Wayfarer [Bill Cipher x Reader] [REVISED]

Chapter Thirty-Five: Collar Full

You passed most of the morning and afternoon in Last Chance, wandering between the sagging buildings. The general store, the post office, the bank and all the other buildings glowed with reflected light as you walked through them, feet skimming the century-old floorboards. Cobwebs, faded photographs, and tipped-over furniture greeted you in the timeless silence.

As the sun bent towards the west with a determined gleam, you finally exited the town courthouse and made your way back down Main Street, hurrying towards your final destination:

The bar.

Its weather-worn wood shone almost ghostly white in the mid-afternoon sun as the two of you walked up the sagging front steps. A sign covered in stubborn flecks of faded white and blue paint proclaimed: SPIRITS AND SPIRITS. Past the open doorway, dusty floorboards drooped slightly, their sunken middles speaking of caving supports and threadbare wood.

You came to a halt just outside of the doorframe.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Bill asked as he sauntered in. "Aren't you gonna come in?"

"... I'm not too sure we should go in here," you said. "I don't think the floor is in the best condition."

He clicked his tongue. "Oh, c'mon. Those Jim and Joe guys and their crew were able to walk around just fine, weren't they? It'll hold. I promise!"

"Yeah, but that episode seemed kind of old to me. They still had iPhone 5s, remember?" you said. "We don't know if it's changed since then. It could be a lot different now. The supports could've collapsed. Or maybe the floor's too worn. Who knows?"

"Doesn't look any worse than any other place in town," he said with a shrug. "For a place that's over a century old, a decade or so ain't gonna do much. It's fine. See?" He pointed to his feet, which were firmly planted on the floorboards inside. "Get in, will ya?"

He stretched out a hand, making a beckoning gesture. You hesitated. Well, if it could hold him...

You stepped inside and took his hand.

"Attagirl!" he said, looping his arm around yours. "Now, let's get going. I wanna check out the bar."

The two of you began to stroll along the outer edge of the room, taking in the sights. As you passed the billiards table in the lower left, you found your hand reaching out for its faded velvet, worn soft by the years. You stopped yourself just before you could smear the dust, though. Best to leave this be.

The two of you passed onto the bar proper in the upper left corner, just a few yards away from the billiards table. Dust and scratches, souvenirs of the years, marred what had once been a handsome walnut counter, where you could easily imagine rough-cut cowboys (and their hypothetical spirit companions) having a nice beer or shot of whisky after a long day on the range or at the funeral home.

Behind this counter stood a set of shelves about shoulder-height and above, which Bill inspected in depth. "Man," he said, picking up a broken bottleneck, "it's a shame the looters took everything. Would've liked to try some century-old gin..."

"Oh, lay off, will you?" you said. You lightly swatted his arm, grinning. "Alcohol stored out here like this for this long? Do you really think that it'd taste any good?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Never had it, so can't say." He sighed. "It's a shame we can't prove it..."

"Or a blessing," you replied. "We don't need both of us getting food poisoning on this trip, remember?"

"Like I said, no way of proving that. Anyways, let's go—is that that self-playing piano?"

He gasped in delight as he made his way over to what looked like a scratched-up, two-tiered cabinet. "It is! Dang," he muttered. "Never thought I'd get to see one of these suckers again."