Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4011763.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gravity_Falls
  Relationship:
      Bill_Cipher/Dipper_Pines
  Character:
      Bill_Cipher, Dipper_Pines, Stanford_Pines
  Additional Tags:
      Hunter!Bill, Deerper, Guns, gross_old_men, Cervitaur, On_Hiatus
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-26 Updated: 2015-05-31 Chapters: 3/? Words: 4107
****** Hunter x Hunted ******
by mariachiMushroom
Summary
     Twelve-year-old cervitaur Dipper Pines was wandering through the
     woods, when he gets shot by hunter and wild-man-of-the-woods Bill
     Cipher. Bill invites Dipper to his shack to patch up his leg. But,
     once you check into the Motel Cipher, you can never leave ...
***** Meat Cute *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The afternoon light filtered through the redwood pines, pillars in a cathedral
to nature. Dipper's nose filled with the smell of delicious foliage, tree sap,
and animal spoor. His hooved feet padded on the springy ground, padded with
moss and fallen leaves. All this nature was a lot to take in for a city
cervitaur like Dipper. Sure, he'd gone camping before, but it was always
chaperoned and carefully scheduled. This was his first chance at having a real
adventure, all by himself!
As Dipper wandered deeper into the woods, the trunks bunched thicker, the
shadows grew darker. He had the oddest feeling of being watched. Probably due
to the fact that someone had carved out an eye surrounded by a triangle on
every other tree. The symbols were so thick that no matter what angle Dipper
stood at, he could always see at least one Illuminati eye.
He had a purpose for wandering the woods though, and he wasn't going to let
some creepy graffiti distract him. He was on the hunt for a certain
intelligence-enhancing mushroom that grew in these woods, according to the
Journal. He scanned the ground, looking for the bulbous, wrinkled mushroom cap
of the percepshroom. Mushrooms were supposed to grow on dead tree stumps and in
damp places, right? Dipper brushed aside the leaf mold at the bottom of a
rotting log of fallen redwood. He kneeled on his forelegs, rump raised
awkwardly in the air.
Bang! A bullet embedded in the tree next to him. A stinging pain streaked his
hindleg. Run, run, run! His deer half bolted faster than his human half could
react. Before he could spot a destination to his panicked frenzy, his head
slammed into a trunk. The cervitaur slumped down, dazed.
“A deer kid? Don't see one of those every day.” Dipper looked up to see a tall
man lurching out of the bushes, grinning through yellow and gold teeth. Tucked
under his greasy blond hair was an eyepatch embroidered with the same
triangular symbol that was carved on the trees. He was wearing an outfit of
camouflage pants and jacket that Dipper's eyes were having some difficulty
focusing on.
“You shot me!”
“Hey, if a tasty piece of meat like you is going to wander the woods during
hunting season, you should at least wear an orange vest. How dumb are ya, Deer
Kid?” The man started walking towards the cervitaur, and Dipper suppressed his
innate panic at being approached by the hunter, channeling it into anger
instead.
“Hey, I'm at least a 12th grade reading level. And my name's not Deer Kid, it's
Dipper. Dipper Pines!” At the sound of his name, the man's grin fell, his lips
pressed straight.
“Pines? You wouldn't happen to be related to Stan at all?”
“Stanford Pines is my great uncle. I'm staying at his house over the summer
with my twin sister Mabel.” In the gloom, the man's pupils dilated, and Dipper
caught a whiff of hunger? excitement? Then his smile returned, even wider than
before.
“Well, then I hope you'll forgive me for shooting at you. Me and Stan go back,
way back. I never thought I'd run into one of his whelp's whelps. Lemme take a
look at that leg.” The man crouched down to examine the wound and Dipper
smelled rank breath. He hoped he wasn't being too obvious in holding his nose.
The bullet had only grazed Dipper's flank, but it still scored through the hair
and hide, exposing a bit of raw muscle. Blood trickled down Dipper's leg and
was swallowed by the hungry earth.
“Looks bad. Could get infected if you walk back. But my house isn't so far from
here. Let me patch you up. It's the least I could do in apology.”
“I don't know ...” This man screamed stranger danger.
“Well, it's either come with me, or keep scenting the woods with your blood.
Plenty of creatures hungry for a tasty morsel like you out here, heh, heh.”
Dipper thought it over. Even though the hunter man had shot at him, he seemed
willing to make up for it. And maybe he would have a phone, so he could call
Grunkle Stan.
“Fine.” Dipper wobbled to his feet, wincing at how his muscle stretched
underneath the wound.
