The Winchesters and Pines couldn't get off that easy.

One fight, one enemy, one ending.

Certainly not.

And deep down, all of them knew it, too.

It hadn't been forgotten, the apocalypse, but it had been ignored, left alone to thrive, to rise, to devour.

And they were going to feel it's wrath.

---

Chicago, Illinois

Hmmmmmmm

Grey skies lay overheard, dark clouds drifting though the air. The chilling, unforgiving wind swirled leaves, carrying them through the town on a path unknown.

Hmmmmnnnnnmmmmm

Thunder crackled. People shuffled down the sidewalk, passing dreary buildings somehow withstanding the course of time. A beat up ONE WAY sign shuddered in the face of the ugly weather. And then, in the middle of this place, arriving like a ghost, there was a pale, nineteen-fifty-nine Cadillac Coupe Deville. It's frame glinted in the overcast daylight, the I wheels rolling over the asphalt.

Oh, Death

It moved with ease, as nothing stood in it's path; the red tail lights glowed momentarily as it slowed to a halt, illuminating the license plate which read: BUH*BYE.

Oh, Death

On the curb, the door popped open. A figure stepped out, classic suit immaculate, unwrinkled. His black, fancy shoes that one might see at a funeral were shined and they kissed the pavement calmly, precisely. The cane that he clutched in his hand -- a void, dark colored thing, crowned with a shining metal birds head: a crow -- shifted as he moved to cross forward.

Oh, Death

Adding to his attire there was a ring in his right hand. A simple, clean and silver banded work of art. It had a single gemstone attached to the top, mounted face forward, white and spectral as the car he drove.

Won't you spare me over another year?

With that, the door shut.

Hmmmmmmmnnnnnmmmmm

Beginning his journey, the figure walked against the bitter weather, expression stone cold. Face gaunt and black hair slicked back exactly, like always. And now he was the ghost, passing crowds and seas of people, unknown, unseen, unpredictable.

Hmmnnmmmmmmm

He gripped the cane tighter, the dawn of a new era rippling under his skin, hideous screams and dead eyes chanting to his bones. The time had come, they murmured. And it had. A world under reconciliation, and destruction, and oh, yes, JUDGEMENT.

He would do his duty. But he would do it right.

He was not like the others.

But what is this that I can't see

He could taste it. Death on his tongue. There was a man coming towards him, eyes occupied, looking down upon his undoing. His brown coat rippled in the air, whipping around his legs and his yellow patterned tie rested gravely still upon his button down shirt.

With ice cold hands taking hold of me?

The two touched shoulders, one a man, one a reckoning.

Hmmmmmmmmnnnnn

Annoyed, his pace interrupted, the man briefly faced the entity already behind him, a moment in the past. "Watch where you're walkin', pal." He patted his chest and moved on. He thought that was it. Thought it was the end.

Well.

He wasn't wrong.

When God is gone and the Devil takes hold

Silently, with an eerie tranquility, the other glanced at his shoulder. He reached up with left hand, brushed off the suit, erasing the filth immediately, deliberately.

Who will have mercy on your soul?

As if in slow motion the man found a pain spreading in his chest, an unbelievable, searing pain. He raised his head, frozen, limbs refusing to move.

This pain, this sharp burning sensation. Mouth open in shock. Eyes glazing over.

Oh, death

Falling to his knees, body meeting the pavement roughly, uninvited.

Thunder clapped.

He found himself balking, rolling over.

Instantly people rushed to his aid, much much to late.

Hmmmnnnm

He was dead.

My name is death and the end is near

-THEME SONG-

Gravity Falls, Oregon

The last of the starlight flickered out in the skies above, leaving a morning welcoming glow in the small valley. Below, a street light or two accepted defeat, dying as their replacement peaked its face over the mountains and a happy breeze blew through the trees while all ascended into noise and preparation for the day.

And here, the town of Gravity Falls, Oregon, awoke.

But in this perhaps normal town, with people starting their buzzing, busy, life, the reality was that this town was full of oddities beyond human comprehension.

