Chapter Text
There was just something about the busy streets of New York City that almost felt like it all could be enough.
Dipper had never thought he’d end up somewhere like New York, in Queens, nonetheless—he hadn’t ever really thought of himself as a City type of guy, if he were being honest with himself. Not after long Summers spent in the refreshing green, blue, brown and red palette-based Town known as Gravity Falls. Yeah, if he were being honest with himself–well, nothing else really seemed to compare.
There was just a certain kind of luxury that came with being able to be out in the middle of nowhere as an introvert, God-forbid the fact that Dipper Pines had gone and turned twenty-one this year.
There was just a certain type of luxury of being able to step out into the outskirts one's backyard and suddenly be in the most gorgeous forest you’ve ever been in—be less than three hundred yards away from the nearest Waterfall.
The type of luxury that typically made you avoid any City like a plague, living-wise.
Although he liked New York, he definitely didn’t get that same experience here in the City. The ability to walk three hundred yards and see something gorgeous.
No, instead, If Dipper Pines were currently to go and walk outside of his apartment, go and walk those three hundred yards to try and conduct a proper test instead of just having a theory and running with it—As Mabel, his twin sister, was constantly reminding him to do—he could almost assure you it would smell strongly of sun-baked piss.
Really, he’ll pass. Sorry, Mabel—he’ll only be hypothesizing this one. It’s not a luxury, it really isn’t anything of use–though, Dipper himself doesn’t really mind.
He likes being able to be close to his sister—and if he walks less than a hundred yards he can grab himself the most delicious coffee he’s ever tasted before. It’s the small things that keep life worth living, the sandwich he’ll be buying himself for dinner Today a part of that. Maybe that’s what keeps Dipper Pines mind thriving as he paces down the crowded sidewalks, those towering skyscrapers making him look like nothing but an ant.
Maybe it’s the fact that he can focus on the small things, those little things that make him feel happy–make him feel good, even as his mental health is on a steady decline. Even while he’s worried his mind will reach a breaking point–will begin to deteriorate.
Though, can he really complain? Even with pollution surrounding him, even with the lingering smell of piss that doesn’t really seem to want to go away, Dipper Pines can’t help but admit that the sun setting in New York is quite a view. Bright explosive colors, pinks and oranges and foggy murky purples, though honestly Dipper could be off—Mabel swears he’s colorblind. He’s not so convinced.
The skyscrapers cast down these large shadows at night—it’s this lovely contrast of dark, almost black shadows and bright explosive hues. Dipper is even luckier Tonight, he swears. It rained that afternoon—the road is paved, painted and almost able to be passed off as relatively fresh. It’s wet and shiny, those beautiful explosive lights from the sky reflecting onto the street faintly.
Before he knows it, he’s pulling out his camera. It’s nothing special, something Mabel bought him in Middle School when she was being supportive–it still gets the job done, even Today.
At least for personal shoots. Maybe this is another reason why New York is almost worth it–why he could make New York work. Dipper wants to imagine it’s a possibility. After all, he doesn’t really think he could be away from Mabel for that long–
Call it cheesy, call it stupid. Frankly, Dipper really didn’t care. He had always, always, always done everything with his sister, ever since they were Twelve. Hell, before that, too. They were twins, it was hard to get away from each other, even when you wanted a break–a moment to breathe.
It got better, steadily, as they both became adults.. and, if Dipper Pines were one hundred percent honest, he wouldn’t even want to imagine it being any other way. Siblings had their ups and downs he had begun to realize over the years—that doesn’t mean you don’t stick by them.
He had his own life outside of Mabel. In fact, as of late, Mabel was a busy person who barely even had time for him–or time for anyone, for that matter, unless that time could be spent making money.
She hadn’t graduated Fashion School—he’s not quite sure if that’s what it’s called, he just knows his sister can sew anything tailored to fit by just looking at a person’s frame.
He has a lot of nice suits now. It’s almost funny. Fancy things in a fancy city that he won’t ever need—but she had gone and blown up online. She’s some sort of videomaker, Dipper isn’t quite sure..