“Let me help you with that.” Bill tucked his head under Dipper's deer half and
grabbed his legs. The cervitaur flailed as he was lifted up into the air like a
sack of potatoes.
“Oof, you're heavy,” said the man. “Maybe I should field dress you to make you
lighter.” Dipper froze. “Hahaha! Just kidding!”
“That's not funny,” Dipper said, definitely not pouting.
“Lighten up a little, Deer Kid! It was just a joke. In fact, I've been field
dressed myself.” The man adjusted the cervitaur until he was balanced on his
back, then pulled up his shirt. From his awkward angle on the man's back,
Dipper saw a long horizontal scar on the man's stomach, circling around to his
back.
“Yech, you can't be serious. That's gotta be an appendix scar.”
“Believe whatever you want, Deer Kid.”
“Stop calling me that! You, uhh, Gold Cyclops Man.” If Dipper could reach his
hooves, he would have shoved them into his mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Hahaha! I like your spirit. The name's Bill Cipher. Nice to meet ya.” Bill
offered his hand for Dipper to shake awkwardly. The man's hands were greasy,
with dirt trapped between the untrimmed fingernails. The boy broke the awkward
handshake and rubbed his hands clean on his side. Uhrg. As soon as he reached
civilization, he was going to take a shower.
Chapter End Notes
     Throwing my hat into the Hunter!Bill ring. This Bill ... has some
     problems. But you'll find out more about that soon!
***** Do You Believe In Magic? *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter was edited 15/5/30. I changed the ending of the chapter
     to be more consistent with Dipper's future characterization.
“Your house gives me the creeps,” said Dipper. The cervitaur sat with his legs
held close to his body, trying to avoid touching the deer pelt rug on the
ground as much as possible. Rabbit heads and bird claws hung in strings from
the ceiling, a kind of morbid tinsel. On the wall was mounted the head of a
twelve point deer, which Bill had hung his hat on.
“Whatever do you mean?” said Bill, who was reclining on a chair with a rack of
antlers nailed to the back, like skeletal wings. “Would you like something to
drink?” He pulled out an empty cow horn, stained dark with evaporation grime.
“A snack?” He pulled out a hollowed out canine skull filled with hard candies.
“I try to be an excellent host.” His hands ran through his hair, picking out a
tiny vermin that he crushed between his fingers and flicked away.
“Just patch up my leg already so I can go home.”
“Yeesh, Deer Kid. I'm getting to it.” Bill knelt on the ground and rummaged
through an old wooden chest. He pulled out a white first-aid kit. Frowning at
his dirty hands, Bill poured some water from a pitcher into what looked like a
porcelain soup tureen, and scrubbed at them with a bit of soap. Dipper was glad
that this crazy old woodsman understood Germ Theory at least.
“Let's see, gotta clean the wound.” From the shelves next to the wood-burning
stove, the man pulled out a bottle of clear liquor. He trickled a bit of the
liquid onto Dipper's wound. The alcohol burned both Dipper's leg and his nose.
After washing away the dust and dried blood from the wound, the man took a swig
straight from the bottle.
“Want some?”
“No thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” said Bill, wiping his mouth clean. He broke the seal on a roll
of gauze and wrapped it around Dipper's hindquarters. “There we go!” With a
smack, he slapped Dipper's butt, making the cervitaur start. “Good as new!”
“Uh, thanks.” From the window, Dipper saw that the afternoon sunlight was
fading into the purple tones of twilight. “It's getting late. Mabel and Stan
are probably getting worried about me. I should go home.”
“Mmm, it's getting dark,” said Bill. “Even I wouldn't go wandering around this
neck of the woods at night. Lotsa things that go bump.” He reached for a
covered oil lantern, snapping his fingers at the base. A spark flared up and
lit the oil.
“But Mabel-- wait, how did you do that?” Dipper hadn't seen Bill pull out any
matches. He couldn't smell the lingering smoke of burning phosphorus either.
“Oh, you mean this?” Bill snapped his fingers right in front of Dipper's nose.
A small blue flame lit at the tip of his index finger.
“Did you just use magic?” As soon as he said those words, Dipper wanted to cram
them back into his mouth. He was going to be laughed at, like the time when he
was eight and he insisted there was a portal to a rabbit-filled dimension
inside the magician's hat.
“Yes.”
“Wait, really? You're not pulling some trick out of your sleeve?”
“Don't believe me? Give me your hand.” Dipper hesitantly reached out his right
hand for the man to take. The boy felt a distinct pulling sensation, even
though Bill's hand was still. It was kind of weird, and Dipper pulled back in
what he felt to be the opposite direction.
