《A collection of Gravity Falls Stories (Fanfiction)》 Guardian Falls Ford was on his hands and knees, carefully drawing 10 symbols closed in compartments in a wheel. The wooden planks of the floor made bumps in the chalk, and he was desperate for the summoning to work, so he made sure to shade in every possible defect. Fiddleford stood anxiously in the corner. He ran a hand through his blond hair, adjusted his small glasses, and then began to fidget with his hands. ¡°Stanferd, I¡¯m not too keen on this,¡± Fiddleford said, taking a step forward. ¡°Don¡¯t it seem a bit extreme?¡± ¡°What? No, of course not.¡± Ford said, stepping back for a moment to examine his work. He frowned and stalked over to the desk holding his journal. ¡°Does this look like it goes circle-triangle or triangle-circle to you?¡± He held up the page on which the strange old woman from the fair had carefully drawn the Zodiac. The 10 symbols were neatly evident inside the compartments of the wheel: a shooting star, glasses, ice, tree, fish, question mark, star with eye, six-fingered hand, heart, and llama. Inside the wheel, a triangle, square, and circle all sat neatly on top of each other. ¡°Triangle-circle¡­ but Ford, we have no idea what this is goin¡¯ ta do,¡± Fiddleford said. ¡°It could bring about th¡¯ end of the world, or worse!¡± ¡°I doubt a part-time palm reader knows about a summoning circle that could end the world,¡± Ford said. ¡°Besides, even if she did, then she wouldn¡¯t be actively giving it out, I suspect that we take Palmala at her word. Just think Fiddleford, ten different anomalies that the world has never seen before! This could be it- if we publish our findings we could-¡° ¡°Stanferd.¡± Fiddleford interrupted. ¡°If you wanted to be famous, you¡¯ve done enough research to turn Gravity Falls into the hotbed of scientific inquiry, and you would¡¯ve published your work by now. If you wanted money then you could¡¯ve patented any one of your inventions.¡± Ford scoffed and rolled his eyes. ¡°The same goes double for you, besides, we have no idea if this will even do anything.¡± He walked back toward the chalk lines, carefully stepping over them as he began to draw the shapes in the center. ¡°¡­I suppose you¡¯re right.¡± Fiddleford said, ¡°But we have to be careful.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Stanford said distractedly, the shapes were much easier to draw than the complicated symbols of the Zodiac, and soon, they were complete. Fiddleford looked apprehensively at the completed summoning circle. ¡°We only have two members of the Zodiac. You sure we shouldn¡¯t try and find anyone else?¡± ¡°We can find the other eight later, I don¡¯t particularly want to deal with ten anomalies at once,¡± Ford said. ¡°Fair enough I suppose,¡± Fiddleford said. Ford scrambled to his feet, dusted the chalk from his hands, and picked up his journal again. ¡°Here we are¡­ the incantation is rather odd¡­¡± He gestured for Fiddleford to stand on the compartment that held the glasses. Fiddleford stepped forward, his feet kicking up small clouds of chalk as he stood inside the summoning circle. He half thought that something was going to happen the instant he set foot inside the chalk drawing, but nothing did. Ford took his place on the six-fingered hand, he glanced at Fidds, then cleared his throat and began to read. ¡°In fire, you were burned alive. By the daemon¡¯s arson crime, In life, you lost your hearts and minds You have no chance peace to find But by Axolotl¡¯s granted wish, But by time¡¯s gentle kiss Bind your souls to our embrace Break the bonds of lying space, Meld your being with that of mine, Merge our essence with that of thine, In the hopes to appease his crime A different form a different time.¡± With every word Fiddleford felt more and more uneasy, the chalk began to glow, orange spread out from under his feet, while red twisted around Ford¡¯s. Ford was grinning excitedly as he kept reading. ¡°A different form a different time, Hear me from this secret sign, A X O L O T L No longer shall you burn. I invoke the ancient power that you may return!¡± Fiddleford flinched as a sudden wave of energy flooded the room. For a moment the symbols on the floor flashed red, then orange, then a startling blue that hadn¡¯t been present before. He looked away, but clearly, Ford didn¡¯t, as a moment later he heard a strangled shout. ¡°It worked!¡± Ford squealed, he sounded like a child on Christmas morning. ¡°Well hold on now.¡± A voice he didn¡¯t recognize said. ¡°Weren¡¯t there supposed to be three of ya?¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°I suppose it can¡¯t be helped¡­¡± A second voice said, conspiratorially. ¡°Heya Kiddos!¡± he said louder with the slightest hint of a Jersey accent. ¡°Name¡¯s Euclid, Euclid Cipher, it''s my pleasure!¡± ¡°Stanford Pines. The pleasure is mine.¡± Ford said, his voice still having that infuriating air of blas¨¦ excitement. Fiddleford finally turned to look and- Oh. That wasn¡¯t so bad. Two very geometrical¡­ little guys floated in the center of the circle. Euclid had apparently put on his Sunday best for this- er, meeting. He was about the size of a milk carton, he was triangular and a bright, almost glowing red. Two thin solidly black arms jutted out of each side of the triangle three fingers on each hand. Similarly, two legs hung from the base of the structure. He had three eyes, each sitting in a vertical line above the other, not exactly in the middle of his¡­ face? But leaning more toward the left. He was wearing a small black top hat and reminded Fidds of a stuffed animal. The other, an orange square with matching limbs but only one, large eye in the center of his body, that took up most of his shoebox-sized form. He wasn¡¯t wearing a hat, but he did have an almost comically sized bandana, it was orange and white, and lovingly handstitched, although somewhat clumsily, perhaps by a child. The square spoke up, strangely, he had an accent that almost matched Fiddleford¡¯s Tennessean one. ¡°An¡¯ I¡¯m Sylvester.¡± ¡°Fiddleford.