There was literally no feeling better in the universe than when things go to plan.

Bill reclined back mid-air, enjoying the festivities and that amazing feeling of victory, content to let his friends and associates party themselves out in celebration of their newfound freedom. He allowed himself to properly appreciate and enjoy every little detail that he'd manipulated that allowed this time to come to pass.

A billion years of planning, perfect alignment of time and pawns, and even some direct influence in the last few decades all led to this. Perfection. Absolute perfection.

His thoughts drifted absently to the Pines clan, the most direct and intimate manipulation of all. The long-term cultivation of his favorite pawns was without a doubt his favorite part of this whole scheme. A little urging there, a nudge in the right direction, and all the right words, and the end game landed literally into his hands.

Now he had Shooting Star locked away in her little bubble, Sixer encased in gold, Fez hiding out somewhere, and Pine Tree running for his life, and everything was fine just fine—

"Boss!"

He was jerked out of his musings by 8 Ball, who walked up to the podium, an expression of urgency on his face, which immediately set Bill on edge. 8 Ball was first and foremost unconcerned about much of anything, so for him to be URGENT about something…

"What is it, 8 Ball?" he asked, righting himself. 8 Ball pointed out the eye-shaped window.

"The girl's bubble," he replied, the 8s of his eyes quivering. "I saw something DIFFERENT about it."

8 Ball's odd ability to see things even Bill would miss at first glance was invaluable to the triangular demon, so he made a point to never overlook the beast's observations. Without a pause, he turned to the window and turned it transparent with a flicker of his will, his eye widening when he took a good look at Mabel's bubble.

The bubble, which had been slightly enlarged to accommodate the girl's massive imaginative prowess, had now engorged itself to the point where the chains were straining to contain it. The vibrant pink color was now a pulsating, ominous red, the sign of the Shooting Star cracking and crumbling.

This wasn't possible. Even the most mentally-gifted human couldn't do this to the bubble; it wasn't humanly POSSIBLE. For THIS kind of reaction to show, the mental power it would take, she'd have to be a—

A sense of dawning realization, like a detail he'd overlooked, began to creep along his insides, a suspicion that was now ringing at him like a five-alarm bitch. He snapped his fingers, summoning his gold-incased Ford to his hands, feeling a slight twitch at his eye.

The statue had changed somewhat; Stanford's expression, which had been frozen in a state of horrified shock, now seemed to hold a touch of wrathful realization. The fingers that had been slightly curved were now clawed more inward, the digits slightly longer and more tapered at the ends like claws.

This too should be impossible. He had completely changed Stanford's biological structure from organic to gold. Even with the soul trapped inside, it was impossible for it to manipulate the physical form which contained it.

This wasn't right. It wasn't humanly possible.

….HUMANLY possible….

He was drawn back in time, decades upon decades ago, when he found the first of his pawns to begin the final cycle of his prophesy in Filbrick Pines, the man who would father the next two pieces of the game. Things had to go perfectly, without an ounce of suspicion on his part.

The man had sold his soul to Bill for glory. Bill didn't exactly tell him that the 'glory' in question would be fathering the two most important pieces of the prophesy, but that wasn't important. What WAS important was Bill settling into his new meat suit and setting out to find the mother of the Pines twins.

He established himself in a simple environment, away from suspicion. Constant possession of the Filbrick's body made it more and more difficult to hide his eyes, so he fabricated the excuse of being light-sensitive to hide them behind shades. He was married and settled, and soon the twins were born.

Stanford and Stanley Pines.

His Sixer and Fez, who were born innocent to the knowledge of what they were to be fifty-odd years down the line. He allowed them to grow up to the point where he needed to begin shaping them into what roles they needed to play; Stanford as the brain, Stanley as the brawn. He kept his cold, distant, neutral tone to them to drive them further into honing their skills. Stanley fought harder. Stanford studied harder.