“Stop resisting and just relax. It'll be easier that way.” With a deep breath,
the boy tried to calm down, loosening the muscles in his shoulders and back. He
felt like something was leaving his body, some kind of electricity or energy
flow.
All of a sudden, his clasped hand burst into a gout of blue flame. Dipper
stared, mesmerized by his first act of Magic.
“Your body's energy is like the oil in the lamp,” Bill explained, “and our
hands are like the wick. Mental concentration is the spark that lights the
fire. For something as simple as a flame, you don't need any special
precautions, but if you were to do a more complicated and dangerous spell,
you'd want a ritual circle or a crystal or an incantation to contain and shape
the magic so it stays in the lamp and doesn't burn the house down.”
The raw flame heated Dipper's hands to an uncomfortably hot level. When a stray
flame licked his thumb, he flinched instinctively and broke the connection. The
fire dissipated into the air. Dipper felt noticeably hungrier, like he'd just
been hiking for hours.
“Don't play with fire if you're not okay with getting burnt, kid.”
“Still, that was really cool! Or hot, I guess. Could I do that by myself?”
“Sure, if you're willing to practice.”
“Yes! Just wait till the kids at school hear about this!” That would show them.
“You might have some problems with that, unless you take them on a field trip.
There's only a handful of places where magic even works at all. Gravity Falls,
Sedona, Stonehenge, Valley of the Kings, and a few others. If you try to cast a
spell anywhere else, you'll just be a crazy old man muttering nonsense.” The
cervitaur's ears drooped a little at that.
“I guess that explains why I'm not learning all this stuff in school.” His ears
perked up again. “But that just means I have to make this summer count!” The
old man was smiling at the boy's enthusiasm. “Will you teach me?”
“Sure. I could use some company around here.” Without asking, Bill ruffled
Dipper's hair, scratching behind his ears like a dog. Dipper pulled his head
away. He could scratch his own ears, thank you very much.
“You know, the stuff you're telling me sounds a lot like the stuff I read in
this old Journal I found.”
“Journal?”
“Yeah.” Dipper pulled out Journal 3 from inside his vest pocket. “Most of the
entries in here are about supernatural creatures and plants though. There's
only a couple spells.” Bill picked up the old book and flipped through the
pages.
“Well, I'll be.” The old man continued scanning the book until he came to an
enigmatic page that Dipper hadn't been able to decipher. It looked like it
could be some kind of schematic, but not for any machine Dipper had ever seen.
Dipper heard Bill inhale sharply. “This Journal, where did you find it?”
“I was putting up some signs for the Mystery Shack when I found a hollow tree
with some levers inside. I pulled a lever and it opened a secret compartment in
the ground with the Journal inside.”
“Of course. Say kid, would you mind making a copy of this page for me?” Bill
pointed to the mystery page. “Consider it payment for the magic lesson.”
“Sure! I'd copy the whole book for that.”
“Ha, well, I only need this page. I already know the rest.” Bill scrounged
around in his chest for a piece of paper and a pen. “You can do that while I'm
cooking dinner.”
“Dinner? No, I've gotta get back--” In his excitement over learning magic,
Dipper hadn't realized that the sun had gone down. Now the only light in the
cabin was from Bill's lamp and the dim glow of coals from the stove.
“C'mon, Deer Kid. You don't want to go waltzing around these woods at night.”
Bill held the lamp under his chin, the shadows cavorting on his face. “There
are monsters in the dark.” The gold embroidered triangle on Bill's eyepatch
glittered.
“Fine, I'll stay.” Bill's expression did a complete 180, a childish glee
lighting up his face.
“Yes! Oh, this will be so much fun, like, ahh, what's the word, a slumber
party! Yes, that's it! I haven't had guests in so long. Maybe never!” Dipper's
stomach growled abruptly. “Sounds like it's feedin' time. I think I still have
some venison steaks in the freezer. Everything that a growing Deer Kid needs.”
Dipper's face contorted in revulsion.
“Haha, just kidding! Lemme see what I've got in the pantry.” Bill rustled
around in the shelves next to the stove, and pulled out some sprouted potatoes
and a flaccid carrot. “Hmm, I've gotta go to town soon. Pancakes it is!” Bill
rustled around the cabin, mixing batter and stoking the wood stove, while
Dipper sat on the ground and copied down the notebook entries, tracing the
diagrams on a sheet of paper.
“Do you like bacon in your pancakes?”
“Bill, I can't eat meat.”
“More for me, then.” The scent of sizzling meat filled the air, making Dipper a
little nauseous. He always hated it when he stayed over at a friends house and
they insisted on serving a slab of dead animal flesh on the table. He usually
went hungry those nights because he didn't want to be weird by insisting on a
vegetarian main course. And there was no way he was going to nibble on the lawn
like some common animal.