¡± He said the creatures didn¡¯t look dangerous, a little odd perhaps, but not for Gravity Falls still, there was something wrong with Sylvester¡¯s voice. Something he couldn¡¯t quite place that made his brain scream run. Ford didn¡¯t seem to have this problem. He was staring at the anomalies, the gears in his brain visibly turning. He cleared his throat and stepped forward slightly, his boots kicking up the chalk dust only to reveal that the zodiac had been burned deep into the wooden planks of the floor. ¡°I have some questions if you don¡¯t mind-¡° Euclid cut him off with a chuckle. ¡°Oh, there¡¯s plenty of time for that kiddo, mind answering two of mine first?¡± Ford blinked. ¡°Of course not.¡± ¡°Great!¡± Euclid said, ¡°Question one is¡­ how much do you actually know about the zodiac?¡± ¡°Well, we recently acquired the incantation and zodiac itself from an old fortune teller and were able to figure out that it could be used to summon ten anom- er, non-human entities, by bringing together humans that could represent the symbols on the wheel. From the wording of the incantation, I assumed it has something to do with reincarnation.¡± Fiddleford swallowed at Ford¡¯s use of ¡®we¡¯ and Euclid and Sylvester shared a look. ¡°That¡¯s almost a part of it,¡± Sylvester said, more to Euclid than Ford. Ford looked slightly nervous but quickly regained his confidence. ¡°¡­And your second question?¡± Euclid turned back to him, all three of his eyes stared hard at Ford. ¡°Where is the Mackerel?¡± Fiddleford didn¡¯t know what he expected the triangle to say, but it wasn¡¯t that. Sylvester noticed his confusion and gestured to the symbol of a fish, now branded into the floorboards. ¡°Pardon me?¡± Ford asked, ¡°The third zodiac member,¡± Euclid tried to explain. ¡°It''s just Fiddleford and me,¡± Ford said cooly. Euclid looked¡­ well, he looked something, it was hard to read the expressions of a triangle, but his eyes glanced away from Ford, and he seemed to scrunch up slightly, and flashed slightly darker red. ¡°Hm, I must¡¯ve been mistaken.¡± ¡°Howsabout we get somewhere a bit more cozy than this?¡± Sylvester asked, as his single, large eye looked about the dark and mostly empty room, the only light streaming in from closed windows. ¡°That sounds like a great idea.¡± Fidds found himself agreeing, even if the square¡¯s voice felt wrong like he was hearing his own played back to him, he didn¡¯t want to stand here for hours while Ford pestered Euclid with questions. Briefly, he wondered why only Euclid was talking with Ford, while Sylvester seemed to be waiting just as much as he was. ¡°I suppose we can¡­¡± Stanford said thoughtfully. Euclid nodded. Maybe? His eyes flicked up and down, and he moved as if he had nodded, but he didn¡¯t have a neck, or¡­ he was just a floating triangle face. ¡°Do you have a sitting room perhaps?¡± ¡°Er,¡± Ford said, his house had been basically divided into either Lab Space or Storage Space. When he hired Fiddleford, he cleared out one of the rooms and turned it into a guest bedroom¡­ of sorts. His room could only be defined as an office with a bed in it. ¡°Let¡¯s go to the kitchen, does your species eat- are you two even the same species?¡± ¡°We do and we are,¡± Euclid replied. Ford smiled politely and turned toward the kitchen. --- The cement was cool against his head. It felt sort of nice when the rest of his body felt like it was on fire. For a second he numbly wondered if he had stopped breathing, if the pain in his chest was from broken ribs or lack of oxygen. He forced himself to take a breath, just in case, and found that it was probably both. He knew that he needed to open his eyes. If he went to sleep now, someone might find him, he wasn¡¯t nearly deep enough in the alley to be properly hidden¡­ if he woke up. Wasn¡¯t so sure right now. Didn¡¯t really matter. Probably would be easier if he didn¡¯t. He thought about it for a second, just letting himself sleep, but there was no way he was going to let himself die- he needed to go home. He still needed to earn the chance to go home. He couldn¡¯t die like this- he couldn¡¯t die without being able to look his Pa in the eyes and tell him that he was wrong, he couldn¡¯t die with his Ma knowing that he was just some screw-up, he couldn¡¯t die not meeting baby Shermie all grown up, he couldn¡¯t die without seeing- Nah. He could probably go without that last one. Not like he¡¯d want to see him again after everything. Even if... Nevermind. So, he decided that he wasn¡¯t going to die. The hard part was actually¡­ not doing that. Right. He swallowed, his throat hurt. He put his hands palm down against the pavement and pushed. His muscles screamed he coughed and spat blood onto the cement. He peeled his eyes open as he pulled himself into a kneeling position. His vision blurred and he found himself gasping for breath, the sharp pangs in his chest ignored. Shoot shoot shoot shoot- He found himself teetering, he groped out wildly for something to steady himself. Someone placed a firm hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch. The hand was about the size of a child¡¯s, and¡­ only had three fingers. He wasn¡¯t going to judge, but what? ¡°It¡¯s alright Little Fish, just breathe.¡± A soft voice said from behind him, gently patting his back. ¡°My name is Scalene. I¡¯m here to protect you now.¡± ¡°Y-you sound like my Ma.¡± He said, his voice shaking slightly. ¡°My species does not communicate verbally; this was the only significant female voice in your memories that did not have romantic connotations.¡± She said, ¡°If it bothers you, I can use another one.¡± ¡°What?¡± He said it sounded like something Sixer would say. She patted his shoulder again. ¡°I borrowed her voice so that I wouldn¡¯t remind you of your exes.¡± He hesitated and turned to look at the strange woman. Or¡­ thing. It was a floating triangle with two eyes, but they were like, vertical, one on top of the other. She was blue, and almost glowing in the dark alley. A bow floated above¡­ uh, one of her sides. He stared at her dumbly and found that he didn¡¯t care nearly as much as he thought he should right now. ¡°Oh you poor dear, you¡¯re all alone, aren¡¯t you? Where are the other two¡­¡± Scalene pulled away from his shoulder and floated around the alley for a moment, looking around. ¡°its jus¡¯ me.