As much as he loves his sister, he doesn’t personally have much of an online presence. He owns a flip phone—a modern day one. He’s not pretentious about it, or at least he tries not to be, he just doesn’t like the fact that when he has had a “real” phone in the past, all he’s gone and done is scroll for hours on instagram on the damned thing.
When he was a kid, he quite literally would go off and save the whole of Gravity Falls—with help, of course—and solve mysteries just for the hell of it. He definitely could be using his time better.
Though he’s in that awkward stage of his life where he really.. Isn’t. Sure, he doesn’t mindlessly scroll and watch videos for hours upon hours now. It isn’t like he’s made a big improvement on writing that novel he had been thinking up, let alone managed to keep a clean apartment. It’s been about three months since he’s made the switch.
He hoped it’d go and make his nightmares stop. If anything, Dipper came to find, it only really managed to make them get worse. More psychological. In a way that few could ever really come to understand.
He couldn’t quite explain it. Couldn’t quite wrap his tongue around it. Not as the glow of the street lights cascaded down behind him as he shot his photo, snapping a dozen pictures just in case like the paranoid guy he is before pocketing his camera once again.
He could try and go to therapy, but he’s fairly certain he’d end up institutionalized–and not for the reasons he should be, which is a shame, because that goes and makes him feel like he’ll never really be taken seriously from the get go. He could try and confront it head-on and probably end up, well, dead.
Dipper Pines liked New York for a lot of reasons. The sunsets, the sunrises, the way he could always find someone interesting to snap a photo of on the subway as long as he avoided the loud and vocal crazy-types. The sandwiches. Hell, he’d even go as far as to say that he liked New York City because it never slept. Lately, he too couldn’t seem to be able to turn off the lights. Both metaphorically and literally.
“Your usual?” He found himself at the food counter already, a little shop in the middle of nowhere called Padrinos's.
It was italian, served New York Sliced pizza and sandwiches—although the pizza probably was one of the best in town, Dipper stuck to sandwiches. Easy to work with while he shot photos and took notes. It reminded him to eat when he got hungry, too—
“Yeah. Please.” Dipper said softly. “Thank you.”
“No problem, kid.” The man—Dave—said, and he wore a white wife beater—had a beard and a bit of fat around his stomach. His accent was thick, new york, and the wife beater was stained with what Dipper either assumed to be ketchup or blood. Or both. “Your sister doing that fashion week thingy?” Dave asked, as polite as a New Yorker could be.
“Oh, yeah!” Dipper said, piping up almost immediately. He always got excited talking about his sister—Dave heard about her achievements a lot. Mostly because Dave liked making small talk—and Dipper was bad at small talk, so he mostly big talked about his twin sister, Mabel. “She mentioned something about it. Like, having looks on the runway this year.”
“You gonna snap some photos of her designs, I'll take it?” Dave said, and in the midst of saying it began to slice up white bread, throwing on bacon, lettuce and tomato—the usuals that Dipper would get, nothing crazy, nothing special.
He'd normally take this place's house sauce, though: it was delicious, and Dipper rarely skipped out on it.
“I am.” Dipper said, and quickly added, “I mean, I'm going to try,” because after all, it was Fashion week and it'd be a shit show. He'd be lucky to get in—but he was going to. After all, he had Mabel on his side.
“Good. Lemme see ‘em when you’re done printing them off and what not.” Dave says quickly. “Your sister is a very talented girl, and my wife likes her spunky outfits.”
“Thanks Dave.” Dipper says, quickly adjusting his baseball cap that's been worn ever since that fateful Summer in Gravity Falls, the first time around. “I will.”
“Great.” Dave said, slapping the counter. At this point, he hands over a wrapped sandwich—and continues to speak as softly as a New Yorker could. “On the house, Tonight, alright?”
Dipper frowns almost immediately, pulling out his wallet. “I can’t possibly, Dave—.”
“Nah, kid. I insist. Go sit down, enjoy your dinner. If you’re processin’ any cool photos, send ‘em to our store email like i’ve told you to before. We think your art is cool lookin’ too, kid.” Dave says, waving him off completely—like usual—and Dipper can't help but nod and laugh.
“Ah. Thanks.” He says, shaking his head.