“Order up! Wheat rounds with a side of pork 'staches.” Bill lay a stack of
pancakes on a porcelain plate on the ground in front of Dipper. He drizzled
some sugar syrup from a glass jar on top. “Dig in!” Dipper set aside the copied
pages and stood, lifting his plate to the table.
“Do you have a fork?”
“We have hands. Those are nature's forks!” To demonstrate his point, Bill
shoved a pancake, dripping with sticky syrup, into his mouth. A drop of syrup
dribbled down his arm, and the man chased it with his tongue. The skin was
noticeably cleaner where he licked it.
“See, this is why we have civilized tools such as 'forks' and 'knives'.”
“Have it your way. Let's see …” Bill rustled through the clutter on his shelves
until he came across a long, two-tined lobster fork and a small, angled knife
meant for spreading butter. “Here ya go.” Dipper rubbed the dust off with his
shirt.
“Thanks.” Dipper cut a wedge from his pancake and shoved it into his mouth. A
wave of sweetness, that only his sister and apparently Bill could love, hit his
mouth, followed by the slick heaviness of bacon fat. Uhrg. Even though the food
was kind of unappetizing, his stomach begged to be filled. Magic sure did take
a lot out of you. Hopefully he wouldn't have any problems chewing his cud
later.
Bill folded a pancake around a slice of bacon, alternating between bites of his
makeshift sandwich and swigs of liquor straight from the bottle. Dipper picked
carefully at his stack, not wanting to make a mess of himself. After Bill had
eaten his fill, he belched and wiped his oily fingers on his pants.
“Ya don't like my cooking?” Dipper forced himself to swallow his current
mouthful.
“No, I'm sure it's fine for humans, it's just,” Dipper squished a piece of
pancake under his fork and grease puddled out, “too rich for my blood.”
“I see. I'll get'cha some grass come mornin'.” Bill's cheeks were flushed, his
voice noticeably slurred. With overly-fluid motions, he cleared the table.
“Now's time for bed.”
“Umm, could I take a bath first?”
“Kid, does this place look like it has running water to you? But speaking of
running water ...” Bill jerked open the door and lurched outside. Dipper could
hear him urinating straight off the front porch. The boy needed to go as well,
but he sure wasn't going to drop deer pellets in the house.
“Bill, where's the outhouse?” Please let there be an outhouse, please let there
be an outhouse.
“It's 'round back,” Bill said, as he walked inside, zipping himself up. “Go
between the house and the shed, can't miss it.” Dipper walked outside, ears
pricking at the unfamiliar night sounds. The half-moon illuminated Bill's weed-
grown yard, but even if it was completely dark, Dipper would have been able to
find the outhouse by the smell. He gingerly planted himself on the seat, hoping
that there weren't any stains.
After answering the call of nature, Dipper stepped outside. His eyes were
adjusting to the low light. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to walk home at night?
He could borrow the lantern.
A low howl rang in the night. Another howl joined it, and another, as a pack of
wolves serenaded the night. Dipper's hair stood up at the predator's call. His
tail flicked up in anxiety.
Maybe he'd better stay where he was safe.
*
“What took ya so long, kid? Thought something might have eaten ya.” Bill teased
as Dipper walked in. The man had shed his clothes, and was now sprawled on his
bed wearing only boxers. He had put out the lantern, and now only the dim coals
of the stove lit the room with flickering light.
“Haha. Very funny.” The cervitaur scratched at his teeth to get rid of the
gross scummy plaque residue. Now that the sun had been out for a couple of
hours, the cabin air had cooled. Dipper lay down near the stove, but that made
his human half too hot while his deer half was too cold.
“Do you have a blanket? No offense, but I kind of don't want wrap myself in a
dead deer's skin.”
“I gotta blanket right here.” Bill patted the side of the bed next to him.
“Okay, there's no way--”
“C'mere, deer.” Bill grabbed the cervitaur like he weighed hardly anything at
all and dragged him into bed. “Y'should relax more,” he mumbled, as he tucked
the boy’s head under his chin. Now Bill’s breath smelled more like booze than
rotting meat.
“C’mon Bill, let me go.” No response. Did he pass out? Dipper tried to buck off
the bed, but the man wrapped his legs around his deer half, like Mabel
snuggling an oversized teddy bear. The old shack creaked as the wood settled
down in the night. Outside, the tree leaves rustled as the wind blew in waves.
At least Bill’s body was warm against the chill of darkness.
Man, he couldn’t wait to tell Mabel about his crazy adventure tomorrow.