So when everything seemed interestingly new and safe, a noise broke the stillness. It was a simple, persistent noise. The noise of footsteps and the scuffle of shoe tips scraping the sidewalk.

Dewdrops gathered and slid down the upturned face of a leaf on a bush nearby, their momentary life cut short as they splashed to an earthy death. Birds, soaring or propped upon a tree branch above, sang cheerily to drown out any mounting mourning from Mother Nature in case she realized the night had died and morning had risen from its grave to take its place.

Dean Winchester, squinting against the sun's glare as he walked back down Stanley Pine's drive, squared his jaw.

Weeks had passed since they'd matched that red-eyed, no-souled demon step for step, though just by the skin of their teeth and since then, regular town anomalies aside, (see: unicorns, a spider lady running a roadside attraction, you know, the like), something else had begun to haunt Dean's dreams with every news article that Sam pulled up.

Only the other night he'd woken up in a sweat, dark green shirt clinging to his skin and veins popping.

A man had been facing him. A bastard, grin with no grin shell of a man whose features quirked and eyes schemed. He swelled with atrocities.

It was, of course, Zachariah.

"You're the Michael sword." He'd said. His words dropped like a crashing cymbal and Dean's world shattered with them.

He narrowed his eyebrows, body tense. "What do you mean, I'm the sword?"

The angel stared back and regarded the Winchester as though he were the most obsolete human on the planet. A God created creature, certainly, but a stupid one; a stupid vessel. Stupid and brave and rash and dangerous. Zachariah managed his tone, brought it lighter. "You're Michael's weapon." Make the situation lighter while darkening the cup of choices, pouring it, filling it with blood and gore, whatever it took to win.

"I'm a vessel?"

It hung in the air and the angel turned his neck just a fraction as though to hammer the nail on the head.

Zachariah spread his hands. "You're the vessel."

And then the night after that.

He'd rolled over, memories draining the usual void in his head, the echoing words of War crawling up his spine.

War had walked up to the red Mustang parked to the side of the curb, a figure that one would say was an ordinary enough looking man, with an ordinary enough looking car to match. He looked back over his shoulder, to appraise the situation and saw nothing. Reaching for the door, he felt rough hands pulling at his clothes and throwing him against his very nice, blood red car. Sam and Dean had given him serious faces to glance at.

He'd laughed.

Dean held onto the man, no, not a man, but one of the four horsemen brought to life with the apocalypse. The being of potential here say, now on earth to spread miles and miles of fire and destruction: a deadly incarnation of War. Sam drew Ruby's knife, moving in.

War's voice resonated over the quiet town. "Whoa." He tried to raise his hands, tried to act as though none of the dead that lay strewn in heaps around him were not his fault. "Okay. That's a sweet little knife. But come on. You can't kill War, kiddos."

The older Winchester's reply was tight,  breeding something maybe triumphant. "Oh, we know."

Sam had slammed War's right hand against the Mustang and sliced all four fingers off in one go, the precious ring clinking on the dark, unforgiving pavement

Leaning down, Dean picked up the ring. When he had stood and straightened, the man and the red Mustang had vanished.

The apocalypse.

It grinned menacingly at him from the shadows the brothers had left behind, outside of Gravity Falls, not forgotten but pushed aside like a child persistently begging for candy at the grocery store in the checkout isle.

Gabriel had touched on it briefly. He'd come and gone, his intentions clear. Like it or not, the one thing the bastard angel had gotten right was the fact that they couldn't ignore it anymore. The child wasn't begging, the child had resorted to setting the grocery store on fire and everyone in it which was metaphorically terrifying to say the least.

He thought to the hours before his restless dreams, where he and Sam had discussed their options as quietly as possible, faces set, eyes exhausted and dry, hearts heavy and empty, bodies drained.

Sam had sat back from his computer, pushed away his coffee mug. The clock above the fridge in the kitchen ticked to signal that it was now 2 A.M. He sighed and shook his head.

Averting his eyes, Dean nodded to Sam's latter statement, his hands on the edges of the Pines sink. There was a beer to his left, rim glowing in the refrigerator light and he longed to take a swig, drown away the world crashing and burning all around him.