He’d leave a twenty dollar tip on the booth, like usual—it was this cat and mouse game that Dipper tended to play. Accept a free sandwich, walk out with less money then he would’ve had if he just bought the sandwich.
He likes Dave, likes supporting small businesses, and his sister currently makes a butt load. She kind of helps him, him being a broke college student, and all. He’s going in for journalism, but he’s not really sure if that suits him.
He’s more interested in sitting in his favorite forest of Gravity Falls and further studying Magic the way it’s meant to be studied. He’s not sure if he’d ever go and publish his writings. He knows damn well his Uncle Ford hadn’t.
Maybe it’s the dreams. Sometimes they’re decent, sometimes he’s waking up on the verge of a panic attack–sometimes he’s already mid-panic attack, even.
Dipper gets no rest, no, not really, not if he isn’t resting his head somewhere in the lovely town of Gravity Falls. He’s not quite sure what that’s supposed to mean, has been avoiding thinking about it too much, if he’s being honest—though that much is probably already apparent.
He’s always been the type to psychoanalyze, overthink, second guess and have to get it right so he ends up so sure of himself. Maybe it’s the dreams that make him go and crave the simplicity of Gravity Falls—though he knows of a certain something that can influence dreams.
It doesn’t really make sense. That’s why he hasn’t thought about it. That’s what he tries to tell himself at least as he places his sandwich and soup down, pulls out his laptop from his backpack, as he turns it on and sits down at a clean booth.
As he convinces himself that the little things are going to be enough, that they can be enough, that he’s not going to go and drive himself insane, nightmares be damned. Maybe it’s because he’s got it in his head that he’s stronger than this, that he doesn’t need to get help, or ask for advice, or go and seek a second opinion. Maybe because it’d be pointless to really think it over too hard.
Though, Lord knows Dipper Pines can only tame his mind for so long.
He knows it’s Bill. Knows it like the back of his hand, like the features of his sister's face, like the two bedrooms he’s gone and grown up in. He knows it’s Bill, because Bill Cipher is a dream demon who can, that’s it, influence dreams!
It’s so easy it’s almost comical. He’s been having this whole dream problem ever since he turned fifteen, the dreams only getting more violent and twisted in nature. He’s tired, he can willingly admit it to himself, Bill Cipher is somehow controlling most—if not all—of his dreams. When he’s in Gravity Falls, he doesn’t dream.
Though, logically, it really doesn’t make sense. Bill Cipher—well, he stopped Bill Cipher, didn’t he? And even as recently as last year, Dipper did the hike to make sure that Bill’s statue was still there–permanent, all mossed over. He wasn’t freed, seemingly hadn’t gone and made a deal.. So really, Dipper himself wasn’t all that certain.
Yes. He was having horrifying nightmares. Terrifying, even. The type that were gruesome, the type that were gross–the type that he knew for a fact a certain yellow triangle would go and conjure up. Yet he wasn’t free. Couldn’t, in theory, be possibly doing this. And–why Gravity Falls? Sure, Dipper could probably guess on that one, but even then, did it really make sense?
Was he just scaring himself? Was he just bored?
He hasn’t slept in three days—he doesn’t really like sleeping, considering everytime he does end up passing out, his dreams are nightmarish and relentless. Sometimes he can force himself to wake up. Other times, his body really needs the rest, it seems, even if he ends up waking up exhausted.
Every summer, his nightmares go away. Every summer, he gets to experience dreamless if not mostly pleasant dreams, dreams that are likely of his own accord. He knows that his problem could be fixed if he just went back to Gravity Falls, but really, he can’t help but feel a little bit insane because he feels so adamantly on the fact. That life could get better, given he goes back and lives in Gravity Falls.
He really does want to make New York work. He really is trying. He tries, for Mabel, mostly, but he tries especially hard because it feels like giving up–because it feels like letting him win.
If Bill really is somehow giving him these awful nightmares, even as a statue, then Dipper doesn’t want to let him win by going back to Gravity Falls. By relenting, and doing what Bill Cipher seemingly wants. After all, New York could do wonders for his writing career he doesn’t really want—he won’t get millions of opportunities for failure like he would in a place like Gravity Falls.