¡± He muttered. She looked at him pensively, then almost sadly, huh, he knew that he was good at reading people, but this thing wasn¡¯t a person. ¡°¡­that¡¯s alright, do you have a place to go? You¡¯re shivering.¡± She asked. ¡°My car.¡± He said, ¡°Down th¡¯ street.¡± ¡°Oh dear.¡± She said again. Well, she had his Ma¡¯s voice, but she didn¡¯t talk like her. ¡°I jus¡¯¡­ needa second.¡± ¡°Give me your keys, I¡¯ll bring it closer.¡± She said. He should¡¯ve found that very suspicious, if Scalene was anything except for a floating triangle, he probably would¡¯ve found that incredibly suspicious, he found most human beings incredibly suspicious, but he just had a feeling that he could trust her. Probably because she stole his Ma¡¯s voice. Dang. This was weird. He was probably dreaming, or Juan had put somethin¡¯ on that knife. He dug into his pocket and grabbed his keys, his hands shook and he tossed the key ring in the general direction of the triangle, she caught it. ¡°Can your feet even hit th¡¯ peddles?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll manage.¡± She said in a clipped way. She floated away, and he realized that he hadn¡¯t told her where his car was. Or what it looked like. He coughed up more blood and then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his worn jacket. After a few minutes, he was surprised to see his car pull in front of the mouth of the alley, then the door swung open of its own accord. Scalene was at his side again. ¡°Can you stand?¡± She asked. He grunted and tried to stand up. The triangle pulling upward on his uninjured arm until he staggered to his feet. He stumbled toward the Stanley-Mobile, feeling like an unseen force was pushing him along. Heck, he wouldn¡¯t be surprised if there was one, considering the freaking triangle uh¡­ ghost thing that was following him around. The walk from the alley to his car felt like ten miles. He slumped down into the front seat, cranked the heater on, slammed the door and locked it. Then he passed out. Timelost ¡°Bill Cipher.¡± The Axolotl said, ¡°It has been exactly one thousand years since we last spoke, how do you feel?¡± ¡°Bored.¡± Bill said, ¡°So, do I get to ditch the Theraprism and go be a shrimp or something now?¡± The Axolotl laughed, ¡°If that is what you wish. You have, with great effort, passed all our courses, and have moved past your personal crimes and short comings. I am pleased with your progress Cipher. You have completed the trial I assigned to you, and are ready to be reincarnated.¡± Bill squinted at The Axolotl, ¡°What do you mean ¡°If I wish?¡±¡± ¡°You have recognized your faults, accepted what you have done is wrong, you have felt guilt, and been taught to mourn. You realize that your previous goal was illogical and unsustainable, that your conquering nature would never bring you satisfaction or happiness. But the one thing I believe that counseling will never be able to teach you, is empathy.¡± The Axolotl swirled, and swam around Bill, looking at the triangle from every angle. ¡°What¡¯s your point.¡± Bill asked. ¡°I have examined the friendship you had with the human Stanford Pines.¡± The Axolotl pause, expecting Bill¡¯s interruption. ¡°He wasn¡¯t my friend. I was using him.¡± Bill said, crossing his arms. ¡°And yet¡­¡± The Axolotl said gently, ¡°You celebrated his birthday with him when you realized he missed his family, you invited him to join you even before you knew you needed him to spread Weridmageddon to the rest of the world. You were sad when he realized that you were lying to him and stopped talking to you.¡± ¡°Hmph.¡± Bill said, ¡°That is empathy, Bill Cipher, you recognized a kindred spirit, and humanity brought out the best in you.¡± The Axolotl said, ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you want me to be a human.¡± Bill gagged. ¡°I¡¯d rather be a shrimp.¡± ¡°Not quite.¡± The Axolotl said, ¡°I am going to make you a deal.¡± Bill rolled his eye, the last deal he¡¯d made with The Axolotl had ended him up in the Thera-prison ¡°I will allow you to reincarnate as any type of being you wish, if you complete one more trial.¡± The Axolotl said, Bill perked up, he didn¡¯t actually want to be a shrimp. ¡°I¡¯m listening... but no promises.¡± ¡°You are aware of Sherman Pines, correct? The paradox?¡± The Axolotl asked, Bill nodded. ¡°He is the leading cause of the many successes of your alternates, he is not meant to exist, and therefore, he very rarely does, which leads to his son never being born, and his grandchildren never being born, which leads to Stanford kicking Stanley out when he returns to his universe, and he is never able to defeat you.¡± The Axolotl said, ¡°When he does find himself existing, it is very rarely at the right time, sometimes he is eldest and fights in a war, sometimes he is youngest and grows up in a lonely house. Most often, time tries to correct its mistake and kill him. If it is rare that his grandchildren see their thirteenth birthday, it is rarer that their grandfather see¡¯s his tenth.¡± ¡°¡­And that has to do with me because?¡± Bill asked, not liking where this was going. ¡°One universe.¡± The Axolotl said, ¡°If Sherman Pines reaches his forties in one universe, you can be reincarnated as anything you wish.¡± Bill¡¯s eye widened, ¡°The chances of that happening are- well, the chances of that happening in¡­ heck even in the universe I chose to conquer he keeled over at twenty.¡± The Axolotl chuckled. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You will be given a temporary form attuned to him and be allowed to interact anyway you wish with the universe of your choice.¡± The Axolotl said, Bill seemed thoughtful, for a moment. ¡°Do I get my powers?¡± ¡°As much as your form can hold.¡± ¡°What happens if he dies?¡± ¡°You will be sent back here, and be reincarnated with no consequence¡± ¡°Alright,¡± Bill said, there was the impending feeling that this was a trap, but he couldn¡¯t quite figure out where it was placed. ¡°I think you¡¯ve got yourself a deal.