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ckret2 · 1 year ago

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Chapter 28 of human Bill is determined to wiggle out of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner, featuring:

Bill eagerly accepts an invitation to Gravity Falls' LGBTQ club. He is not allowed to go unsupervised. Stan (whose masculinity isn't secure enough for this), Ford (who's still hanging out in the closet), and Soos (who's engaged) aren't quite sure what to do. Luckily, Wendy's been looking for an excuse to go.

####

Melody rushed up to the cash register and said breathlessly, "Hey Wendy—I know it's almost your break, but could you stay on register just a little longer? Two of the baby dragons escaped and Soos and I have to find them before the next tour."

Wendy looked at the customers milling about the gift shop. They'd all just gotten out of a tour and were looking over the available souvenirs, which meant in just a few minutes they'd all be lining up to check out. "Ooh, I dunno. I'm pretty hungry..."

"Please, Wendy? You can take an extended lunch!"

Was that worth handling one extra post-tour rush? "Wiiith p—?"

"With pay, you extortionist." There was no real resentment in Melody's voice. She'd worked register duty. She understood.

"Okay, deal."

"Wendy you're a lifesaver." Melody hurried to the curtains to the Mystery Shack museum.

"Hey," Wendy called, "which ones escaped?"

"Orochi and Ryuu."

"Aww, not Oro. That sweet guy will get eaten alive in the real world."

"Right?" Melody turned on her phone flashlight and returned to the hunt.

A deeply tanned tourist with sun-damaged wrinkles approached the cash register. She wasn't holding any souvenirs. Wendy said, "Hey, how can I help you?"

She looked straight in Wendy's eyes and said, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

Wendy stared at her. Why did this place attract the weirdest customers. "What?"

Very clearly, the tourist repeated, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

"Um. If that's some kind of reference, I don't get it."

The tourist let out that sharp little nose-sigh soccer moms made when Wendy did things like refuse to take a coupon meant for a rival tourist trap, shook her head in disappointment, and left.

Wendy got the feeling she was going to regret staying on register.

Sure enough, within five minutes, the line started forming—and on top of that, Wendy discovered, the cash register drawer had jammed shut, preventing her from making change for the customers paying in cash. She was in the middle of explaining to the fourth increasingly irate child-toting customer that he either had to pay by card or in exact change, when two more customers came in the door and made a beeline for the register.

"Wendy Corduroy?"

"Hey," Wendy said tersely, stuffing a customer's t-shirts in a bag. "There's a line."

"We're not shopping, Miss Corduroy."

Wendy turned to face Sheriff Blubs, with Deputy Durland standing close behind him. The scratch cards. Her fake ID. She was going to jail. Dad was gonna find out about her tattoo. "Oh."

Durland said, "Could we ask you some questions?"

"Uhh..." She looked at the cops, and then at the growing line of customers. "Can I... grab someone to cover?"

####

Bill had been sitting at the kitchen table looking at the doorway, waiting for Wendy to appear for several minutes, when he heard her muttering, "Shoot, shoot, shoot..." from the living room. Here she came.

"Hey, Cool Girl. What's the hurry?"

"Goldie!" Wendy turned toward the kitchen. "Have you seen Dipper or Mabel? The cops wanna talk to me—"

Bill's eyebrows shot up.

"—and the register is insane and I need someone to cover—"

"They're both out today," Bill said. Mabel was over at Pacifica's alpaca ranch to help out for the day—but Bill had the sinking suspicion she'd asked to go help so she could avoid him. No clue where the other one had gone. "Sorry!"

Wendy groaned. Then looked at Bill. "Hey. Have you ever manned a cash register before?"

"Yes," Bill lied.

####

"Thank you so much," Wendy said, holding open the "Employees Only" door for someone Blubs and Durland didn't recognize: a woman with no makeup, no bra, and unshaven legs, wearing an eyepatch, a hideous Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and yellow foam clogs. Durland looked her up and down, elbowed Blubs, and muttered, "Hey Daryl. D'you think...?"

"Mm." He shrugged noncommittally.

The stranger took Wendy's place behind the register with an eager grin and called out, "Okay, let's keep the line moving!"

Wendy approached Blubs and Durland. "Thanks for that," she said. "So... what can I help you with?"

"Just a few questions about your weekend," Blubs said. "Where were you last Sunday?"

Wendy blinked in surprise. "On... Sunday?" She paused a moment, lips pursed as she thought back to the weekend. "I visited Shop Thrifty with some friends."

Blubs nodded, like this confirmed what he already knew. "And what were you doing there?"

"Shopping? I got some gift money I wanted to spend on cheap junk."

"What'd you get?"

Wendy furrowed her brows, but said, "Uh... some terrible horror movies, a doll that looks like a cross between a turtle and a teddy bear, and a clock made out of a hubcap?"

"So you didn't go near the men's clothing section?"

Wendy squinted. "Nooo?"

Blubs scribbled that down in his notepad. "About what time did you leave the store?"

"I dunno, probably like three or four?"

"Did you go back to the store later?"

"No? I went home and was there all night, you can ask my family," Wendy said. "What happened at Shop Thrifty?"

"A-ha!" Durland pointed over Blubs's shoulder. "How did you know something happened at Shop Thrifty?"

"Because you're cops and you're asking questions about it."

"Oh."

Blubs patted Durland's shoulder. "Keep trying, darlin'. You're becoming a better detective by the day." Durland beamed.

