Chapter Text
FILE CODE: PI-ST-ST-340981-//-?
INCIDENT NUMBER: 340981-//-?=1
UNIVERSE TDI (TIME-DATE INFORMATION): [??ERROR??]
UNIVERSE(S) OF OCCURRENCE (SHORT-CODE): [??ERROR??] // MANUAL ENTRY: NIGHTMARE REALM
SUBJECT (TITLE, LAST NAME, FIRST NAME, ID SYSTEM NUMBER): DOCTOR, PINES, STANFORD, 9014509898
REPORT TYPE: TIMELINE SPLIT→ CANON EVENT→ DISRUPTIVE SHIFT
REPORTING OFFICER: [REDACTED ;)]
SUMMARY OF REPORT:
DR. PINES was forcibly pushed through his Interdimensional Rift-Bearing Split Device (SEE FILE UIT56087 , THE PORTAL) by his brother, STANLEY PINES (9014509899) from Earth to the counter-entropic range known as THE NIGHTMARE REALM. At his point of entry, DR. PINES experienced destabilizing quantum effects within the feasible realm of +/- 0.05%, leading to
Holy fuck, this is boring. I don’t get how my coworkers do this day in, day out, for millennia— for eternity. I mean, the benefits are great, could do with a little more PTO, but, you know how the economy is…
Who am I kidding? This isn’t about me! You’re here for Ford. Obviously. Look. I have to do my paperwork, and you want your entertainment. Neither of us will be pleased with the, uhm, department-sanctioned way of writing this cross-dimensional drudgery. So, if you cover for me, tell my boss I’m going this shit right, I’ll give you a real story, how about that? No one needs to delve into the inner workings of the spin on Ford’s neuron electrons, for Axolotl’s sake. I know what you’re here for: the suffering of a not-so-innocent young man, some cosmic homoerotic tension, and maybe a little soul-searching. Or you're just here for the porn. This… this is not that type of report. I can give you a not-so-concise thematic exploration of the concept of intrinsic and existential hunger, though, and what’s sexier than that? So buckle up, settle down, and listen close: when a man is pushed into an interdimensional portal of his own making by his estranged twin brother, the only way to go is up. Or… down. Or… into the fifth dimension? I don’t know, directions aren’t super clear in the Nightmare Realm. But Ford has one way to go, and by Axolotl, he’s gonna fucking do it.
Eventually.
Ford refuses to call himself an astrophysicist— a bunch of overly semantic bastards, they are— but he’s familiar with astrophysics. The heartbeat of stars, the cold song of space, the stretch of space-time— he’s familiar with the math, the numbers, the theories. He spent the entire time building the portal preparing for the mathematical possibilities he would encounter when it cracked open his universe and fed him the truth.
Nothing prepares him for the Nightmare Realm.
The first thing he feels is nothing. Complete weightlessness as the portal’s tug stops and he’s sent careening through a vacuum not touched by air or gravity. The fabric of the multiverse snaps shut on his brother’s terrified face, and along with it his anger washes away, replaced by primal terror.
The stars of a billion universes layer on top of one another, burning into his eyes in pinpricks of blue and green and red and white. Rippling green-blue light, like an Earthen aurora, trickles across the sky— or, the ground? Ford spins off-kilter, still pushed by the momentum he gained moving through the portal, and his vision topples as his ears and eyes fight to establish some sort of balance. The blackness twists and wrinkles as the Nightmare Realm crawls in the in-between of worlds, eating away at ordered reality. Golden veins crackle from bits of scattered rock to asteroid fields to lumps of grass and plants he doesn’t recognize, scraps of destroyed worlds being dissolved by the astral-acidity of a realm that can’t exist.
With a grunt, Ford slams into an pock-marked asteroid, scrambling to get a grip. The asteroid, too, careens wildly through open space, but at least it’s a bit more controlled than Ford’s free-spin. He digs his fingers in, and the space dust breaks apart underneath his bruised hands. Pain rings through his head, and his right eye pulses, blurry. Another asteroid next to his warbles, turns purple, and bursts into flame. Ford shrinks from the heat and prays his asteroid isn’t next in line. Lightning crashes without sound, blue-silver, in an arc around him.
My transitional housing between my birth universe and here is great and all, a real eternal party, but it turns out it’s got a bit of a lifespan issue.
That’s what Bill said about this place, and he wasn’t joking. It’s hard to comprehend, his body still exhausted from the torture Bill put him through, but everything feels wrong— breathing, moving, thinking. But maybe that’s just his broken bones, sprained joints, and lack of sleep. Not even a day ago he was holding a gun to his head and prepared to end it all— has it been a day? For all he knows, seconds in this world are thousands of years in his world.
Fuck, his world— Stan, the portal, Gravity Falls… his only comfort is he knows the portal would break after ejecting him into this place— it’s power capacitors weren’t aligned correctly when he and Stan’s fight turned it back on, and it likely imploded after he went through. Stan wouldn’t be smart enough to put it back together— hell, even if he found Fiddleford and somehow coaxed the engineer back down into that lab, they wouldn’t be able to put it together without his other two journals, which he had stashed in the height of his paranoia. Hell if even he remembers where they are— the past months, especially the last week, are a jumble of pain and confusion. Spiders, tattoos, stigmata— he winces as asteroid dust seeps under his bandages and into wounds still not healed.
His asteroid cracks, and Ford’s mind doesn’t move fast enough to process the rumble before it bursts like confetti, and he’s sent once again spinning through darkness. Stars above, stars below— no up or down, no forward. Maybe it’s a good thing he hasn’t eaten anything in days because otherwise he’d be the first to study the effects of a vacuum on vomit.