¡± ------ The boy was sitting on the carpet in his room playing with an old stuffed fox. It had at one point been red and white, but now the red had faded to a dull orange and the white to a pale yellow, it wore a once black, now grey top hat and bow tie, and one of its black beady eyes had been replaced with an X inexpertly stitched on by Shermie¡¯s mother. It was a horrid thing, destroyed by the love of a child, and only held together by sheer force of imagination and broken seams. There was, of course, a reason why the fox was so beloved, it had been sent to the house by one of his brothers on one of his birthdays. The note that came with it was only signed as ¡®your brother¡¯ but Shermie had always suspected that it came from Stanley, because Stanford hardly sent him anything, and when did he would sign it with large, cursive text, being Stanley¡¯s present, of course made it precious, because everyone liked to pretend that Stanley didn¡¯t exist. He was pretty sure his parents didn¡¯t know that he knew about Stanley, and he¡¯d been too afraid to ask. He¡¯d found his picture in some old year books, beside Stanford¡¯s. It made him feel important to know a secret¡­ There was no warning before his father walked into the room. There never was. ¡°Sherman.¡± Fillbrick Pines said, his face was blank and his eyes were blocked by his glasses. ¡°Hi pops.¡± Shermie said, pausing from his game and looking up at the imposing figure of his father. ¡°Hmph.¡± Fillbrick said, ¡°What are you doing.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question; it was an accusation. ¡°Nothing.¡± Shermie said, refuting it. ¡°That¡¯s exactly the problem.¡± Fillbrick said, ¡°You¡¯re never doing anything.¡± Shermie felt that deep-seated terror of a child who has just disappointed their parent. He whispered, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, did I forget something again?¡± ¡°Are you sassing me?¡± Fillbrick said, his voice beginning to raise. ¡°No sir.¡± Shermie said, looking down at his hands, still holding the fox, its mismatched eyes looked back at him. Shermie looked back to his father, who was staring appraisingly at the room. He did this every once and a while, as if he was checking for any defects, Shermie followed his gaze with a building sense of calamity. The bunkbeds where both made, the desk was empty except for a pencil tin with only pencils in it, the bookshelf was full and all the book spines pointed outward, all his clothes were in his drawers, the laundry basket was empty, the window was shut, his backpack sat next to his shoes, there was nothing on the floor except for Shermie, his fox and some less important creatures, Shermie took careful effort to not stare at the bed, where a loose floorboard hid a scrapbook and Polaroid camera he had won at the fair. Fillbrick ¡®hmphed¡¯ again and looked directly at Shermie, who shrank under his gaze, Fillbrick looked at the stuffed animals littering the rug, and Shermie¡¯s heart sank. ¡°A boy like you is too old to be playing with dolls.¡± He put out his hand, Shermie swallowed at the expected pronouncement and hesitated for only a second before handing Fillbrick the fox. ¡°Sorry pops.¡± Shermie whispered, he gathered up the rest of the stuffed animals and dropped them in the trashcan. ¡°Hmph.¡± Fillbrick said, he picked up the bin as he left, leaving the door open behind him. Shermie sat on the rug, tears pricked at his eyes, but he knew that crying would only make it worse. He took several deep breaths and clenched his jaw, then stood up and opened his backpack, he took out his spelling list and sat down at his desk. He stared at the paper until the words blurred. Hurry ¨C to rush H U R R Y Bill ¨C amount owed B I L L Because ¨C the reason for B E C A U S E Knot ¨C a lump or knob Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.K N O T Safe ¨C a place to hold valuables S A F E Leaf ¨C the green part of a tree L E A F Soon ¨C almost S O O N Organ ¨C body part O R G A N Trip ¨C to fall T R I P Ford ¨C cross a river F O R D He whispered them under his breath until they ceased to mean anything. --------------------------------------------------------- Bill shivered as his mind was pulled across the gap between universes, sensations and sounds that he hadn¡¯t heard in a thousand years suddenly assaulted his newly forming connection to his body. His soul was finally sucked into his chosen universe, it was ingenious really, he had picked a younger Sherman, to avoid having to pull him through a war, and one that hadn¡¯t started glitching yet, apparently due to some ¡°time shenanigans¡±. His plan was perfect, all he needed to do was get Sherman to Gravity Falls, then Bill would push him down the bottomless pit and make sure he stayed properly fed and watered while also blocking his exits so he looped permanently, until his fortieth birthday when Bill would retake his body and let the kid go for being so unproblematic, heck, maybe he¡¯d even drop some books with him. His soul settled into his new body, and Bill found that he did not have an eye, or musculature. Bill screamed but of course, he had no mouth. There, that was the trap. His body was useless, there was no way of getting Sherman to his fortieth birthday, the kid was probably about to drink bleach or something and The Axolotl would laugh at him and plop him back in the Theraprism for another thousand years. No. That was not going to happen to Bill Cipher. It didn¡¯t matter if the game was rigged, he was going to cheat anyway! He pushed his telekinesis outward, the sensation tingled around his physical form, four legs, one head, two external ears, one tail. He could work with this. He pushed upward, causing his new form to float and came up against a barrier almost immediately. He felt a surge of annoyance. He collected his mental energy and pushed upward against the obstruction. There was a moment of resistance before he shot upward, there was a moment of weightlessness