The investigation came at a sprinter's pace; Bill had never before conformed to such an outdated concept as time. It was nearly surreal when the event caught him by the sack one morning; he'd been eating breakfast for god's sake, trying to keep this awful, fleshy... thing alive, when Dipper so rudely stopped by to remind him to bring his badge tomorrow , even though only yesterday they'd been counting down- what? Thirty-one whole hours? Holy fuck .

Bill wouldn't admit he was practically suffering inside this temporary vessel. Thankfully, no one noticed his antsy demeanor, though Dipper did stare an ounce longer one evening, curious and mildly concerned for reasons he couldn't quite describe.

Bill was dying .

Literally.

He could feel it.

Hell. Humans could feel it, and felt it pretty damn often, which was exactly why the sensation went unnoticed for those who just... lived in a body. Bill didn't , and wasn't usually subjected to this empty, hollow trail through his bones. His body was a metaphorical staircase winding into a coffin, where he'd eventually be if he didn't:

Get his body back.Get the hell out of this one.

He planned on bringing his A-game to this investigation. Dipper knew exactly what that meant: Nothing good.

"Bill, I swear-." Dipper began buttoning up his work shirt the morning of the investigation. Bill was still lounging in bed, an arm behind his head, watching his partner meticulously dress himself. "There'd better not be any... 'funny business' when we get there, capeesh? None of this-" He gestured at Bill. " This. Got it?"

"Got it, kid. Only mild shenanigans."

Bill eased up onto his elbows to run a hand through his hair. Mornings like these he hoped not to make a habit of, as habit-y as they were. Dipper halted at the final button on his shirt, tilting his head up. His lips curled to accommodate his equally affronted gaze, and the usual, intuitive squeeze of his gut whenever Bill became within shooting distance. He forgot all about dressing himself in one, sweeping motion of his partner's smug grin.

"No, no, no. No. I want- Bill, look at me." Dipper snapped his fingers, directing Bill's gaze up. He acted innocent.

"I'm looking." Bill assured at the same rate it took him to redirect his eyes back on Dipper's legs. His partner groaned, running a hand down his face.

"I want- watch my lips- Nothing to go wrong. Do you know what that means?"

"I can imagine, but please; inform me."

"I'll make it simple: Anything you would do, just... don't." It was a half-plea, half-threat from the way he bunched and rolled his shoulders with a near-forfeiting dread to his features.

"What if it's an emergency?" Bill whined playfully; he wouldn't be able to contain himself, especially if Dipper begged him to do just the opposite.

"Then you're fired. We're both fired."

"Hmm... Fire."

"Bill-!"

"Oh, stop your worrying, Pinetree. What could possibly-?"

"-Go wrong?" Dipper laughed tightly. "Oh, I'm glad you asked. Contamination of evidence. Mis-documented information. Civilian interference. You interference. Sabotage. Pretty much anything within a forty mile radius-."

"Wolves . Wolves would definitely throw a wrench in this whole operation-."

"It's on the list, okay? It's within the whole forty miles mark."

"Thought of everything, huh?" Bill smiled, leaning up, out of bed. His neck tilted side to side with a pop, and wasn't having a fucking skeleton absolutely insane? He loved cracking his knuckles; it drove Dipper crazy.

"I hope so."

"I doubt it." Bill stood and made his way to the bedroom door. There was this ugly, tacky portrait of a 1950s housewife waving off her all-american husband in the driveway; frame screwed into the wall, and that. That drove him crazy. Dipper made sure to let known how much he liked the picture.

"Me, too." His partner was nervous for obvious reasons, and suspicious of Bill's own reserves against cooperation. Dipper's brow crinkled at the words, and he sank against the wall, once again abandoning his efforts to finally get that collar-button secured around his neck.

"Relax. It's only the whole world at stake." Bill passed him, headed for the bathroom. Still, he knocked Dipper's shoulder, and with a smile that felt too soft for his lips. "Nothing you can't handle, right?"

Dipper settled his eyes on Bill's, then away. He sighed; grinned unevenly.