To Wendy, Blubs said, "But as it happens, we're investigating a burglary." He flipped through the pages of his notepad. "I don't suppose you saw any suspicious figures while you were shopping, did you? Perhaps hanging around... the men's section?" He pulled out a crime scene photo to show Wendy.

Wendy had to stare at the photo a moment to make sense of the empty clothing rack; and then she cracked up. "Did somebody steal every pair of pants in the store?"

"Every pair of men's jeans."

"Oh, man. No, I didn't see any pants burglars hanging around—"

Durland said, "We're calling the thief the Bootcut Bootlegger."

Wendy snorted. "But uh... I guess I'll call you if I see anyone lurking in a dark alley selling jeans?"

"We'd appreciate it," Blubs said. "And, could you tell us the names of the friends you went with. So we can ask them if they saw anything too."

Wendy, who was no snitch, said, "No."

Durland shook his head sadly. "Kids these days. They don't know anything about their own friends. Not even their names."

"Nope," Wendy said. "Is that all you needed, officers?"

"I got one more question," Durland said. He leaned a bit closer to Wendy and pointed at the stranger manning the cash register. "Who's that new gal? I didn't know the shack hired somebody."

"Oh, Goldie? We didn't exactly hire anyone, he's just staying at the shack a while—"

"Ha! 'He'! I knew it!" Durland smacked Blubs's shoulder. "I told ya! Didn't I tell ya?"

"Heh. You sure did."

Durland cupped his hands around his mouth. "Whooee, you at the register!"

"Sorry, I can't make exact change, so I'll do you a favor: just round it to—" Goldie blinked and turned toward the heckling cop. "Yello?"

"You're queerer'n a three-dollar bill, aren't you?" Durland called. Wendy cringed and quickly pulled out her phone to shield herself from the scene of public humiliation.

Totally unperturbed, Goldie replied, "I'm probably the queerest bill you've ever met! Why?"

Soos wearily trudged through the curtains from the Mystery Shack's museum. "Hey, Wendy. We found Ryuu, but we still can't find..." His gaze fell on Goldie and his voice died. "Wendy? What's he doing—"

Durland walked past the line of customers to lean on the counter in front of Goldie. "Hey, how long are you in town? You oughta come to a Rainbow Club meeting!"

"It's the local LGBTQ support and social group," Blubs explained. "We meet weekly at Town Hall. We're actually meeting this evening at seven!"

"We haven't had any new members in ages," Durland said. "Please say you'll come. We're so bored!"

The more they spoke, the more a grin spread across Goldie's face. "Gentlemen, you had me at 'rainbow.' I'd be thrilled to come! My schedule's free! I've been spending all my evenings cooped up in the shack because I don't know anybody in town." He slowly turned his grin toward Soos, who was watching in slack-jawed horror. "But hey, it's not like I'm locked up in here—right, officers?"

####

When the last customers trickled out and Wendy returned to the cash register, Goldie flashed her a quick smile. "Hey, Cool Girl." He nodded toward the Museum. "I saw Questiony tug you aside, are you in trouble?"

"Nah, not really. I guess he's just bothered I grabbed a non-employee to sub instead of getting him or Melody."

"I won't call the labor board if he doesn't." Goldie handed a wad of bills to Wendy. "Here."

"Thanks." Wendy looked around for somewhere to stow it until they could get the cash register drawer unstuck. "Hey, how'd you handle the customers paying in cash?"

"Told 'em I'd give them a discount for the inconvenience: if they were willing to round up to the nearest dollar from the sticker price, we'd eat the rest of the sales tax so they didn't have to fish for loose change. Everyone was thrilled."

Wendy processed that. "Oregon doesn't have a sales tax."

"Sure, but how many out-of-state tourists in a hurry remember that?"

"Ha! You went to work for the wrong twin, Stan would've loved having you in the shack."

"The Pines just don't appreciate what I bring to the table," Goldie lamented, swooping around the counter. He walked up to the "Employees Only" door, stopped, surveyed it like he wasn't quite sure what to do with it, and then very casually made a right turn into the curtained entryway to the museum.

A minute later, Soos escorted him back, an arm around his shoulder. "Museum's closed, dude," he said sternly. "We're looking for an escaped baby dragon."

"'Baby dragon'?" Goldie echoed. "You mean a lizard with fake wings glued on its back?"

"I mean—we're not telling the tourists that, but yeah."

He pointed toward the cash register. "Like the one stuck in the cash drawer?"

There was a pause. Wendy dropped to her knees to peer at the crack at the top of the drawer. "Oro! Can you hear me, boy? Are you in there?" She heard something rustle. "Holy—Soos!"

Soos shoved Goldie into the living room and hurried over to help.

####

"Less than five minutes," Ford muttered. "He's unsupervised in a public space for less than five minutes, and he makes contact with local law enforcement and sets up a social engagement. This is why he's not allowed out of—" He pushed up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, grumbling.

Ford, Stan, and Soos were seated around the living room table, discussing how to handle the situation. With the sheriff and deputy expecting Bill, they couldn't not let him go, lest the cops come by again to ask what had happened—and the odds that they'd be satisfied by an answer from anyone but "Goldie" were slim.

"This is what he's been waiting for," Ford went on. "He's been biding his time for an opportunity exactly like this."

Soos said, "I'm sorry, Dr. Pines. It happened so fast! I wanted to go all, 'No, you can't go,' but then the cops would have gone, 'Why not?' and I didn't know how to not say he's our prisoner—"

"It's not your fault, Soos," Ford sighed. "It's not even Wendy's. She doesn't know how risky it is just to let him talk to the public."