before he began to fall. Bill tried to catch himself with telekinesis, but found that he could only slow his descent, his grasp on his form slipping. There was a thump followed by the feeling of pressure as he hit the ground, but no pain. How boring. He was suddenly greeted with exhaustion. Actual, physical exhaustion. Not some left over feeling from a meat puppet, but he actually felt tired. He needed to get his bearings. He stared ahead blindly. Now what? He tried to open his eye, or eyes or whatever this pathetic body had. Nothing. Ugh. Great. He searched internally for any lingering remnants of his powers. There was the fire in his gut, er, what he assumed was a ¡®gut¡¯ if the animalistic proportions of his body had anything to guess from. He felt a faint buzz in his skull-less head that he guessed was whatever remained of his infinite knowledge trying to find its way into the pathetic body he now inhabited. Then¡­ there was something else. A faint tug to his left, the vague sensation of danger passing in front of him, a soft promise of safety somewhere upwards. Somewhere, someone important was crying. There was a gentleness to this new ability that made Bill sure that it was from the Axolotl, that sap. Still, it was something that allowed him to sense his surroundings. He focused on the sensation, pulling it to the forefront of his mind. The world slowly came into focus around him. Bright glowing particles seemed to settle on everything, like he was seeing the dust particles instead of the physical objects. What was stranger is that everything seemed to have a¡­ rating of sorts. Red, green, yellow or white particles of various shades marked everything with¡­ danger? That pull toward the left was stronger, and he used his telekinesis to turn his head in its direction. The blue outline of a child cut through any objects in front of it, there were several walls between them, but he could still see him relatively easily. That must be Shermie. Wonderful. He looked around the small house. There was a bright red silhouette that caused everything near him light up in a dark maroon in what Bill assumed was a living room. That wasn¡¯t good, heck, how was this guy making a doily light up the same color as a knife? Even he¡¯d have to get creative with that one, it was almost admirable. In what must¡¯ve been the attic, there was a green feminine silhouette. She didn¡¯t seem to be making the objects around her become safe in the way the man, who he assumed was Fillbrick, made everything around him spike with danger. Although, Bill noticed that yellows turned a bit more cream around her. With an internal huff, he tried to lift himself again, but his telekinesis faltered and he was once more greeted with exhaustion. He narrowed his perspective and tried again, this time just focusing on lifting his legs. That was almost comically easier. He walked in an awkward almost drunk stagger toward the blue glow of Sherman. He wasn¡¯t used to walking with four legs, actually, he only walked when he had to, after the first century in the Theraprism he got anti-gravity privileges. He had only tripped over three obstacles that he accidentally looked through when a weightless feeling suddenly overcame him, as if he was falling again. The world around him blurred and spun, the loud whirl of the timestream filled his newly made ears, Already? Oh zu- then he was thrown back into real time. A forest had appeared around him, the trees practically glowed in a dark yellow, sometimes bordering on red, even the ground was a painfully bright yellow. In the distance he saw a bright red river, it almost looked like it was made of blood. As he looked around, his ears twitched at the sounds of animal life, he turned in place a few times, before he felt a strong pull in front of him, and caught the barest glimpse of blue. Bill tilted his head and began to trot after the feeling. It wasn¡¯t as if he could ignore it, he needed to get to him. Now. a powerful urgency overcame him, and he grumbled and forced himself to keep to an average pace. He walked for a few minutes before hearing the roar of the river in the distance, then, underneath it, the sound of crying. Bill groaned, and tuned his path toward the sound of tears. It only took a few more seconds for the boy to come into full view. He was sitting at the base of a tree, his knees against his chest, crying. His face was specked with yellow particles Bill guessed was dirt and white tears dripped from his eyes, and his hair poofed in the back. Once he saw Sherman, his sense of danger spiked. The branch above his head suddenly began to frantically flash between red and black. He found himself running toward the little blue silhouette, there was no way in heck he was going to lose this fast. Sherman looked toward him, completely unaware of the danger above him. He wiped his tears and squinted at him. Bill needed to get him to move. He paused his run and instead let himself drop into what he hoped looked like a playful position that he had seen dogs use. He¡­ might¡¯ve been a dog, the tail didn¡¯t feel right. He didn¡¯t think he was a cat. A dog would make sense, man¡¯s best friend or whatever. Sherman looked at him strangely. Bill internally screamed, then he tried to externally scream. He had a mouth, but it didn¡¯t seem to open. Or work. He didn¡¯t care. He pushed against his pathetic body, forcing it to change to his will, once more, a wave of exhaustion rushed over him. Then Bill let out a soft, beckoning yip. Shermie stood up and began to walk toward him. The branch fell, hitting the ground where he stood only a moment prior. Bill found himself beginning to fade, he lost his grip on his form. Literally everything around the kid wanted to kill him. It was almost impressive. Paper Pines The sound of distant thunder rippled through the valley; a faraway flash of lightning accompanied the smell of water on the air. He wouldn¡¯t make it. The trees seemed to grow up higher near him, their branches fanning out as if they could protect him from the dirge that was to come. His breath was