"Right."

[...]

The lake was circled in caution tape; an entire third of the dock out of use, with this giant sea-monster of an RV taking up mounds of space. It was coated in thick, greenish-black algae, tangles of weeds grown into the tires, and sludge hanging out its opened windows like ornaments. The vehicle smelt rancid enough to warrant fears of public safety. Mud pooling out the door, and actual dead fish lying on the carpet.

Dipper vomited.

A little.

In his mouth.

"Fuck." Dipper threw an elbow over his nose. The sun beating down on them practically baked the RV, so when they had it's doors pried open, it was nothing but a wall of hot bluegill-breath. He faltered at the entrance, already light-headed from the smell, and the texture of the carpet, which was both mushy and crunchy all in one. Dipper's brain was wired to wonder what things tasted like. Which was-.

Yeah.

Dipper was gonna be sick.

"Getting cold feet already?" Bill had his hand placed peacefully between his shoulder blades, rubbing soothing circles. He hoped the motions would trigger Dipper's gag-reflex, or at least give him second thoughts. Wishful thinking. His partner, looking green, pressed on after a few short breaths of fresh air.

"You wish."

"Now, why would I ever wish that?" He trailed behind Dipper, arms folded, seemingly unaffected by the stench. Coming from a guy who played Twister with Gremrod, Demonic Lord of the Stink Dimension, this was practically child's play. Even his human-nose remembered the traumatic, unparalleled smell of 700 rolls of red, pus-y flesh, and Gremrod, Demonic Lord of the Stink Dimension complaining Bill's angles were digging into his ass.

Their shoes sank into the carpet; once a soft baby blue, turned ugly-mustard-brown. It was impossible to see out the windows, tinted in grime, and gristle, and- Dipper tried disillusioning himself of what else it might be. He swallowed, trying not to remind himself of all the dead-fish particles flooding his longues.

"Hand me my forensic kit."

"Wouldn't you rather have a barfbag?" Bill jabbed, expertly avoiding his primal urge to lean up against any surfaces. Dipper's face, piled on with his already disgusted expression, glowered.

"For-en-sic. Kit. Now." He spoke between his teeth, hand extended to receive the tools. Bill could only roll his eye before tossing it his way; Dipper had relinquished his title as "Kit-Carrier" around the same time his knees started buckling from the smell.

"Thanks." Dipper caught it with fumbling fingers. Before he could doubt his own resilience to stay upright in that putrid, awful RV, he began digging through a mess of tweezers and flashlights to fish out a comically large magnifying glass.

"If I didn't already know I was fucking a nerd, this would probably tip me off."

"You're just jealous of my depth-perception." Dipper raised the magnifying glass; it made his right eye look massive.

"Trust me. If I had to watch this in HD, I might just quit." Bill tossed back with a grin.

Dipper scoffed, turning his attention towards the interior. The walkway was narrow between double-booths, a small, halved table, a sink clogged in discarded fishing hooks, tangles of line, and a slim bathroom with the door blown off its hinges. The cupboards were ripped from their walls, light fixtures nothing but soaked wires, with curtains miraculously suctioned and concrete-dried across the ceiling with clumps of algae.

"You scout the front half; I'll check the living area."

Dipper, pinching his nose, led deeper into the RV. Where he stepped, clothes were scattered about; mainly female articles. Bras, skirts, and tank tops.

"Roger that, Sherlock-Homo." Bill replied with a salute.

"Oh, come on. Low-hanging fruit."

"You're a low-hanging fruit."

While Dipper busied himself, gloved-hands opening pockets with a travel-size pair of tweezers, Bill occupied the driver's side. He rode a covered finger over the dash; Bill needn't worry if he'd left fingerprints behind. His vessel had still been graphing skin for all the time it took him to dump the RV. And, even if not, there was no way they could trace fingerprints to a man who didn't have so much as a birth certificate. He wasn't concerned.