His phone begins to ring out of nowhere.
He flips it open quickly, looking at the contact name before smiling. “Oh. Stan.” He says softly.
Isn't expecting to hear Wendy's voice instead. “Ah. Sorry, Dipper.” She says softly. Awkwardly. Stiffly. As if she's apologizing for more. As if something is wrong.
Of all the times he had heard Wendy say sorry Dipper over the years, none had ever been in that tone. A tone that sounds off putting, apologizing for no real reason—other than the fact that she isn't Stan.
In a matter of minutes Dipper could've easily guessed what had happened. Dipper could easily point his finger and shoot. It was simple. It was subtle.
He was standing in the middle of a busy street within New York when he stopped, dead silent, nothing but a breath of air filtering its way into his lungs.
“Is Stan.. Is he al-.”
And Wendy cuts him off: of course she does. She's quick to answer, always quick to help—though she can only help so much, miles upon miles away, when Really Dipper ought to be in Oregon. When really, Dipper ought to be in Gravity Falls.
“No. He's.. Dipper.. He left everything to you.” “He passed last night. I've been- I've been struggling to make this call ever since.. I'm sorry, Dipper.”
After that, everything moves in slow motion.
Somewhere far, far away in Gravity Falls landed a Western Meadowlark lands on a statue once kept at peace.
Everything stood still for a moment, as if the earth itself didn't dare to shake—only for the triangular statue's eye to burst awake in a budding color of blue.
It glowed for around ten seconds when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, the statue's eye shut off again—the forest turning black and white before it.
That small little Western Meadowlark sat there on the statue pruning itself for just a moment before springing to life like clock work, flapping around with a taste of new found freedom—though this wasn't the bird's consciousness.
It was Cipher's. Bill Cipher. Years had passed since he had last returned to Gravity Falls, stuck away in Therapy-based prison to repay for his sins.
He had just enough energy built up over meditating for the past few years, alone in his room, waiting for someone to find his Book of Bill, when suddenly he finally had it! That energy! That power he had once so easily obtained!
.. And it was just enough to power a bird. Yikes.
‘Gravity Falls, is it good to be back!’ He tried to shriek, but found that he could only think inside this new body—a slight shame that'd be fixed soon, surely.
Once he figured out how to get rid of that pesky statue body of his, free his form from that—well, then he'd be able to do anything again. Right?
Flapping around he sings out a little familiar tune, ‘We'll meet again’ before glancing at his body—
When all of a sudden, out of nowhere, the black and white beauty pulls back and Bill's new body drops.
Except it does this even stranger thing he's never had happen before.
As it drops, a human arm forms where the wing should have been—he sees it, his left arm sure as hell does it, and then suddenly he's bracing for the fall and thudding against the forest floor- and there's blood, he's bleeding!
He checks quickly, less momentarily intrigued over the fact that he can feel pain, his own pain, presumably, because he hadn't just stolen some random guy's body. No. He had possessed a bird. How do two and two even go together?
Either way—the blood isn't gushing, and it isn't bad, or, well, Bill isn't quite sure what would determine bad. It's grazed. That's what he'd call it. Road burn, he thinks he's heard it called before. Neat. He hesitates for a second, staring at his bleeding arm before poking at it.
And glancing further down.
He's definitely not a bird anymore.
He's naked. He's not quite sure why or how or when, but he's somehow gotten a human body—and he's naked. He stands, looks around, rushes towards the nearby river and stares down towards his face.
He's human.
He tries to do anything. To literally do anything, meditation wise—power wise—he spends about thirty minutes laying by the bank trying to make deer teeth come to him, or make the water rise, or make the forest do something and he can't.
He doesn't have clothes, he's stark ass naked, and he currently can't use any of his powers—he's hauntingly human. Sounds like one of Dipper's second biggest nightmares, as a kid.
For a second, he wonders if this is his last way to pay off his greatest ‘sin.’
Somewhere even further then Gravity Falls, far far away, a slimy pink tail glistened, waving from side to side. A small smile rested upon a familiar Earthly creature's face.
Everything was going to plan.