coming in ragged gasps as he ran, he knew that he would get a cramp from breathing through his mouth, but his paper lungs demanded oxygen. He held his umbrella closed and tight fisted. The tent was too far away. Another flash, a boom followed it, the storm was getting closer. His legs began to burn from exhaustion, he could run faster than Dipper ever could, but it wasn¡¯t fast enough. A drop of water landed on the back of his neck, burrowing down into his skin. Gritting his teeth, he opened his umbrella. There was no point on running now, he scanned the darkening forest, trees reached up into the clouds, the ground was becoming spotted with dots of water. He noticed a crevasse in one of the trees, surrounded by blackish char, burnt out long ago by some forgotten forest fire. Rain tapped on his umbrella; wind pushed droplets onto his raincoat. He pulled the bright yellow hood over his head. The boy¡¯s hands where shaking, his muscles became stiff, another flash of lightning. He ran. The tree was maybe a hundred paces from where he was before, but the wind pulled angerly at his hood and umbrella, and the rain began to pour itself more heavily on the earth. He pushed himself into a sprint, the grass and pine needles crinkled under his feet. The tree loomed over him, the crevasse was more visible now, shadows seemed to pour into the crack in the pine tree, the black char absorbing any light that dared try to pierce the threshold. He placed his free hand on the tree, it looked too narrow to slip inside, but there was no time for that, rain drops flew into his face, and a glob of his skin slipped onto the floor. The boy climbed sideways into the crevasse; the hat he wore under the raincoat butted against the tree. he tore it off, and then tumbled backward into the inside of the tree trunk. It was a thin and tall gap, but wide enough for a child to huddle in a cold heap at the bottom. He wedged his umbrella in the gap. The storm complained noisily outside. He rested his head against the rough wood, the places where the rain had hit him had just begun to sting. His legs stretched out so his knees bumped against the other side of the trunk, his hands trailed lightly along the dirt. It was almost comfortable, almost. After a few minutes he shifted, and his elbow rubbed up against something. He jerked back in the surprise of finding something not made of tree, then he reached over again, and pulled the heavy book onto his lap. The boy suppose that it was made of tree, just not this tree. There was this muted feeling of excitement, dulled by the stinging of water wounds and the roaring storm outside, Dipper had found a book in the woods. Now he had as well. He reached into the pocket of his raincoat, wincing as his hand grazed the droplets that still clung to the yellow plastic. He pulled out a thick glowstick, and for a moment struggled to crack it, then it snapped and a dull green light filled the tree trunk. He shook it and it grew brighter. He held the glowstick up to the cover, and grew very very still. Illuminated in the sickly green light was the face of Bill Cipher. The triangle¡¯s single eye stared at him, and the boy knew that somehow, Bill could see him. The title read, The Book of Bill. This book had been placed in the tree, either to hide it, or so that he would find it, and he wasn¡¯t sure which was worse. He shouldn¡¯t open it. He should leave it here, and forget he ever saw it. But¡­ But¡­ The storm was still raging, it¡¯d be hours until it¡¯d be dry enough to make it back to the tent, and what harm could it do to take a little peak? The book opened, or he opened it, or both, the pages where black, two white words sat in the center of the page. The boy slammed the book shut. Heya Quattro It knew his name, he should toss the book away, but he didn¡¯t, there was a morbid and terrifying curiosity. He held up his glowstick and opened the book again. The first page was the same, so he turned to the next. Hey hey hey! don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not going to do anything! I just want someone to talk to. Nice to finally meet you by the way, I have an idea, See, let¡¯s make a deal, you read this book, and I¡¯ll tell you everything you want to know, and hey, I¡¯ll tell you want I want in return a little later, it¡¯s not important right now. What harm could reading a book do? Quattro thought. He closed his eyes for a moment and listen to the rain outside. Then he turned back to the book, and turned another page. The sound of the rain outside slowly grew less, and the air grew crisp with that after-rain clearness that is the most evident to those who have lived in a city their entire life, and only now realizing that they had been breathing poison. Quattro did not notice the rain stopping, he wouldn¡¯t be able to leave for several hours yet anyway, and Bill was not going to let him go until he was certain that he would take the book with him. As Quattro balanced the huge book on his lap, and he squinted at the words in the dim light of the glowstick in the hollow tree, he hung onto every word. So, turns out that those time travel dorks are total losers, I mean, of course you know that Q, but you¡¯d think for a hyper advanced dystopian society they¡¯d be a less of a wet blanket, come on! Time Baby is too attached to the concept of ¡°time¡± anyway, please, where¡¯s the fun in linearity anyway- I¡¯d rather have tomorrow be yesterday and forever be now- its a never-ending melting pot of excitement! Too bad that that Sixer and his idiot brother couldn¡¯t see that, but I know that you two are smarter than that. It¡¯s just math, a genius plus a delinquent verses two smart guys- ¡­ stop reading, you need to go now. Quattro looked up, he pushed his back against the tree, suddenly feeling like he was not alone. He shut the book and tucked it under his arm, he now became aware of the lack of rain, he searched the ground until his fingers brushed up against the brim of his hat, he pulled it on and lifted the hood of his rain coat over his head. He heard someone calling his name, he furrowed his brow, there was no way that he would be that stupid. The boy wrenched the yellow umbrella free, and dim sunlight streamed into the hollow trunk, he held it over his head and stepped out into the forest. The woods where damp, muddy puddles collected in every possible crevasse, although the rain had stopped, the trees still dripped noisy drops onto his umbrella, the wind had calmed down to a mild breeze, a woodpecker poked it¡¯s head out of its hole and took flight. ¡°Tracey?