Still, Bill should look busy, and if anything incriminating did come up, he should be first to find and dispose of it. Sure enough, peering over the driver's seat lay a blood-stricken set of footprints, just his size, stuck between cushion and gas pedal. It was more a muddied brown and, once again, algae obscured the washed outlines, though a closer look connected the dots. Luckily, it seemed the mass of his footprints had been smeared out by weeds and gunk. This pair only survived because it had been hooded by the dashboard.

He threw a glance over his shoulder to make sure Dipper's eyes were still glued across the room, before stepping over the armrest to grind his foot into the carpet. Blood didn't often wash out once dried, but submerged in a lake for a good month, and it was like dissolving salt in water. Pressing in with his toes, then his heel, the mark quickly lost its original shape. More like a stain, less like a print.

"Hey, Bill?" Dipper called from over his shoulder, forcing Bill to jump from his compromising position.

"Yeah?" Bill threw his hands in his pockets, before pulling them out once remembering all the gunk that soiled his gloves, and now the interior of his pants. Dipper stood, hesitantly removing his arm from over his nose. He cringed, curling at the stench once more, wafting at the air thick in his throat.

"Let's say, hypothetically-. You were... this guy." Dipper spoke slowly, gesturing at the mass of clothes at his feet. And Bill, just as slowly, folded his arms.

"...Hypothetically." His voice was level; cautious. When Dipper shifted side to side, he couldn't help but follow the motions like a fawk.

"What'd be the first thing you'd do after getting a body?" Dipper asked.

"First thing? Well, I'd probably be hungry." He side-glanced the blood smears at the tail-end of his reply before rolling his shoe against the RV's carpet, silently wiping off trails of red. His partner didn't seem to notice.

"Okay, well-. Second thing, then."

Bill squinted his eye.

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm just thinking." Dipper's body fumbled to find a place to set down his magnifying glass without risk of smearing the lens. He turned towards a propped window and set it on the frame, balanced precariously between vehicle and lake. "When I saw... him after all this time, he was this-. Well, uh-. He was a glob." He explained with a roll of his hands.

"Okay?"

"It's like-. He didn't have... parts, you know?"

"Oh, like a dick?" Bill offered. His partner nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, um-." Dipper moved to take a seat, getting as far as placing his hand across one of the booth's gooey cushions before quickly jerking away. Irritation bubbled over his features, washed off by a shake of his head. He huffed. "So, I never really ruled out-. Like, hey. I don't think he'd really care if he got either, or-. Like-."

"-A vagina."

"Okay, yes . Thank you." Dipper sighed. "It was always possible in my mind that maybe he took a girl's form. Does that make sense?"

"You're saying he might be a girl..." Bill could hardly cloak the amusement in his tone.

Hell. He wasn't wrong. What could he say? Bill's original form hadn't come equipped with means for reproduction, and the thought of him getting... The urge in his old vessel was down-right hilarious. He/him was more a formality, given the pitch of his voice, but it'd really been up to the universe what kind of body it'd put him in. Dipper's theory was progressive. Smart. Still, it was leading him in all the wrong directions.

Bill smiled.

"Actually, I'm pretty confident he's a boy."

Bill stopped smiling.

"What?"

"All the clothes left here are... girl-stuff." Dipper, to make a (disgusting) point, bent down with his tweezers. He hoisted up a fish-stained pair of panties before sloshing it across the table. "I'm just saying, if I made a body out of purely organic material, I'd be naked. The first thing I'd do is find some clothes."

"What? That match?" Bill jeered.

"That fit. Unless he's occupying the body of a 6'4 Amazonian."

"Are you ruling it out?"

"You aren't?"

Dipper squinted Bill's way, incredulous and dumbfounded all in one. His partner sounded-. Well, he sounded more ridiculous than usual. Maybe he'd gotten too comfortable in their newly founded comradery, but something about this felt so out of the ordinary. Bill was a glorified handful, but he at least cooperated when it came to following along in Dipper's erratic theories. This felt so... resistant.

Perhaps Bill noticed Dipper's suspicion. He sighed after a moment of silent staring, head tilted to look out the window.