It didn't take a genius for the brothers to feel the other ravished in guilt, for Sam to look Dean in the eyes, overly concerned. "That's our mess, Dean," he'd said, voice low and taught. "Bobby is out there, and Rufus, and Jo and Ellen."

"I know. Dammit, I know, Sam. One thing at a time, okay?"

"This can't wait. You know it can't. Pines or not we have to stop Lucifer. Coming to Gravity Falls was supposed to be a quick trip, a case to let us breathe--"

"And now heaven and hell are breathing down our necks." Dean finished, collapsing into the chair opposite his younger sibling. "You're right. We drop the kids off, we grab the other horseman rings and we throw that fiery son of a bitch right back into the hole where the sun don't shine."

Dean held the ring up to the lamp above, twisting it in his fingers, ("Pit stop to Mount Doom?" he'd said, like it was a question and not a question and Sam couldn't help but shake his head at his nerd of a brother sometimes), something just out of reach left unsaid. But Sam was waiting for it, and it came.

"And none of your demon blood business this time, you got that?"

Sam ran his tongue over his teeth and gave a flash of a grin, a quick narrowing of his eyebrows that wasn't reassuring at all. He let out a disbelieving breath. Of course. Of course his brother would say that. "Yeah," he said. He stared back at Dean, letting him know full well that if push came to shove he would not hesitate to do exactly that, no matter what the other Winchester thought. "Got it."

And the conversation had ended, bitter and bland as it had begun.

Now, standing before the closed door and shuttered windows, tourists piling up outside and the rising sun warming his back, Dean dreaded the trip out of Oregon.

It had been nothing close to a safe haven, granted, but it had been, (dare he say it or it would be ripped from his hands, knuckles white), the closest thing to home in what felt like an eternity. A tiny part of him deep inside welled up, hating how easy he'd leaned into the thought, that the Pines were family, that the strange forest and lake with that graffitied water tower and the menacing statue he'd grown accustomed to were small, familiar comforts. He half wanted to throw Sam in the passenger seat of the Impala, drive away until Gravity Falls was no more than a memory, lost like the rest of their cross country trips had been lost to anonymity and reoccurrences.

Instead of that, Dean steeled his veins, resorted to putting on the bravest of faces he could manage and adjusted his jacket as he pushed open the front door of the Mystery Shack.

His younger brother's voice mingling with that of the twins' Uncle Stanley and Stanford drifted in from the kitchen.

Above, he could hear Dipper and Mabel from the stairwell where the older Pines twin was claiming Waddles was going to be the next president. ("He's smart, I swear! He'd be a great president!" Mabel was saying, and Dipper, no doubt scribbling in his journal, pen in his mouth, was replying with a, "Mabel, there are like five people in the entire world who would vote for a pig, and I'm pretty sure all of them live in Gravity Falls. And one of them is Old Man McGucket." There was a dramatic gasp. "Dipper! Waddles, close your ears.")

Passing from the entrance into the dining room, Dean kept back a smile, refocused, and caught the end of the adults conversation.

"I can't-" Stanford had started to say, sitting at the table, hands clasped while his brother stood, arms crossed, baring the way to the fridge.

"We." Said Stan, firmly.

"-We, yes, thank you, Stanley, can't thank you enough, Sam. And your brother too." He added, catching sight of Dean. "I'm afraid I owe you two a most sincere apology. I still stand by what I said during the vampire situation-"

Stan cleared his throat; Stanford waved a six fingered hand dismissively.

"-however, that clear, you did us a great favour by coming to our rescue in our hour of need not too long ago and for that, I am forever grateful. My niece and nephew, as I'm sure my brother can attest to, are quite dear to us. I'm aware that you're fond of them as much as we are, at this point. And that's why," and here, Stanford adjusted his glasses, locked eyes with the Winchester brothers one by one, not with hostility, rather with kindness, and a well-meaning grin, "though I was hesitant a few days ago when you first mentioned it, Dean, I truly believe that you are the kids safest bet heading home to California. Stanley and I will take you up on your offer."