"So, what do we do now?" Stan asked.

Soos said, "Maybe make him an 'I bite tourists' shirt?"

Ford said, "I suppose... we let him go. And one of us will have to supervise him."

Stan asked, "At the gay club?"

"At the gay club."

Stan, Ford, and Soos—two of whom had grown up in a time when "gay" was one of the worst things a person could be accused of being, and one of whom came from a very Catholic family—eyed each other uncomfortably.

From the doorway, Bill called, "Can I choose? I'm trying to decide who'd be funniest."

Without looking at him, Ford snapped, "Go away, Bill."

"Fine. I'll be upstairs." They listened for Bill's footsteps to recede up the stairs.

Stan spoke first. "Not it. No way. Absolutely not. What would the ladies think!"

Wryly, Ford said, "I doubt any ladies you might meet there would have been interested anyway."

"Well, what would the guys think! What if someone flirts with me, would I have to flirt back to maintain my cover? I'm not that good an actor. It's not gonna be me." He crossed his arms in finality, then looked at Ford expectantly.

Ford hesitated, then shook his head. "Not me." Stan cocked a brow, but when Ford didn't say anything else, he just glanced at Soos.

"Uhh." Soos tapped his fingers together. "I guess I might be kinda sorta willing? I mean, I wouldn't really mind? But, the thing is, I'm engaged, to a woman, and like, Melody would understand if I explain it's just to keep an eye on Bill. But what if people think me 'coming out' right before the wedding is because I'm cheating or—or dissatisfied or something?" His eyes lit up. "Hey, maybe Melody could come too! We could pretend to be bi. It could be like a date! Would that be weird? Two straight people at the queer club on a date pretending to be bi? It—it feels weird." His eyes un-lit up. "I think that's probably weird. It seems disrespectful. Yeah, no, maybe I shouldn't do that—?"

"Are you guys talking about Rainbow Club?"

The trio started and glanced toward the door to the gift shop, where Wendy was leaning in.

Soos said, "Yeeeah, haha, it's kinda awkward, but, Goldie wants to go, but he can't go by himself... so somebody's gotta take him... it's this whole thing..."

"Oh? How come? It's not that far a walk if you cut past the old church."

"Uhh..." Soos looked at Stan and Ford for help.

After enjoying exactly three seconds of awkward silence, Bill called from the doorway, "I'm under a curse that makes it impossible to open doors!"

"Wow dude, sucks for you!"

"Haha, I know right!"

Ford stood, slammed a hand on the table, and pointed at the doorway. "OUT!"

Bill raised his hands, rolled his eye, and left.

"So, hey," Wendy said. "Rainbow Club's for 16-year-olds and up, and I've... kinda been trying to work up the nerve to go for a while, actually. Just to, you know, explore... options?" She shrugged, grimacing self-consciously. "Maybe this is my excuse. So, if you need someone to open doors for Goldie, I could go?"

Stan, Ford, and Soos looked at Wendy with the blank surprise of two men raised in the sixties and one man raised Catholic who sometimes forgot that the categories of "queer people" and "people they knew" might overlap. Then Ford said, "You're not walking there with him."

"I can drive you," Soos said. "I'll just wait outside in the pickup. It's cool, I've got a lot of comics to catch up on."

"I don't know if it's safe letting him walk openly from the truck into Town Hall," Stan said. "Wendy, how do you feel about being handcuffed to him?"

Wendy stared at him. "What."

"That's not necessary," Ford said. "We can use the chain bracelets."

Wendy stared at him. "The what."

"Listen. Kid." Stan stood and put a hand on Wendy's shoulder. "I know we gave you the abridged version of Goldie's history, but lemme make this clear: this freak's on house arrest, and if you're going out with him, you're his ankle bracelet. Do not let him out of your sight. Don't even leave him alone in the restroom if there's a window big enough for him to squeeze through."

"I think his curse covers windows," Soos pointed out. Ford nodded.

"I don't wanna risk it."

"It's okay," Wendy said. "Treat him like a dangerous criminal. Got it. I've got crazy lumberjack ninja training, I can handle him."

Stan eyed her appraisingly, then nodded. "You're all right, kid." He clapped her shoulder and let go. "And if you're into girls, that's fine by me."

"Um," Wendy said. "Thanks? I'm actually not sure if... Thanks, Stan."

"All right. We've got a plan." He waved off Soos and Wendy. "Go have fun with the gays."

####

Wendy sat in the back seat of Soos's truck, staring at her phone, trying to figure out what excuse to give her dad for staying out late. She didn't think he'd mind her going to Rainbow Club—but it wasn't a conversation she was ready to have. Finally, she texted him that she was hanging out tonight with the Mystery Shack crew—which wasn't technically totally wrong—and put her phone away.

Goldie stared out the shotgun seat window as they drove past the sombrero-shaped Los Hermanos Brothers restaurant. "Hey. Can we get nachos?"

"You'll be late to your meeting, dude."

"Can we get nachos after the meeting?"

Wendy piped up, "I'd be cool with a taco run." Easier to tell her dad she'd been having dinner at the shack.

Soos considered that. "I don't see why not." He shrugged. "Gotta get them to-go, though."

"Yeah, fine," Goldie said, a tad irritably. He slouched down, kicking his feet up on the dashboard and crossing his ankles. "I'm not plotting anything nefarious in the restaurant, I just want nachos."

"Then sure, that's cool," Soos said. "Hey. Isn't it kinda... weird for you to eat nachos?"