***** Heavy Petting *****
Chapter Notes
     I've edited the previous chapter to make it more consistent with the
     overall themes of the story. I cut out a bit from the ending and
     changed the last couple paragraphs.
“Hurry up, we’ll be late!” Mabel pulled Dipper’s hand as they ran down the
school hallway. Her legs pumped in a stop motion blur, trailing frames like she
was illuminated by strobe light.
“For what?” the male cervitaur asked.
“You’ll see!” The girl butted the loitering students out of the way, parting
the kid sea and dragging Dipper along in the wake. Dipper’s legs felt heavy and
he struggled to lift them, as if he was swimming in molasses. Mabel’s arm
stretched ahead, long as warm taffy. The posters on the side of the wall were
oddly blurry, like he needed prescription glasses.
When she reached the double doors of the school’s exit, Mabel’s arm snapped
short, like a rubberband, and Dipper was flung forward into the yard. Outside,
bales of hay and wire fences had been set up into a faux farm.
“It’s a petting zoo!” Mabel shouted excitedly.
“Where are the animals?” The fenced-in area was empty.
“We’re the animals!” And Mabel pushed him inside the gate, closing it behind
her.
“Wait, what? I didn’t sign up for this!” Dipper panicked, and tried to jump
over the fence. But his sister caught him by the shirt.
“Hurry up and take off your clothes,” said Mabel, who was already naked. “It’s
about to start.”
“Mabel, put your sweater back on! Someone could see you.” But the female
cervitaur was more occupied with increasing the level of nudity by wrestling
off Dipper’s t-shirt. As the two struggled, the cheap cotton fabric tore. Mabel
ripped off the last tatters of Dipper’s clothes until he was completely naked.
The orange cloth fell to the ground and was trampled into the dirt.
“Step right up to pet the deer!” Grunkle Stan, in his black suit and eyepatch,
was collecting money from the people in line. “Two bucks! Haha, get it?”
“Not you too, Grunkle Stan.” Dipper clutched his nakedness and backed away into
the corner as people started streaming in. Mabel was rolling around on her back
in the dirt, pointing her white-furred deer belly up and begging for affection.
“Mabel, that’s completely undignified.”
“Come on, it’s fun!” Mabel burst out laughing as hands touched her sides.
“Don’t let me hog all the attention. You should pet my brother as well.” A
formless mob of children headed towards Dipper. The boy was backed up all the
way to the fence, with nowhere else to run. Sticky little fingers stroked his
head, the undeveloped nubs of his horns, his furry flanks.
“Five dollars for a bag of deer treats!”
“I don’t want your fo—” A brown ball was shoved into his mouth. He hated to
admit it, but it tasted pretty good. A sprinkle of salt on the outside, oats on
the inside, with a bit of molasses to bind it all together. Without meaning to,
he swallowed.
The crowd pressed around him, insistent. He was getting dirt smeared on his
sides, courtesy of some dumb toddler who decided he needed to be fingerpainted.
Dipper flicked his tail unhappily, exposing the white fur underneath as a
warning for any other poor deer caught in this mess.
“Look, he likes it!” A kid yanked his tail up, like he was pulling a weed. That
was the final straw. He needed to get out of here. Dipper bolted, but as his
feet left the ground, dark hands burst out of the earth, grabbing his fetlocks.
His escape arrested, the cervitaur fell face forward into the dirt. Hands
stroked his head, his shoulders and sides, his withers, his belly, his
hindquarters.
Please, stop, let me go, he tried to say, but all that came out of his mouth
was a squeak. Dipper bellowed unhappily as he curled in on himself. Lower
surface-area-to-volume ratio. He was slowly sinking into the ground, a hole
made of hands that groped him on the way down.
All of a sudden, the world froze. The sundew of hands paused mid-stroke. Dipper
was no longer descending into the earth. He stood upright, and the entrapping
hands broke off, like they were made of brittle plaster. With his forelegs, he
pulled himself out of the hole in the ground.
Dipper ran to Mabel, who was frozen in delighted laughter, even as hands cupped
her pubescent conical breasts. He brushed away the brambles of hands from her
body, but as the hands crumbled, so did she. Dipper tried to gather the ashes
of his sister, but they dissolved as he reached for them. Before Dipper’s eyes,
the frozen statue of Stan, the hay bales, the creepy children with their
blurred-out faces, all fragmented blew away.
Now Dipper was the only projection on a flat plane. A dark paper cutout on the
shadow play’s stage. “Hello? Mabel? Stan? Anybody?” He was alone.
All alone.
Wasn’t that what he had wanted?
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