"It was mostly me convincing Sixer that you two were the best of the best," cut in Stanley, proudly, "but yeah. Get them there in one piece for us, will ya?"

Dean stepped in behind Sam and clapped him on the shoulder. "Say no more, Stan."

Sam, though grateful, was almost in a state of shock and found himself nodded along to the older Winchester's statement. "You can count on us."

The four shook hands, swapped hopeful looks between them. There was a non-written, unspoken agreement echoing throughout the room: the kids would arrive home safe and sound. Over their dead bodies.

"Whatever it takes," Sam said first.

Ford followed suit. "Whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes," Dean repeated and his eyes took on a resolute certainty.

Stanley wrapped it up, tugging on his freshly cleaned suit overcoat, squaring his tie in preparation to finagle some tourists. "Whatever it takes," he finished, tipping his fez. "Well, it's been interesting boys." A pause. "I'll grab the kids before my next tour."

-COMMERCIAL BREAK-

The Winchesters were in the process of acquiring the Pines suitcases as the kids said their goodbyes when Mabel slammed open their bedroom door, greeting Sam and Dean with a bright smile, the remnants of tears tracing her cheeks. "Sorry I'm late to help! I was doing stuff."

Dipper, close behind with his hat and vest disheveled, breathing hard, swung it open after her. "She pushed me down the stairs!"

"What are you talking about, Dipper?" She scoffed at her brother. "I'm a joy to be around!"

Dean let himself grin at their antics. "Oh yeah?"

"Dean." Sam was smiling too, but he elbowed his brother in the ribs. "Don't encourage that."

"What? C'mon, Sammy, you know we did the same crap when we were kids."

"Kids? Right." Sam let out a disbelieving breath. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it pretty recent that I schooled you in a prank war we had?"

"Is that a challenge, Sammy?"

"You bet your ass it is."

"Oh, you're on." Dean laughed, his voice trailing away as he went down the stairs.

Once settled, the crew piled into the Impala, bags secure and goodbyes had, waving to the others seeing them off. Wendy and Soos held Waddles in the air for Mabel to blow kisses to, and Stanford gave Dipper a thumbs up for assurance, hopping into the golf cart moments later for who knows what. When they had become specks in the distance, Dean glanced in the rear view mirror.

"Alright, pansy's, buckle up, 'cause there's a lot of daylight left to burn!" He said, reaching for the radio. "Next stop, California! We'll be there before you know it."

"Road trip! Road trip!" Mabel chanted, pumping her fist.

As though to confirm her suspicions, Hot Blooded by Foreigner rang out to accompany them on their journey, Sam shaking his head and Mabel joining in.

The hours flew by, some fairly quickly and others with a slight drag. Dipper occupied himself with the third journal happily for a good bit of it, making notes and adding special hunting tips Dean would slip him every now and then between songs. He found that he enjoyed the Winchester's taste in music, though it had confused him when they'd met, and absolutely revealed in the fact that according to the older of the two brothers, 'driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake-hole' and promised silently that when he started driving, it would be a rule he shared with Mabel. His sister, on the other hand, seemed to know a good many pieces from Dean's playlist and sang cheerily for most, urging Sam to join her which he did so reluctantly at first, then without hesitancy. She continued to point out animal shaped clouds that sped by her window to her brother, playing Eye Spy with him to keep away the boredom. Dean kept the music going, mining invisible drums on the steering wheel occasionally. He was relaxed, at ease, Dipper noticed. They made eye contact once or twice and the Winchester would wink, causing the Pines twin to smile back. Sam, though he tried to sleep for a large portion of the drive, seemed opposite his brother and on edge, tense. After a restless so-called nap in the passenger seat, he roused himself to find a kink in his neck and persuaded Dean to let him take over.

Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie had faded in the air by the time Sam turned the keys in the ignition to signal their pit stop and the group piled out of the black Chevy, stretching as they went.

When they regrouped at the car, it was clear Sam had encountered something sour, as he spoke in Dean in hushed tones.