"So-." Bill huffed. "Scratch out the ladies?"

Dipper weighed him with a look gone unnoticed, before nodding his agreement.

What was up with him?

They went back to scavenging. Or, "scavenging." Bill more-or-less retraced his steps; he'd only done so much snooping when he first arrived. Other than that, it was twiddling thumbs and checking his phone every-so-often; Gideon surprised him last night with (quite alarming) photographic evidence of his progress. He'd already snatched up one of Mabel's hairbrushes and Wendy's empty moisturizing bottles, and hinted at hitting Robbie's place next. It was fast, definitely. Hopefully, fast enough.

They spent hours in the RV. Long enough for Dipper to go partially nose-blind to the smell, and indifferent to the algae scraped across his pant legs. He picked at samples on the wall. The carpeting. The curtains. All mindless, pointless collections. Even knowing, he stored them away in individually marked viles, organized and uncontaminated. The sun had only been rising when they arrived, but now it was at a high mark. They were wasting daylight.

Dipper sighed. He swiped a gloved-hand down the side of the wall adjacent to a window before resting his shoulder against it.

"Find anything?" He called out to his partner, who just as smoothly- that being, not smooth at all- slid his phone away.

"An article on Sea Turtles, mainly." He admitted. Dipper dropped his head.

"Great." He leaned up, off his shoulder, before thumping back against the wall. Just above him lay a space overhead, contrived for luggage, which shook at his pounding. It hardly interested Dipper, though Bill's eye drew up towards it for a moment, then away, then-.

Oh.

He always did wonder what had become of his old arm.

Well, there it was. All stony, covered in sludge, hanging half-out a popped open carry-on. Compliments to craftsmanship; it seemed to be faring well, all considered. Of course it was, he supposed. It was built to retain the most powerful being in the universe. Now, it was demoted to "Nick-nack," but once before, it'd been attached to something truly spectacular.

And, well-.

Bill suspected it'd be bad if Dipper noticed.

"God." Dipper thunked his head, tilting up; worryingly close to coming eye-to-eye with it. Bill's jaw clenched, sucking a hiss between his teeth. "What time is it?"

"Um." Bill fished out his phone, eye switching between screen and partner. "Lunch."

"Already? Shit. I told Mabel I'd take her out today." Dipper groaned with a tisk. He nearly rode a hand down his face before halting. Instead, he scraped his glove off the edge of a table, looking exhausted.

"How about we take a break?" Bill suggested.

"Ah... No. I'll just do it some other time. She gets how important this is." He popped up from his lax position. Bill couldn't help his sigh of relief when it looked Dipper might move out and away from its line of sight, until he placed a hand against the carry-on and leaned right next to it.

"Yeah... Definitely." Bill spoke in slow, drawn vowels, shifting side-to-side like he wasn't yet sure what to do with himself. Well- dammit all- he wasn't. He felt his brow perspire when Dipper's fingers let out a rhythm of drums; clench and unclench the carry-on. Bill took a breath, eyeing his old arm without letting known he was. Which was surprisingly hard.

"You okay? You look kind of pale." Dipper moved an inch forward, nearly brushing fingers with the disassembled statue. Bill's smile tightened.

"Yup! Just, uh- Hungry. Why don't we go to lunch, you and I?"

"You go on ahead; I wanna finish up here." Dipper shrugged, staying planted in place. Bill persisted.

"I'm buying." He waggled his eyebrow with an added "Huh -huh?"

"Now I know something's wrong." Dipper snorted, and this time, he did touch the arm. Not that he realized. It was all soft algae and smooth surfaces, like the rest of the carry-on. Still, Bill practically broke his teeth at the fiery sting up his spine, barricading a hefty shout behind his teeth. He felt lightheaded. Blind, tight-throat with aching teeth. He felt his heartbeat through his feet, nearly swallowed his tongue, and faltered when Dipper's weight made the carry-on creak.