Goldie turned to face Soos. "Weird how?"

"I mean. You know. Considering you're..."

"Considering I'm what?" Goldie grinned. "What about me would make it weird for me to eat triangular corn chips covered in yellow cheese? C'mon, Questiony. I wanna understand."

Soos glanced toward Wendy in the back seat, and then away. "Never mind," he mumbled. Goldie laughed.

Wendy wondered what on earth Goldie could possibly be that would make it weird for him to get nachos. After a moment of deliberation, she concluded the answer was probably "lactose intolerant." She cleared her throat. "Hey, thanks for giving us a ride, Soos." Even if it probably would've been faster to walk.

"Oh yeah, no problem dude," Soos said. "Hey—aren't you sixteen now? Are you gonna get your own car sometime soon? I don't mind giving you a ride. I'm just curious. Making conversation."

Wendy groaned. "No. I haven't got my license yet, and I don't want to. As soon as I can drive, I'll be useful. Dad's gonna ask me to drive the boys around, and I'll be the friend that gives everyone else rides, right? And being a taxi sounds like crap." She paused, remembering where she was sitting. "No offense, Soos."

"None taken."

"But it's starting to stress me out. My dad keeps asking when I wanna start driver's ed. And I've started having stress nightmares about needing a car in an emergency and not having one? And then Gideon's dad swoops into the dream to offer a Reasonably-Priced Discount Used Car?"

Soos laughed. "Oh man, like all those commercials he's been running on the local stations? 'There's no need to barter—'"

Goldie and Wendy both completed the line, "'—you can drive for a quarter.'"

Wendy groaned louder. "All those annoying Gleeful Auto jingles are seeping into my dreams. How does that even make sense! I don't understand the economy, how do you sell a car for a twenty-five cent down payment and make a profit off of it? What if the customer just doesn't pay the rest?"

Thoughtfully, Soos said, "I think it has to do with interest."

"Well, I'm not interested. Especially when I'm asleep."

"I think Mabel's got a pile of books on controlling your dreams right now," Goldie said. "You could ask her about them."

"Do any of those books teach you how to install dream ad block?"

Goldie laughed. "It can't hurt to check!"

####

"Easy, there," Stan said, watching from his armchair with a can of cider as Ford paced in the entryway, back and forth past the living room. "You're gonna wear a hole in the floorboards."

Ford did not stop pacing. "I should have gone with them," he said. "What does it matter that I didn't want to. Somebody who understands what Bill really is should be in that meeting with him."

"Come on. As long as he doesn't get an opportunity to escape, how much trouble can he really get in? What do you think he's gonna do, kill the sheriff with a folding chair?"

"I'm more worried about his opportunities to network. I don't want him making friends on the outside. That's more people he can manipulate."

"Okay, sure. But how could you stop it if you were there? What would you do, scold him every time he acts nice to somebody?"

A sigh. "I suppose you're right. I just... don't like not knowing what he's doing there."

Stan took a sip from his cider; swirled it a moment; and then cleared his throat. "Hey, Ford, uhh. You know what? Crazy thing, but—I was surprised you didn't volunteer to go to the gay thing? I mean..." He unnecessarily cleared his throat again. "Ever since high school, I always kinda thought you... I mean, I assumed... not in a bad way, mind, but I just sort of figured... Well, I must've assumed wrong. So. Sorry, I guess."

Ford had stopped pacing to look at Stan. He waited for him to finish stumbling through ellipses; and then, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, he said to his feet, "You didn't assume wrong."

Stan waited. "Uh-huh?" he said encouragingly.

Ford shuffled into the living room and took the chair next to Stan. "Truthfully... I can't tell you exactly what I am. When I should have been figuring that out, I was busy writing dissertations and hiding in the woods. Exploring scientific oddities instead of—well—exploring myself. And then thirty years away from Earth, and now that I've only been back among humans for a year... well—I've never figured myself out." He shrugged ruefully. "I can tell you more about eye-bats and gnomes than I could about my own... inclinations. But whatever I am, it's not heterosexual, I know that."

"Huh." Stan nodded slowly, trying to wrap his head around the idea that you could just not know. He could maybe imagine a girl not knowing—the inner workings of a woman's body were still pretty mysterious to him—but in his experience most guys had a compass between their legs that was magnetically attracted to point toward what they desired, whether they wanted it to or not. What was going on with Ford?

Looking firmly at the wall, Ford added, "For one thing, I think there's been too many aliens for me to be straight."

Stan snorted. "Aliens."

"Aliens."

"Well okay, Captain Cork—"

"Stanley, please." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Leave it to my brother to even find a way to be queer in a weird way." Stan grinned crookedly. "You know—when we were getting close to graduating, whenever we talked about treasure hunting and getting babes, somewhere in the back of my head, I was making peace with the fact that maybe you'd find a sailor instead. I was fine with it! I just wasn't expecting you to go for the kraken."

"Stan!" Ford laughed in surprise.

"What! Not your type? What does it for you, Dracula? The wolf man? Mothgar?

"I am not telling you what does it for me."

"Okay, okay, fine." Stan probably didn't wanna know, anyway. Aliens. Yeesh. But who was he to judge, he'd gone on a date with a spider lady. "Is that why you don't wanna go to that club meeting? You don't want to talk about the aliens?"