¡± Quattro called experimentally, ¡°Quattro!¡± came the instant reply. Quattro turned toward the sound of the voice, and a moment later a boy his exact height and build appeared from the forest, they were a ways away still, but the matching yellow raincoats made it easy for them to discern the others position. They walked toward each other until they made, they stood face to face. Quattro gave Tracey a quick once over, his yellow boots were covered in mud, his umbrella was still dripping and he had a general appearance of droopiness that implied he had been outside during the rain. Strangely his banjo had been tied to his back. ¡°What are you doing here? Do you have a death wish! I don¡¯t even need to look up to tell that the storm isn¡¯t over- even if it was its-¡° Quattro¡¯s rant was interrupted by the identical boy pulling/tackling him into a hug. The banjo tied to Tracey¡¯s back swung wildly in the sudden movement. Their umbrellas crashed into each other. The condensation on their matching coats flew wildly in all directions. Then, almost as suddenly as he had been hugged, Quattro was shoved backward, although, he noticed, without much force.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°You jerk I thought you were dead!¡± Tracey shouted, pulling his plastic hood over his ears. They couldn¡¯t cry, but Quattro could tell that Tracey would¡¯ve been close to it. Quattro adjusted the book of bill under his arm, and grabbed Tracey¡¯s hand with his free one. Once you got used to it, he thought, it was surprisingly easy to guess what someone exactly like you was thinking, although, they weren¡¯t quite as alike as they used to be. He remembered how much miscommunication had been a problem for Dipper, and sometimes was still surprised at how easy talking to Tracey was. ¡°Why did you come looking for me?¡± Quattro asked calmly, defusing his anger. Tracey took a breath, doing the same. ¡°Mudslide.¡± Quattro tightened his grip around Tracey¡¯s hand, ¡°How bad?¡± ¡°All of it.¡± Tracey said, ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Well.¡± Quattro looked at Tracey with a forced smile, ¡°At least we didn¡¯t lose¡­ everyone.¡± Tracey returned it. A cloud passed over the sun, causing both to glance upward at the shadowy sky, still heavy with rain. They glanced at each other and seemed to agree that there was time for sentiment later. ¡°Its too far from the town, the museum would be closed today anyway.¡± Tracey said, ¡°Gnomes?¡± Quattro asked, ¡°No.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right, their probably still mad about last time.¡± ¡°Theres¡­¡°Quattro began, before stopping. ¡°It isn¡¯t safe.¡± Tracey said, guessing his thoughts, ¡°We aren¡¯t safe here either.¡± Quattro protested quietly, ¡°The hollow I hid in isn¡¯t big enough for both of us.¡± ¡°We can¡¯t go back there.¡± Tracey said, ¡°I don¡¯t know if we have a choice Tres.¡± The wind rippled through the forest, as if to extenuate his point, bringing with it the undeniable scent of water. The sky was only growing darker again, the rain could fall in hours or minutes, there was no way to tell. They were both in the open, fully vulnerable to anything they couldn¡¯t block with their umbrellas and raincoats. Quattro had a sudden image flash to his mind, almost, too clear to be just a thought, like it was something being placed in his subconscious. Tracey and him where huddling in the tree hollow too small for them, they couldn¡¯t block it off properly, the wind was blowing it into the hollow, turning the ground to slippery mud that began to melt their ankles, Tracey fell backward into the mud, Quattro tried to pull him forward, but there was nothing to grab onto but a raincoat dripping with white mush. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and once more adjusted the book, resting the umbrella against his shoulder. ¡°We could get on a bus.¡± Tracey said ¡°That¡¯s a terrible idea for multiple reasons.¡± Quattro said, ¡°I know, I know, we don¡¯t have time!¡± Tracey said, his voice rising slightly as he kicked at the ground, his boot imprinting on the damp earth. ¡°We don¡¯t need to go inside, we could hide under the porch, or the gift shop, at least for a while, no one would recognize us if we keep our hoods on, besides, it¡¯s under new management, and its spring?¡± Quattro said, ¡°It is.¡± Tracey said, resigned, he slumped slightly. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Quattro nodded and they both looked around the forest for a moment to get their bearings, then they headed off toward the road that ran through the forest. Toward the Mystery Shack. The damp air smelt of pine. Eventually the trees separated and showed an open paved road, still glistening. Tracey grabbed Quattro¡¯s hand and, without either consulting the other, they both broke into a run. The road was slick with rain, and it ran off it in little puddles. They knew the route to the Shack, not that they had been back there since their birthday. It was one of those memories they only had from before they existed. Tracey and Quattro simultaneously noticed that the it seemed to take less time to make it to the Shack than they remembered, and they were almost surprised when they arrived in the clearing so quickly. The Mystery Shack looked almost as dilapidated as it had before, the cabin was three stories tall, with a highly peaked wooden roof, a sign had been built out of it, reading the name of the attraction, the ¡°S¡± in Shack still sat laying propped up against the sign, the back porch still had a musty old yellow couch, and the screen door still had