Bill's partner rattled on and on about some little nonsense, making nest beside this massive clue. Dipper looked away, peering off to the side where a half-dead fish rolled off the high-end of one of the broken cupboards. All of a sudden, Bill was nothing but fight-or-flight. He couldn't convince Dipper out of the RV without drawing more suspicion. Going up and taking the appendage would only bring attention to it. If he tried moving his partner away, it might be just enough perspective for him to see exactly what Bill was seeing. The only real option seemed to be erratic action.

He was right.

While Dipper was distracted, relaying some conversation he'd had with his mother over the weekend, who'd asked how he and Bill were doing, Cipher was already formulating a plan. It was really only three steps. One, two, three, and he was right at the stick-shift. His hand moved automatically, heart in his throat, and a sudden jerk at the seeming teeter of his arm, which might fall from its tall perch if he didn't do something.

He gave one last glance at his partner, still going on about this and that, comfortable and lax and grinning in the opposite direction, like he was looking off into the distance. Bill took a breath.

And threw the RV in reverse.

"Holy-!" Dipper's body lurched in place, feeling the sudden movement. He practically threw himself across one of the seats, sensing a sudden tilt, then the impact of water against the vehicle's back. "What the fuck?!"

Bill played innocent, throwing his partner a confused look. Dipper wouldn't connect the dots if he didn't actively see his partner do so. And, why would he? He hadn't a motive. Instead, he hastily beckoned for Dipper to join him at the entrance, just as water began bubbling up at the back of the RV.

"Shit! We gotta get outta here! " Bill called out, hysterical and hoping to mold Dipper's emotions to mirror just that. There was a shift, and suddenly water was overtaking the open windows.

"Ah!" So quickly, Dipper was up to the knees in lake-water. Still, meeting Bill's gaze, he only clung to the back of his seat, unmoving. "One minute! Just- One minute, okay?"

"Are you fucking serious?!" Bill bellowed, throwing him an incredulous look. He tilted his gaze up, just in time to watch his arm plummet a meter ahead of his partner. Bill's stomach clenched at the sudden strike of intrigue on his partner's face. Only a moment's recognition, before looking back up to chew his lip.

"I just wanna make sure!" Dipper argued.

Something in his gut told him this RV wasn't just a waste of time. It couldn't be. Obviously, the universe didn't want him to figure that out, being it was currently trying to sink his ship, so to speak. He released his grip on the cushions, transferring it once more to the carry-on, where he shuffled ahead, eyes planted on the space where Bill's arm had fallen. To him, it had only been an obscure object of grey and green. Long, like a pole, though blurred by adrenaline. He trudged ahead, clinging against the rush of water.

"Make sure of what?! We scoped out the whole damn RV-!"

"Shut up, Bill!" Dipper pushed ahead, even as the floor shifted below him and water went from knees to mid-thigh to hips. Peering down, he made note of a thick, limb-like figure which felt like stone against his foot.

"Let's go!"

"Almost-!"

"Now, Dipper!" Just then, a second wave crashed through the windows. It knocked Dipper forward, stopped only by pure buoyancy when water levels broke past his waist, to just below his chest. The RV really started to tilt then, and just as it did, the motion had everything pulling to the back, which included the strange, obscure object he'd been eyeing. It slid between his feet, making refuge in what had to be five feet of water.

"No-!"

"Dipper, you moron!" Bill, in all his shouting, worked his way from the RV's entrance to it's walkway, separated from his partner by a table and some booths. He reached his arm out to him.

"I need to know what that was-!" Dipper pleaded with his eyes, even as the water quickly overtook his chest, now working to swallow him whole. Bill wasn't fairing much better, though the RV was tilted at such a dramatic angle, it still hadn't fully covered his chest. He cursed.

"Goddamn- We'll fish it out later! Now, come on!" He reached for Dipper who clung to the carry-on like a life-raft, hand pressed to the ceiling at the lift of his legs. He swung his head behind him, desperate to catch a glimpse of whatever he'd seen, but it was already long-sunken, lost in the ominous black of the lake. Dipper squinted his eyes shut, hoping to dispel his curiosity, but it wouldn't die away. Not even as he reached out, and Bill hastily grabbed hold of his hand.