"Not exactly," Ford said. "Attending a support group for queer people would mean opening up about a private, unexplored... scary part of my own identity. With Bill in the room. Maybe I should go to some of those meetings—but not when he's there." His smile from a moment earlier was gone; his mouth was set in a grim line. "When I thought he was my friend, I—offered him far too much vulnerability that I shouldn't have. I'm not letting him have any more."

And a couple minutes ago, Ford had been beating himself up for not putting himself in that position just to keep an eye on Bill. Stan said, "And he's not gonna get more vulnerability outta you. You don't have to tell that freak anything." Rummaging through his brain for the most supportive brotherly words he could find, Stan added, "But—I'm glad you told me."

Ford nodded. "So am I."

####

When Wendy and Goldie walked into Town Hall's main assembly room, Blubs and Durland were standing at the front chatting. Durland immediately waved. "Hey! You made it! You too, Wendy?"

She shrugged. "Yeah, thought I'd check it out."

"The more, the merrier," Blubs said. He gestured for them to follow him to a door at the front of the room, to the left of the podium. "A larger group uses the meeting room, so we meet in the mayor's office."

The door to the mayor's office was clearly marked by the folding table with snacks across the hallway and a stand next to the door holding multiple flags—American, Oregonian, rainbow, trans, and "Take Back the Falls" battle flag. Wendy paused to puzzle over the eleven varieties of bread on the snack table; when she glanced at Goldie, he'd gingerly plucked up the battle flag by a corner to inspect it. There was supposed to be a ban on acknowledging Weirdmageddon, but Wendy supposed the mayor could get away with showing a little pride in his citizens' resistance movement. "Were you still in the shack during... all that?"

"Hm?"

"The big fight." Wendy lowered her voice, just in case the sheriff felt like enforcing the ban. "That's the flag we flew when we kicked the crap out of Bill's stupid pyramid butt."

"Oh. No. I was locked out of the shack," he said flatly. "Must have missed that." He let the flag drop. "I only remember the part where he kicked the shack halfway across the valley with its own leg."

Tyler Cutebiker waved from inside the office. "Wendy, hi! And a new person! Come in, come in! You're just in time. How's your dad?"

Wendy had been expecting that. "He's good, he's good. Y'know, busy."

"Uh-huh?"

"He's been swamped with work since he got the contract for the deathball arena. He's broken like eight axes, so, I think he's really happy."

"Oh, great!" Tyler beamed. "When we were deciding who to give the contract to supply lumber for the new facility, I thought, 'I know just the man to get it!' I'm so glad we could support our local lumber industry." He hesitated. "By the way, do you know if he ever... thinks about coming to a meeting? I've invited him a couple of times, maybe if you brought it up..."

"Listen. Tyler," Wendy said. "You're cool, but if my dad ever shows up at Rainbow Club, I'm never coming again."

"Okay, all right, that's fine, just thought I'd ask."

The mayor's desk had been pushed up against the office windows, and several folding chairs were set up in a tight circle that pressed to the walls. A couple extra chairs were quickly put out for Wendy and Goldie, and Goldie immediately claimed the seat on the mayor's right. All in all, there were less than a dozen attendees, and Wendy guessed she was the youngest one there by at least five years. One empty chair was left open hopefully by the door.

Once everyone was seated, Tyler said, "Okay, it looks like we've got a couple of new folks here today, so let's all go around the circle and introduce ourselves. Please share your names, your pronouns, and anything you want us to know about how you fit under our rainbow umbrella. There's no pressure, just whatever you feel comfortable with, this is a safe and supportive place for everybody. I'll go first: hi, I'm Tyler, and I use he/him pronouns!" He turned expectantly to his left.

Blubs said, "Hi, I'm Daryl, uhhh he/him, and I..." he turned to stare in Durland's eyes, "am in love."

Durland quickly said, "Hi, I'm Edwin, I'm a boy, and I'm in love too!" They grabbed each other's hands, giggling.

"Aww," Tyler cooed, "aren't you two sweet." He nodded toward the next chair.

"Hello. My name is Tad Strange, my pronouns are he/him, and I'm a cisgender heterosexual ally."

Seriously, Tyler said, "And we appreciate your support, Tad. And the snacks you bring every week."

Introductions continued around the circle. Wendy sorta knew a couple other faces, but didn't know anyone personally. The only other girls in the room were an intimidatingly beautiful woman whose gaze seemed to pass right over the awkward teen with unstyled hair and baggy flannel, and two little old ladies in a throuple with a little old man.

The introduction spotlight finally landed on her. "Hey guys. I'm Wendy, she/her, and I'm, uh... questioning, I guess? Sorta?" She shrugged casually. "Yeah. Questioning."

Tyler said, "Since this is your first time—we keep things pretty casual, here, but I want to make sure this group supports everyone's needs. Do you think you could tell us a bit about what you're looking for in our little club?"

Wendy could feel every eye in the room boring into her. She fought the urge to shrink into her seat. You're sixteen. You're the cool girl. Act cool, girl. "Oh, nothing specific I guess. I'm just... exploring my options, you know. Exploring myself. Doing the self-discovery journey or whatever. So... I dunno what I'm looking for? I figure I'll know it when I find it."

Tyler nodded. "We've all been there," he said. "And I know I speak for us all when I say we're honored to be part of your journey."

And then, to Wendy's mortification, Tyler started clapping, and the rest of the group joined in. She smiled stiffly, feeling her youth even more intensely. What the heck, Tyler, you were supposed to be the cool adult. Wendy trusted you. Politics changed you.