"Dean, look at this," he hissed. A beat up newspaper waved in Dean's face and he grasped the corner to hold it steady.

"Woah, woah, woah. Slow down, Sam." He squinted, lowering his voice, read the article in front of him, then read it again. "A case?"

"A couple devouring themselves to death?" His younger brother raised his eyebrows, as though to say, seriously? "It's pretty odd. I'd call that a case." The newspaper lowered, and so did his voice in turn. "We should check it out."

"Sioux Falls, South Dakota isn't really what I would call a detour, Sam. Besides, we promised we'd get the kids home." He frowned. "I can't believe I'm saying this, since I'm not usually the responsible one."

His brother was quiet, and Dean could tell he wasn't letting this one go despite the spanning miles separating them.

He sighed.

"Look, you know what, see if someone else is on it, check in with Bobby. Two birds with one stone. Then we know if it's handled and we know what's up with him. If it's not, we'll go visit the coroner there and solve the son of a bitch. Deal?"

Satisfied, Sam dipped his head in a silent thank you and walked off at some distance to contact the very stubborn hunter who'd built a panic room on a weekend off.

"Bobby?" Dean had said.

Bobby had glanced at him, sounded defensive, blue and white baseball cap on snug as always. "Yeah?"

"You're awesome."

As the dial tone sounded in his ear, Sam let his fingers relax when Bobby's gruff voice came through loud and clear and annoyed but somewhere inside relieved. "Hello?"

"Hello? Sam? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Bobby, it's us."

"Finally! You boys okay? I tried calling and nothin' would go through. You fall off the edge of the friggin' world or somethin'? I was worried sick for your asses."

"Something like that," Sam replied with an outward sigh, a bracing half-smile the other hunter couldn't see. "Hey, listen, are you okay? Some Vamps we ran into a week or so ago gave us quite the scare and we're just now hitting the road again." The Winchester had left out a lot of what had recent transpired, but he figured that could inform Bobby another time, best done face to face where he and Dean would get scolded properly for going AWOL.

"Me? Okay? I mean my hat is missin' but don't I sound okay enough to you?" Bobby huffed back into the speaker, edging into a scoffing spiel. "Look, I get that you worry, but I'm sick and tired of being asked that, like I'm mortal or some idjit crap. You don't even know if I am. Neither do I. I've never died even ONCE. Nothing has been proven yet, Sam. So quit making assumptions, it's rude."

The younger Winchester chuckled at the sarcastic tirade and he confirmed verbally, "Will do. Want me to tell Dean?"

"Damn straight."

They rested in the still small moments of catching up they'd done until Dean caught Sam's eye and mouthed a, so?

"By the way, Bobby, that case popping up in Sioux Falls? Anyone on it yet?" He turned away from his brother for a tiny fraction of privacy, flipping the paper over that he'd snagged at the gas station counter.

Bobby harrumphed, shifting through his many, many notes. "Not that I know of. Why, you want it?"

"We're heading that direction already, figured we could jump on it," Sam lied and bit his tongue. "If you get any leads, would you let us know?"

"Sure thing, Sam. Don't get into too much trouble, you hear me? And say hi to Dean for me, would you?"

"You got it." Hanging up, Sam returned to the Impala where Dipper and Mabel were having a bubble gum blowing contest. (Mabel was winning). He moved around to shotgun once more, peering over the top of the vehicle to triumphantly flash a smirk at Dean.

"All ours. South Dakota it is," he said in confirmation, tipping his head like, I told you so, and climbed into his seat. "Also, Bobby says hello."

The twins scrambled in from Dean's side, overhearing just the last exchange and missing perhaps the most crucial part that would re-shape the rest of their summer vacation and subsequently, their very lives. "Bobby?" Dipper said, fidgeting with his own blue and white cap. "He's that cool hunter you told us about, right? You gonna return his hat?"

"Of course we will. Next we see him, it's his. He isn't the same without it," Dean answered. Mabel's posture shifted to a philosophical mockery, hand under her chin thoughtfully.