[...]

Dipper sat at the shore, knees tucked under his chin, staring gloomily out at the RV, just submerged. Windows opened. Door left ajar. Ninety percent of what'd been inside floated off into the lake, including his forensic kit, which he'd stupidly forgotten to grab ahold of at the height of his panic.

There was a blanket, and all too suddenly, Bill was making refuge at Dipper's side.

"Still thinking about her, champ?" He slung an arm over his partner's shoulder, gesturing out at the open air with a grin. Bill had a coffee in hand. While Dipper had been sulking- absolutely heartbroken- he'd been getting coffee. For himself of course. He offered his partner a sip, but Dipper rejected it with silence.

"This sucks." He dead-panned. Bill nodded.

"Mmm. Not the gold-mine you'd been hoping for?"

"I must have the worst luck in the world." Dipper went on with a heavy sigh, feeling burnt out, turned down, and overall, empty. Watching a duck land on his forensic kit, floating aimlessly across the lake, didn't help his spirits. He felt duped by the universe.

"Oh, don't beat yourself up! There's always next time. They'll tow her out, and we'll have another crack at it. How's that sound?"

"Depressing." Bill knocked his shoulder cheerily.

"That's the spirit!"

There was a pause. Bill watched his partner's expression turn over as despair, then frustration, disbelief, and right back into despair. A heavy, muddled look to his gaze. Dipper was probably exhausted. Exactly the reason he soon found himself leaning his head into Bill's shoulder, which his partner tried not to pull away from- tried not to like.

"I mean-. Ugh. I just... I was so sure of it. This was huge." Dipper threw up his arms, leaning out to glare into the distance. It was all for naught. All of it. His entire schedule cleared just for this stupid investigate, which led to nothing. Not unless he counted being cold, wet, and absolutely humiliated. He sighed, lowering his head into his knees. "I guess I was just being stupid..."

"So what?"

Of course, Bill would never give him the satisfaction of sulking. Dipper's brow pinched up with a scandalized expression.

"So what?" He echoed. Bill hummed.

"Yeah. So what? We haven't moved forward. We haven't moved back. Nothing really went wrong, when you think about it."

"Five tons of evidence floating off into the distance isn't something going wrong?" He gestured out at the articles of clothing, the takeout boxes, the bits of cardboard and disassembled cupboards, and felt amazingly small for how much he relied on them today. It was trash. All of it. Still, he clung to the one reality in which it led somewhere, and hadn't floated off, as it did here.

Bill scoffed at his moody demeanor, instead jostling his shoulder to rouse Dipper out of his stupor. Miraculously, he did.

"Well, if you get all technical with it-." Despite his exhaustion- or, perhaps because of it- Dipper couldn't find the emotional drive to mope. It was more draining to be upset than to pretend he saw any positives in their current situation. With a sigh, then a laugh, he pushed up against Bill's shoulder.

"Okay, okay. I get it." Dipper rolled his eyes. "Square one. We're at square one. Which still sucks, mind you." He leaned onto his back, uncaring of dirt and grass sticking to his shirt. Not when Bill gave a sympathetic pat to his thigh.

"Square one-and-a-half if you consider all those algae samples in your ears." He supplied.

"Yeah." Dipper agreed, "I think I need a shower."

"Don't you mean we need a shower?"

Oh, he definitely did, if they smelled anything like that RV. Though, when Bill joined him on his back, head tilted to wag a brow his way, his coy expression was less about cleanliness, and more... Stuff.

"Do I?" Dipper teased with a scoff. He lifted himself to create a space between them, only for Bill to breach it.

"You do."

"I might." Dipper breathed. "If you can cheer me up."

"That is the cheering up!"

"Ugh." Would he ever get tired of rolling his eyes? Probably not. He could've kissed Bill, and that would've been the end of it, but he only sat back up. Where Bill was already at the threshold of his fantasy, Dipper was still tethered to his current reality. It sucked. Their whole day sucked. And, maybe Bill could just blow off steam with meaningless sex, but-.