a hole in the metal screen from where Soos had cut it when Mabel¡¯s braces had gotten stuck. The smell of formaldehyde still reeked out of the building, it was something that they remembered getting used to, after the first day or so, but now, after they had been away for so long, it was strongly evident. Water dripped from the awning over the porch, and puddles filled the uneven ground of the bright green clearing that the building had been made in, the trees loomed over the Shack, as if in protection. They both hesitated, as if on cue, but the smell of water on the air, and the ever-present sound of dripping caused Quattro to tug Tracey¡¯s hand and pull him forward, keeping the book under his other arm, they approached the front door, Quattro pushed it open and they slipped inside. there weren¡¯t a lot of tourists, probably because of the rainstorm during the off season. One or two people still lingered about, huddling from the rain, caught in the middle of a road trip, or camping and seeking shelter. The boys didn¡¯t look out of place at all in their heavy rain coats. They hovered next to one of the adults, without saying anything, as if that was their parent. The giftshop also hadn¡¯t changed much, it was full of display shelves filled with cheaply made but expensively priced nicknacks, snow globes and hats, ones completely identical to Dipper¡¯s, and almost identical to theirs, tall bookshelves held more fragile, or even decorative items, jars of eye balls, human hands, and other pretend oddities. Magazines shared space with a poorly made comic, that seemed surprisingly popular, the cash register was cluttered with decorative junk, more jars of eyes, an¡­ actual cash register, bumper stickers, the like. The floor creaked under muddy footprints. Melody was at the cash register, and she was unlikely to recognize them, well, less likely. She was naturally heavy set, although not overweight. Her mustard-colored hair was tied tightly back, and she wore a green drippy question mark shirt, the logo of the Mystery Shack. Quattro was surprised at how familiar the Shack felt, almost like coming home, in a way he supposed it was, he had been born here after all, just upstairs. The smell of cheap glue and chemicals was relaxing almost, Tracey seemed to be having the opposite reaction. The boy gripped Quattro¡¯s hand and led him into the show room, there wasn¡¯t a tour going on currently, and they both momentarily wondered why before concluding that Soos must have changed the tour times, or that it was because it was such a slow day. The show room wasn¡¯t large, but the stage was big enough for one or two people to stand on, attractions lined the walls, but the faded red curtains above the stage were shut. The wooden floorboards creaked under the boys¡¯ steps, the floor here was mostly unmarked by footprints, so the only muddy imprints were their own. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Quattro asked, Tracey pursed his lips. ¡°I can manage.¡± ¡°¡­not what I asked.¡± Quattro prodded gently. ¡°No.¡± Tracey said, slowly almost, his voice was slightly distant, and Quattro knew that he was remembering their birthday. ¡°Okay.¡± Quattro said, The pair sat on the edge of the stage, the rain began to pour again, gently this time, plinking softly against the broken shingles of the Mystery Shack, three stories above them. Quattro pushed back his hood and scanned the ceiling for leaks, there wouldn¡¯t be any, not with that many floors above them, but he still looked. Tracey took his banjo off his back and began to fiddle with the strings, it hadn¡¯t gotten wet, somehow, but the rain had messed with the tension. Quattro set Bill¡¯s book on his lap, and barely had enough time to notice that the cover had changed from a yellow triangle, to two yellow pine trees. He ran a hand across it, unable to find himself surprised. The trees were simple, and they matched the emblems on the hats sold in the giftshop, they dipped into the thick, black leather cover, and they seemed to be made out of yellow glass, but, they weren¡¯t the right texture for glass, almost feeling soft. He ran his hand along the edge of the book, and was about to open it again, when the wooden floors creaked, and the faint scent of burning hair wafted into the room. Tracey gasped slightly and tried to hide his face in the banjo, Quattro didn¡¯t have a chance, his hood was down, he gripped the book, and forced a smile onto his face. ¡°Dipper?¡± The man asked. At first glance, Quattro thought it was Stan. The man was almost Stan, but¡­ not. He stood straighter, his glasses were different, his hair was less grey and it poofed up more, with sideburns running down the sides of his face. He wore a red turtle neck, with black pants and a beige trench coat. He was also thinner than Stan. Quattro¡¯s second guess was that this man was like Tracey and him, but he lacked the desaturated paleness that the boys had, someone wouldn¡¯t be able to notice unless they knew Dipper, and, as if to prove that the man was built of flesh and blood, he was carrying an open beaker of some green liquid, something that Quattro and Tracey would never risk. As Quattro realized that the man was not Stan, the man seemed to realize that Quattro was not Dipper. He could almost feel the man¡¯s black eyes noticing the four on his hat, instead of a pine tree, the lean muscle that Quattro had gained from living in the woods for almost his entire life, the way his eyes were, almost a deep grey instead of a brown. Other than the raincoat, he was wearing the same clothes he had been born in, they had grown with him, but Dipper had to have grown out his set by now. Tracey gripped his banjo and slid off the stage, Quattro followed his example, tucking The Book back under his arm. Tracey took a small, protective step in front of Quattro, which caused Quattro to furrow his brow slightly. ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid, I¡¯m not going to hurt you.¡± The man said, setting the beaker on the floor and stepping away. ¡°You two¡­ you are the clones, are you not?¡±