To Wendy's gratitude, Goldie cut the awkward moment short by piping up before the last of the applause petered out. "Hiya! I'm 'Goldie,'" he put air quotes around his own name, "I've never cared what pronouns you people call me before and I'm not about to start now, and I do not have the patience for all the paperwork to figure out my sexuality so we'll just wonder together!"

Tyler laughed. "Oh, you're funny!" A couple other attendees chuckled.

"I'm just getting started!" Goldie blinked his unpatched eye. "Wink. Anyway, I'm here to meet new people and have some fun!" He turned an intense smile on Tyler. "So tell me, mayor—where do the people in your fine town go to party?"

####

By the end of the meeting, Goldie had collected six phone numbers—"I'd give you mine, but I'm between phones right now, long story"—and four loose commitments to do something somewhere sometime soonish. Wendy was simultaneously relieved to have some of the pressure taken off of her as the new person, slightly miffed that she hadn't gotten to know anybody, and resigned to the fact that as the only high schooler in the room they probably wouldn't have had much to say to her anyway.

As the club members milled around the snack table having bread, Goldie elbowed Wendy and muttered, "I can't believe they clapped for you but not for me. Is looking for a good time not a noble enough quest?"

"Pfft. Dude, are you jealous?"

"Insanely."

Thirty years in the ghost dimension must do weird things to someone's need for attention. "When I introduce you to my friends, I'll tell them all to clap for you."

"I appreciate it."

The club loosely migrated through the assembly hall and toward the front double door. Durland reached it first, opened it, and quickly closed it. Agitated, he said, "Daryl! They're out there again."

"Oh, no! Again?"

The group came to a stop. Tyler took over, cracked open the door, and tutted his tongue. Goldie curiously peered over his shoulder, and Wendy took that as permission to look too.

Standing on the sidewalk in front of Town Hall were a dozen tough-looking men dressed in leather, heavy denim, and sharp metal accessories. They filled the sidewalk, arms crossed or fists on hips, glowering toward the doors. Tyler muttered, "Oh, every time we have a meeting. I wish they'd knock this off."

"Who're they?" Wendy asked. "Homophobes?"

"Oh! No no, nothing like that," Tyler said. "That's the weekly ex-convict rehabilitation support group—they use the bigger meeting room. They're actually a very open-minded bunch."

"That's right," shouted the tallest of the group, a muscular bearded man. He pointed at a leather pride patch pinned to his vest over his heart. "Love is love! We support queer rights, trans rights, uh... women's rights? What else."

"Immigrant rights?" a man with a gray ponytail suggested.

"Immigrant rights, that's a good one. And... any other rights, too! Except pig rights."

Another man shouted, "No cops at pride!"

The Rainbow Club turned to look at Blubs and Durland.

They heaved sighs. Durland said, "We'll go out the back."

The group out front visibly relaxed when the Rainbow Club came out without the sheriff and deputy. The bearded leatherman focused on Tyler as he passed. "Ty."

Tyler started. "Oh! Hiii, Ghost." His cheeks went bright red. "W-we missed you at Rainbow Club this week, again. Any thoughts about coming across the hall from time to time?"

"Those cops still showing up?"

"Well, yes."

The leatherman—who Wendy recognized now as Ghost-Eyes—shook his head. "Pass. But we can catch up next time you're at Skull Fracture."

"Oh—okay, sure. I'll see you there sometime."

"I'll buy you a drink," Ghost-Eyes said. "I like your new boots, by the way."

Tyler went red from his hairline down to his shirt collar. "I—well—you too, Ghost!" He quickly trotted off, giggling to himself. Wendy watched him go, then glanced over Ghost-Eyes—tall, broad-shouldered, auburn-haired, bushy-bearded, and as muscular as a bull on steroids—and noted wryly that Tyler had a type.

A high voice from approximately ankle height said, "Oh, hi Wendy!"

She looked down. "Gideon," she said. "Wow! ... Hi."

"Imagine running into you here! I feel like it's been forever! How're your folks doing?"

"Oh, great, great. Uh, yours?"

"We're all fantastic, thanks for askin'. I haven't seen you 'round here before, this your first time attending?"

Ah, great. Of all the people to find out Wendy was trying to sort out her identity. "Yep. Just checking it out. How's... the ex-con support group?"

"Oh it's just wonderful! Highlight of my week, honestly. It's good to talk to people who have gone through the same struggles as you."

"Aww," Ghost-Eyes said. "You're the highlight of our week too, Li'l Gideon."

Gideon started. "Oh, where are my manners! Blathering on like this. Wendy, you remember my friends, right?" He gestured around him.

"Yeah—the Discount Auto Mart Warriors, right? You guys are still hanging out?"

Ghost-Eyes said, "Of course! We have a brotherhood forged in the fires of battle against a chaos god's tyranny. Also, the court requires us to do group therapy, so it's easy to hang out."

Gideon said, "And I'm sure all of you remember Wendy."

The Warriors nodded in recognition. Ghost-Eyes said, "Weren't you the one driving through the weirdness bubbles last year? To get that kid to his sister?"

Wendy looked up at Ghost-Eyes. "Yep. That was me. No hard feelings for the whole trying-to-break-your-arm thing, right?"

"Of course not! You were fighting the man. At that time, we were the man."

Gideon said, "Really a terrible error in judgment on my part, I can't apologize enough."

"Aw, come on," Ghost-Eyes said, "it wasn't all your fault. We were all out there, too."

"No no, I take full responsibility." Gideon reached up to pat Ghost-Eyes's knuckle. "You all trusted me to steer you true and I let you down."