God, Dipper didn't want to be the only person feeling shitty. But, if he had control over how he felt, then he could at least pretend to enjoy himself. When Bill sat up on his elbows, bouncing his eyebrows and looking... wet, Dipper wasn't sure what else to do but breathe in, out, and plant that kiss he'd been badgering him for. And, it was nice. Dipper realized vaguely this was technically their first kiss in public. "Public," being there were maybe four people on the lake, and they were all still gawking at the top-side of that RV. It was private at least. More private than he could hope, since rumor spread of what'd happened with Wendy.

He pushed the thought out of his mind, instead cupping Bill's cheek. Nice. Very nice. He was enjoying himself. Just-. Having a gay ol' time. Shit was-. Fine. Totally, absolutely fine. Dipper breathed in, and realized his hands had turned to fists. He worked to ease out of the motion, but his muscles were so tense. He tried convincing himself to at least soften his wrinkled expression, but each time his eyelids eased, this glaring, yellow shine bore through his lashes. He tried angling Bill's head to block out the light, but with how they were stationed, there weren't any non-awkward positions.

Okay. So he wasn't over it. At all. He could pretend, though. Bill didn't seem to mind pretending. The kiss went on, and he became less and less invested. Kind of drained. Kind of out of his. After a time, he couldn't suppress the sweeping sigh within his longues, which even he had to admit was probably rude. Like that, they broke apart. Bill almost looked insulted.

"I know. I know." Dipper groaned, rolling his head around. He fought back yet another sigh. It seemed all he'd really done today was sigh. He rode a hand down his face, feeling ashamed and kind of dorky. Like he was still twelve, neck-deep in the closet.

"Am I losing my charm?" Bill's question couldn't possibly be genuine, though it sounded like just that. Dipped snapped his head at him.

"No! Come on. Don't make me feel guilty." He pleaded, to which Bill only shook his head, and that glaring, yellow shine rode from cheek to nose, cheek to nose. It had an odd arch about it; rounded at the corner, though stretching across his face with tiny ridges. He couldn't help how it caught his eye.

Something in his stomach twitched.

"No, no. I get it: Every star burns out-. What're you looking at?"

Dipper's attention (annoyingly) was aimed elsewhere by the looks of it. Trained on the shores. Just the crust. He trailed his gaze back up to look at Bill, but more a feature of him, and less the person himself. Before he could question it, Dipper was already making his way across the lake.

"Hey!" Bill called out, but his partner was weirdly entranced.

What the Hell?

Bill stood, dusted the sand from his pants, and strided after him. It was hardly a struggle; Dipper was soon at the edge of the lake, crouched down and examining something quite odd in the sand. When he made it over to his partner, it was all he could do to stay composed.

"Um... Y'ello? Earth-to-Pine tree." Bill knocked on Dipper's head, but it hardly phased him. His mind was elsewhere. The sand. Dipper reached out his palm, and caught another glimpse of that golden light. His eyes darted across the land only a moment, before stopping all together, by which he hastily jerked to splash at something in the water. His partner looked at him like he was crazy (And, wasn't that a funny thought), up until Dipper retracted his hand from the lake.

Would you look at that?

The Universe favored Dipper after all.

There, pinched between his fingers, was a key. Not just any key. He could tell by the loose grime against his fingers that there'd probably been some kind of sticker across the handle-piece at a time. Probably a label; a numbering system of "271" or "500" or "633." Dipper pressed his thumb against it, and felt the branding of an Aztecan sun. It was a symbol. One he knew well, just as Bill did.

This...

Was a room key.

The lake had washed off whatever floor it belonged to, with its cheap, paper-labeling system. The owner probably saved a pretty penny by investing in stickers, instead of just branding each individual key. Which- really- should've irritated the hell out of Dipper, but he couldn't help the blistering smile that quickly spread across his face. He knew that symbol. He knew exactly where to look.

Bill lived in the same hotel.