"Tell me more about this Bobby! Is he like Grunkle Stan? An old man with a hard shell and a soft heart? A guy who'll fight you for a dime?" Sam and Dean burst into laughter as Dean rotated the keys, brought the engine purring to life.

"Not too far off, actually," The younger Winchester acknowledged. "You'd like him. He's pretty kickass, always someone we can rely on, always got a trick up his sleeve." He rolled up his own sleeves, the plaid a faded soft green and brown. He thought of Jo and Ellen, hoped they were doing well, as well as hunters could be doing.

"So what I'm getting from what you're telling me," Mabel went on, finally dropping her hand to her side, "Bobby is the Santa of hunters."

Dean gave her a funny look in the mirror. "If Santa was real, sure." The Impala pulled onto the back roads once again, picking up speed, the tall dry grass blurred into fields of yellow.

"Psh, yeah." She said, averting her eyes. "Why would I think he's real? Haha, funny, am I right?"

Sam raised an eyebrow at her response and found himself in her shoes, a kid still bright eyed and cheery about the holidays when they came around and decided, perhaps against his better judgment, to engage to rouse her spirits. Long drives tended to pull that out of you, he'd learned, with the endless treks he and Dean had taken; an ear to hear became readily available (mostly). "And how old were you, Mabel, when you found out Santa wasn't real?"

"Dipper, how old am I?" Mabel leaned into her brother and cupped her hand around her mouth, whispering loudly.

"You're twelve, Mabel," he replied.

"I was twelve," she confirmed.

---

At around 11:30 that night, Sam looked up from his computer in their one night stay hotel room somewhere in Twin Falls, Idaho, and a half smile came to his lips. He made eye contact with Dean, motioning to one of two queen sized mattresses where the Pines were out cold.

"We should, you know," Dean said first, letting the thought fully develop in his brain, letting it settle into the room, "put them to sleep."

"I think," Sam countered, smile quirking a little wider, setting both hands on the table, "we should be responsible adults and go to sleep with them, for once. One night couldn't hurt, right? And tomorrow we can start fresh on that case."

His brother made a face, shrugged. He stood, returned an unopened beer to the mini fridge. "Sounds good to me." Easy for you, he didn't say. Start fresh? Yeah, right, he didn't snap back. 

So they roused Dipper and Mabel, made a grand show of getting ready to hit the sack, shut down the laptop and
flopped on top of the bed, inviting the kids to do the same.

Not long after, the younger Winchester reached up; the hotel light clicked off and he rolled over. "Sleep well, kiddos," he murmured quietly.

They responded almost in unison: "Night, Moose, Deano." And respectively, "Night, Sam. Night, Dean."

"Don't let the bed bugs bite, okay you two?" Dean replied, grinning to himself and closing his eyes, bracing himself for a restless night.

And quieter after that, both brothers could hear Mabel as she poked her twin, whispering, "See you in the morning, Dip Dop."

He rolled his eyes, smiled back to her in the dark. "G'night, Mabel."

---

Back in Gravity Falls, tucked away inside the shack, Stanford Pines -glasses set on the window sill, classically cracked - slept.

Or rather, tried to.

It was fitful, to say the least. The twins' uncle tossed and turned, far too uncomfortable underneath the thin blanket that felt like it was scorching his skin through his clothes.

When he did manage to drift off, immediately alarm bells were running inside his head. Something is wrong, they said. Something is very, very, wrong.

He opened his eyes frantically, only to find that he was not, as he feared, within the four safe walls of his room.

Instead, he was greeted by a dreary, collapsing landscape. The fallen portal from his past loomed behind him, yawning, hungry. The ship Stanley and him had worked on lovingly for years, the Stan O' War, lay distraught, unkept and collapsing to his left. On Fords right, their old beach swing creaked and groaned. He grimaced, feeling his muscles seize in fear at the cold breeze that blew through the unending wheat field he stood upon.

But for a brief moment, he wondered if this was a normal dream.

And then he turned, felt the grass beginning to collapse unnaturally and Ford decided, no, it couldn't be.

Not with his luck.