Wendy felt a slight tug on her wrist—and only then realized that Goldie had been a little too quiet, a little too long. She looked in the direction her magic bracelet was tugging, and spotted him waiting just up the street, leaning against Soos's truck, hands pressed to the small of his back.

"It was cool to run into you guys again," Wendy lied, "but I've got friends waiting for me, so..."

"Oh, of course, of course," Gideon said. "Are you working at the Mystery Shack again this summer? Tell Mabel I said hello!"

Wendy flashed Gideon double finger guns. "I will not do that." She power-walked away from Gideon's fan club.

As she caught up with Goldie, she said, "Hey. Sorry for making you wait." She squinted. "You okay?"

Face tinted a deep angry red and wearing the most sour expression Wendy had ever seen, Goldie said, "Sure. Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"You don't look okay."

"I don't control what my face does." At Wendy's skeptical look, Goldie pointed toward the Discount Auto Mart Warriors. "I was—thinking over something ridiculous they said. About fighting a chaos god's tyranny."

"Oh, they helped fight Bill—"

"I know that," Goldie cut in. "It just seems... weird to call it that!"

Recovering cultist, Wendy reminded herself. "What would you call it?"

Goldie considered the question. "Fighting a chaos god's anarchy."

She'd been half worried that Goldie was about to start defending Bill. Instead, Wendy tried to puzzle out the specific differences between tyranny and anarchy, and why it mattered to him. "Huh."

"No rules, no laws, freedom from time and physics..."

That was starting to make sense. "I don't know what Weirdmageddon felt like in the mindscape, buuut everyone I knew was still experiencing a lot of physics. When we weren't being turned into statues or imprisoned in tapestries," Wendy said. "Maybe Bill and his minions had no rules and no laws; but when only the guys in charge can do whatever they want, and everyone else is either serving them or, like, getting hunted for sport? I'd call that tyranny."

Goldie's sour look deepened, but there was something thoughtful in his averted gaze now. Like he was searching for a retort he couldn't quite find. "Huh."

Soos rolled down the passenger window. "Hey, are you dudes ready for nachos?"

####

The gossip grapevine moved faster than Soos's truck. By the time he'd dropped off Wendy and brought himself and Bill home, Wendy had texted a quick summary of "Goldie's" anarchy comment to Mabel, who passed it on to Dipper, in case this was a red flag they needed to keep an eye on; and Dipper in turn had passed the info on to Ford.

Ford wondered if Bill really didn't believe he was a tyrant, or if he just didn't want to be seen as one.

When Soos and Bill came in, the first thing Bill did was snatch his hoodie off the coat rack and pull it on, like a snake that regretted shedding its skin and was desperate to slither back inside. Cheerfully, Soos said, "Hey, Dr. Pines!"

"Hello, Soos. Everything went well?"

"Yeah, no problem! We got nachos on the way back, hope that's okay. I left Bill in the truck. Without the keys."

"I almost died of heat stroke," Bill said.

Already headed toward bed, Soos said, "Don't lie, dude. I cracked a window for you."

"Okay, okay. I was fine."

Bill drifted into the kitchen to finish his nachos. Ford drifted after him, leaning in the doorway. Bill had pulled his hood up. He typically only did that when he was in a foul mood, but he'd seemed to be in high enough spirits as he bantered with Soos. Maybe he felt exposed after going into town without his "body" on. (Three decades ago, during the weeks when Ford had been wrestling with Bill for control over his sleep-deprived body, Bill had hidden a vicious little note in Ford's third journal where he mentioned taking off his "exoskeleton" to feed. Ford wondered if Bill saw this hoodie as a substitute exoskeleton.)

"Well?" Ford said. "How was it?"

Bill turned. The false eye on the hood stared blankly through Ford. "Excuse me?" Bill laughed. "Are we on friendly conversation terms now? You want to hear about my day? Or are you just hoping I'll slip up and confess something interesting."

If Bill didn't already know the answer, he wouldn't have bothered asking. "You can't blame me for trying." Wendy hadn't shared much. Ford hoped that if Bill didn't know what the humans had been saying behind his back, he might give away more about what he'd done at Rainbow Club. Talk of tyranny and anarchy was worrying.

Ford could feel the corners of his mouth turning down as Bill's half-seen smile widened. Bill said, "I thought you said you weren't playing games with me anymore." He turned to sit on his chair backwards, legs straddling the seat. "Okay, Stanford! I had a great time! The regulars welcomed the Cool Girl and me with open arms! Fresh air, unfiltered sunshine, an hour of conversation with a roomful of people who don't detest me, a snack table with eleven kinds of bread—"

Ford's grim determination veered sideways off the road. "Wait," he said. "Eleven breads?"

"Yes?"

"Why were— What else did they have? Condiments? Sandwich materials?"

"Forks, napkins, and water bottles. That's it."

"Forks?" Ford echoed. "Forks?"

"Forks."

"Why did they have eleven breads and forks?"

Bill threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "So it's not just me! I looked at that table and thought, 'This seems lopsided,' but who am I, I don't know everything about humans! One grain product or another is just about the most stereotypically human food I can think of, so—"

"No, it wasn't just you, that's—I can confirm that's weird. Why did they do that?"

"I don't know!" Bill laughed. "I don't know, no one else questioned it so I didn't say anything! I wasn't about to out myself as the alien in the room! I just grabbed a Hawaiian roll and made small talk!"

Baffled, Ford ventured, "Maybe it's a... a gay culture thing I haven't heard about?"