Their bond was strong, which made all the more violent the snap when it broke. Bill didn't even need to check himself to know a future version of himself had taken possession of a Time Officer to go to that science fair and break Stanford's project. The dominos were set up, and that one science fair made them fall.

He made a grand show of kicking Stanley out and put forth some encouragement for Stanford to study, and study hard. To go from undergrad to PhD sooner than anyone had expected. To write a fine thesis and get the grant that would send him to Gravity Falls.

That wasn't to say Stanford was the only one Bill had his eye on. The life Stanley had been kicked out into had a 95% mortality chance, and that wasn't a chance Bill wanted to put his odds on. Granted, he was honestly impressed with Stanley's natural drive for survival, but that didn't mean he didn't veer a pointed gun off-target, leave a 'forgotten' $20 between the car's seats during times of hunger, or loosen the lock of the trunk Stanley chewed his way out of.

During times outside of life-or-death situations, if Bill were capable of pride, he'd feel it for Stanley. The man could con a deal out of the devil on his best days.

Back with Stanford, Bill made things a little TOO easy for the man, which only made Stanford all the more desperate for MORE when Bill stopped handing out the freebies. Having him call Bill forward was shooting fish in a barrel by that point, manipulating Stanford's pride and playing him like a violin right up to the betrayal.

He had been in and out of Stanford's mind enough to know he didn't have to worry about the man destroying his precious journals, or dismantling the portal. There was no human alive that Bill was aware of that had more pride than Stanford Pines, and that was just how he wanted it.

Stanford's sociopathic pride that blew off his brother, that stopped Stanley from burning the journal, that began a brawl over it, that pushed Stanley into the panel that branded him. The burn that sparked Stanley's survival fighting instinct, which led him to strike out at his brother for the first time with all the strength of a wounded beast. Stanley's mental, physical, and emotional pain that pushed his brother into that portal, sealing everything nice and neatly.

After that, Bill had no more need for his human flesh puppet anymore. He'd given Filbrick his end of the deal now, and he made sure to give the man a close, personal, AGONIZING look at what that deal had cost him. Doctors ruled the resulting deadly stroke as bad luck, but Bill knew better. Thirty years' worth of experiences all at once tended to do quite a number on the human brain.

The end of the deal signified the end of his time in the human plane of existence, and so Bill was forced to watch events forge before him from his decayed, withered dimension in the Nightmare Realm, unable to manipulate any further, and instead watch things unfold neatly as expected.

Gideon summoning him was just icing on the already-delicious cake. A deal wasn't necessary at all; Stanley would have all three journals by the end of the summer at SOME point, but it never hurt to scoot things along. But he wanted to really see what his little pawns were made of, so he played along.

He was pretty impressed with Stanley's mind, and even more amazed at the amount of control the man had of his own Mindscape. Self-awareness of that caliber was rare in humans, and Stanley seemed to control it almost casually. Eh, days in solitary confinement and isolation in a car would do that to people sometimes.

The imaginative ways of fighting him back were juvenile, but inventive, and Bill could appreciate creative destruction. Mabel especially had the kind of weird, mildly psychopathic mental tendencies he enjoyed, while Dipper's method was more cold and calculated, both of which Bill could respect.

All four Pines had developed in ways Bill found himself respecting in ways that went above his normal disdain for the human race as a whole, honest rareness in the eternity Bill had existed. Humans were renewable energy sources, pawns, puppets, toys…but the Pines were held in higher regards, even subconsciously…

Bill broke out of his musings, vanishing from the Fearamid and up to Mabel's bubble, his eye narrowing as he looked it over. On closer inspection, yes, he DID see something different about it, aside from the glaringly obvious. Miniscule ripples of energy swirled over the surface, flickering with an essence Bill knew, and knew well. In his hand, Stanford's golden prison had the same flickering, the type of essence that Bill himself called on to change the natural state of things; that could set water on fire and shove Newton's Laws right up the dead man's ass.

It was HIS essence. This energy he was feeling was HIM.