Done flattening itself to the ground in the form of a shape, a disgustingly intimate triangle shape he knew all too well, the form started glowing, faint laughter touching Ford's eardrums uninvited, growing louder, more confident, wild.

"I know that laugh," he grumbled, gritting his teeth. "Show yourself, demon!"

And he did, his cacophony of laughter reaching its peak as he magically appeared before his previous partner in crime.

"Well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well," Bill echoed, splitting into multiple versions of himself, surrounding Ford, encroaching on his space, eyeing him ravenously. "Aren't you a sight for sore eye! Stanford Filbrick Pines, my old pal!"

Ford frowned, squared his shoulders. "Bill Cipher. What do you want from me, huh? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Bill took on a pout, crossed his arms in retaliation and his top hat flopped sideways. "You're not allowed to be busy, Sixer! You're my only friend! Besides, quit playing dumb, IQ. You knew I'd be back!" He leaned on the older Pines twin, arm around his neck, tightening his grip like a noose.

The dream demon flicked Stanford's nose and then floated away, seemingly delighted. "You think shutting down that portal would stop what I had planned? I've been making deals, chatting with old friends," -He rubbed his hands together in excitement to emphasize- "preparing for the big day!"

Ford's heart dropped, pounding a million miles a minute. No. Not now.

"You can't keep that rift safe forever," Cipher continued, a copy of the rift temporarily sealed away blazed to life from Bill's blue devouring fire, coming to rest in his hand, "you'll slip up and when you do-!" Sang the demon, letting it hang ominously in the air.

He snapped and the precious rift shattered, an undulating tear ripping the reality they knew to shreds in seconds. The field grew warm, a large and growing flame eating away at Ford's feet.

He stepped back, forced the courage to boil in his blood, stepped forward. An accusatory finger was aimed at his scheming adversary with pin-point accuracy. "Get out of here! You have no dominion in our world; you never will!"

"Maybe not right now." Bill's form darkened, rose into the sky, eye sharp and gleaming as a predator fixated on its prey.

"But things change, Stanford Pines," he added, smoke swirling behind him, rising higher and higher.

"THINGS CHANGE."

Cipher began to laugh, a deep, haunting laugh so disturbing that it shook Stanford from his slumber.

He sat up, pulse racing.

Ford rushed to put his glasses on, tried to catch the breath that ran from his lungs.

"I have to warn them!"

But then Ford is taken aback and his world is thrown off its axis once more.

There's someone in the frame of his doorway, just out of sight, just out of reach from the moonlight streaming in through the window.

"Who goes there?" The Pines managed to assert, standing shakily.

The figure turns to look at him, steps into the low light and now Stanford can see. Can see his eyes, blazing, face, peeling. How his mouth turns upward in a smile, satisfied.

"Stanford Pines! How's about you and I have a little chat, hm?"

-CREDITS-

______________________
A/N:

Me: [patting my pockets] oh, shit. oh man, I can't seem to find my keys. This is wild. Can I borrow yours?
Prison Guard: no

YEAH SO YOU FUCKIN WANNA KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO FIGURE OUT WHAT DEATHS LICENSE PLATE SAID BEcaUse IT WAS FUCKIN NoWHERE AND I WAS HAVING NOnE of iT

anyways this was,,,, not supposed to take as long as,, it did but I had lots a stuffs goin on and I just recently found my will to write again amen ?? and I'm moving out? Starting my sophomore year in college?? I do Brazilian Jujitsu now?????? Who knew, right? I changed majors? it's a lot, but trust me I haven't lost sight of this fanfic, I'm very dead set on finishing it and I'm still very in love with the concept!! [cue confetti]

right so, if y'all are still here, and if you guys are hyped as heck to see what I'll spin this yarn into and if you happen to need updates more often why who am I to stop you! Please consider sharing, leaving a comment or dropping a vote to let me know!! That would be absolutely super!

{Song of the Chapter: O' Death by Jen Titus or Kicks by Barns Courtney} hells yeah

Have yourselves a good day, but above all, let's go and kill some evil jerks, shall we?
Styx