"It's not one I've heard of," Bill said, with a tone that suggested if it was a gay thing, he ought to have heard of it. "Hey, the club's token straight guy is in charge of bringing snacks. Maybe he thinks it's a gay culture thing."

"Maybe." It was a somewhat reassuring thought, that perhaps the bizarre spread was somebody's misguided idea of support.

"Glad that mystery's solved," Bill said, as though to him a theory was as good as an explanation. "Oh, speaking of mysteries—thought you'd find this interesting—the mayor's desk is still haunted by bears." He said it as casually as though he were picking up a conversation from a week ago, not thirty-three years ago.

That wasn't a mystery Ford had ever thought he'd get any follow-up on. "Really? Still?" Ford instinctively tugged his journal out of his inner coat pocket and searched for a blank page. "How many?"

"Just two that I saw. I don't know that the third one wasn't roaming the halls, though. I'm not quite the spy I used to be!" He gestured down at his regrettably human body.

Ford waved off the not-exactly-an-apology. "Of course. The limitations of human sight and flesh. Which ones did you see?"

"One male, one female. The smaller female."

"I find it hard to believe the mother moved on without her children. She's probably around Town Hall somewhere."

"If I see her next week, I'll let you know."

"I'd appreciate that." He started taking notes. "Why would they still be there? I would have thought after the last election..."

"I know, so did I." Bill stood and crossed the room with his nacho tray to peer over Ford's shoulder as he lightly sketched out a desk and a couple of black bears lying atop and in front of it. (Ford hadn't seen the mayor's office in over thirty years, but he'd rough out the shape now and fill in the details once he got a look at the desk again, that was how he always did it. Bill had invisibly watched him fill countless journal pages like this.) "The desk was wider. Nacho?"

"Thanks." Ford absentmindedly took a nacho between his pinkie and sixth finger without putting his pen down, and corrected his sketch at he chewed.

"I've got two theories," Bill said. "One: the bears weren't haunting the desk because ol' Huckabone was using it, but because of something he put in it. A cursed talisman or something!"

"Mm. Mayor Befufftlefumpter didn't tend to mess with forces like that."

"Maybe he didn't know it was cursed. Most people can't see the bears. No one else at Rainbow Club acknowledged them."

"And if there is a talisman of some sort, why don't you already know about it?"

"Just because I can see everything doesn't mean I pay attention to everything," Bill said. "I'll snoop for one if you want! Anyway, theory two: they were here for Huckabone, but they don't know he's passed on, and they'll hang around either until they're reunited with his spirit or somebody dispels them. But I don't like that theory as much," he said thoughtfully, "it's not as satisfying. I prefer the intrigue of a good cursed talisman. Don't you?"

"I doubt that whether it's satisfying is relevant to whether it's likely..." Ford glanced toward Bill and almost jumped out of his skin when a wide white eye stared back at him. That stupid hood again. When had Bill gotten inches from Ford's shoulder? His skin crawled retroactively. "What are you doing?"

"Helping?" Bill ate another nacho and offered the paper tray to Ford again.

Ford stared at Bill, stared at his page full of bear ghost notes, then snapped his journal shut and shoved it in his coat pocket. He was an idiot. Ford stalked off toward the guest room. Remember who you're talking to. There might not have been any bears at all. There might not even have been bread.

Bill called after him, "Maybe you should come next week. I think you'd fit right in."

Ice ran through Ford's veins. What did he mean by that? It took a force of will to keep walking to the guest room rather than turn around and confront Bill again.

He shut the door, closed his eyes, and reminded himself: how Bill's eye had glowed stoplight red when he'd threatened to torture Ford's gniece and gnephew; how Bill had shrieked with laughter when he'd invaded Ford's brother's mind.

Ford had been distracted by talk of ghosts and talismans and, and—and bread. (Bread? Really?) Mysterious and mystical talk made it easy to leave those dark memories sleeping undisturbed.

And that scared Ford. Because he thought, for a normal person, it shouldn't have been possible to forget those things, much less easy.

You'd fit right in with my freaks.

He opened his journal, scratched out half his notes about the bear ghosts, and spent half a page untangling how Bill had lured him into a conversation...

And finally concluded that Bill hadn't done much luring at all. He'd just... talked.

He finished with a "DON'T TRUST HIM!!" and underlined it twice.

####

Well. If Bill and Ford were playing verbal games now, Bill had easily won that one.

He'd peppered in twice that he planned to attend Rainbow Club again next week, and Ford hadn't protested. Ford had even said he'd appreciate it. All that, and Bill hadn't had to reveal that he was busily making friends with the local mayor, sheriff, and deputy, or that he now knew where to find his own wayward one-time "sheriff."

All the same. As much as he appreciated getting a win, he wouldn't have minded going 2 out of 3. Bill had done most of the talking. (One of his most endearing flaws, he thought.) He kinda wondered what Ford thought about the bears haunting the desk. Ford had a tendency to overthink everything in such interesting ways.

Patience. This was the longest conversation he'd had with Ford in decades that hadn't consisted of pure, grim business. He was making progress. Maybe next week he could bring home a haunted bear talisman, see where that got him.

He wondered what Ford had thought of his birthday gift.

####

(Thanks for reading! This is probably the longest chapter we've had so far, but I didn't want to cut off before they even got to the club. If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate hearing what y'all think!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #wendy corduroy #sheriff blubs #deputy durland #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #my writing #my art #fanart #bill goldilocks cipher

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