Dipper's chest, now a bright flashing red. "You better change your TUNE kid-"

But Dipper refuses to answer him. He slaps himself in the face so hard it brings tears to his eyes, cutting the demon off mid-rant. Before he knows it, he's pulling himself up from the living room floor. He's so glad that worked, it would have been pretty embarrassing if he slapped himself for nothing.

The ritual candles are all burned down, and judging by the dark sky outside, it's still the middle of the night. Dipper's body is catching up with his brain. He feels absolute bone-chilling terror, making him sick to his stomach. He dry-heaves a few times but luckily nothing comes.

On the recliner, Stan is still sleeping peacefully.

Dipper gets to his feet slowly, feeling off-kilter. He's having trouble coming to terms that yeah, that just happened, Bill Cipher moved past the wards Ford had spent so much time designing like they were nothing. And now he's trapped in Dipper's mind.

I fucked up big time.

There wasn't a chance in hell he'd be sleeping tonight, so Dipper starts cleaning up the evidence of his little escapade. He heads up the stairs, avoiding the creaky step so he doesn't wake Mabel. He has no idea how he's going to explain this to Ford. He'll be so disappointed. If this is the test run for his apprenticeship, he's failing spectacularly.

Dipper settles himself in bed for a long night of ruminating. He's got to fix this himself. There's a sour feeling in his chest, it feels like heartburn but twice as acidic.

He doesn't sleep a wink.