He catches a glimpse of a purple tree trunk in the corner of his eye and manages to snag it with his fingertips. Groaning at the strain on his shoulder, Ford hauls himself onto it, straddling it, and tries to get his bearings; he gags and coughs up bile and what might be a little blood. His head pounds as he tries to understand what he sees, but it’s literally incomprehensible. A breathing, dying nightmare.
Earthen anomalies are one thing, but this is a whole other world— literally. He can’t sketch or calculate his way out of this one. There’s just an endless expanse of nothingness, constantly being eaten and reformed and destroyed and constructed, whining under the strain of it all, until—
“LOOK WHO DECIDED TO PAY ME A VISIT!” Ice washes through Ford’s body. Slowly, breath caught in his throat, he turns.
Leaning leisurely on a throne of twisting optical illusions, robed in the sparkling screams of the damned, Bill Cipher grins with a slobbering eye-mouth. He’s larger than life, so big Ford’s half-fucked vision can’t even capture all of him, and Ford stops breathing.
“CARE FOR A GAME OF INTERGALACTIC CHESS? THIS TIME, YOU’RE THE PAWN!”
Bill snaps, and a silver-blue bolt of nightmare lightning shatters Ford’s purple tree. He leaps away from the force of the explosion, swimming desperately through muggy not-space. Bill cackles; he looks over his shoulder to see a mess of fingers and teeth, ten times his size, clawing eagerly across the mess of scattered dimensions. Chest heaving, Ford just barely grasps the sharp outcropping of a town-sized cave system, pulling himself into a crevice as the teeth-and-fingers monster slides past him with a haunting snarl.
Ford gets his feet on solid-ish ground and limps, hand clutching his side, further into the caves. Gravity stutters, starting and stopping, and the way it tosses him about feels almost like being within the berth of a great ship in a storm. At times he’s pulled down harshly, crawling through the tunnel, other times left floating, scrambling with his aching hands along the ceiling. This place is more solid than any he’s seen in the Nightmare Realm yet, however, and its thin channels prevent more of Bill’s gargantuan minions from chasing after him.
Panting, Ford rests in a pocket of normal gravity, pressing his back into cool, sharp stones. The pain prickling along his back from the rough surface keeps him alert even as his body begs him to stop. Digging into his trench coat pocket, Ford pulls out his spare pair of glasses and slides them onto his face. They don’t help his injured right eye, but at least his left is mostly intact. Half-blind… it’ll have to do, for now.
Ford tries to focus enough to take stock of his situation. Body? Dying. Perhaps literally. Weapons? None. Knowledge? Only related to Earth and therefore shatteringly irrelevant. He curses to himself and tries to recall anything Bill said about this place, but all he can pull from his mind is endless sickly-sweet manipulations and, towards the end, endless threats.
Damn, how could he have been so stupid? So self-centered? To push away Fidds, to believe that he was really so great as to be blessed with a muse? He should’ve known.
“SIIIIIIXER WANTS TO PLAY HIDE-AND-SEEEEEEK!” Bill’s voice drifts through the caverns, echoing thinly against the ragged rocks. Sweat drips slow down Ford’s face and stings the wounds on his face. “FIRST ONE TO FIND HIM AND BRING HIM TO ME GETS THEIR OWN GALAXY!”
Various peals of laughter ring out from where Bill’s creatures are released. Ford pushes himself away from the wall and forces himself to move further into the cave system. Water— he thinks it’s water— condensates on burgeoning, small stalactites, dripping onto the slick floor. He catches some on his hand and stares at it, watching the clear liquid collect dirt, dried blood, and interdimensional dust as it slides off his trembling palm. He doesn’t know for sure that it’s water— but he can’t see straight and his head pounds too much to string together a coherent sentence, so he weighs the risks and makes a decision. Tilting his head up, Ford lets some of the liquid drip into his mouth.
It tastes like mineral water, the kind Fiddleford would sometimes buy because he was a picky son of a bitch. Ford closes his eyes and rests like that for a moment, like some kind of fucked-up baby bird in an even more fucked-up bird bath. The ground rumbles underneath him. He keeps moving.
In his world, Ford was ready for whatever anomalies he encountered. He was the expert, the professional, the—
Fool. Why would he ever want more than what he already had? If he had listened to Fiddleford, that portal never would have been finished. If he had been just a little gentler with his brother— oh, Stan, that idiot, he had looked so ragged, even through Ford’s Bill-focused tunnel vision.
The light scrape of movement against rock makes him pause at a corner. Low sound, something he would call chatter if he was sure it was words. Ford has no weapons, but he’s sure the only way out of this hellscape— if there is a way out— is through.
Raising his fists and taking a deep breath, Ford steps around the corner, letting out a strangled, rather pathetic war cry.
Sitting around a fire, eyes wide with fear, four critters stare back at him.
That’s the only way he can describe them, in that instant— critters. Creatures he would sketch in his journal, maybe study their tissues under a microscope. One with a pig’s face, one with a long neck like a giraffe and two bandaged limbs, one with horns covering its head instead of hair, and one bearded and guinea-pig toothed and with a metal arm.
They yell at him— at least, he thinks they’re yelling— waving an eclectic collection of pointy sticks and rusty gun-like weapons. He can’t understand what they’re saying. This makes sense to Ford: these are aliens, who wouldn’t speak English or any other Earthen language.
In this world he’s an alien too, he supposes.
Ford’s confusion, his fists still poised in the air, leads the critters to stop yelling and start chittering amongst themselves. The giraffe-necked one steps forward, eyes bug-like and huge, and chitters something to Ford.
Ford blinks. His heart pounds in his chest but the lack of action is already causing his adrenaline to drop. Putting a hand to his chest to calm himself, he shakes his head. “I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t understand you.”
The little group chitters some more. Ford drops his hands completely and stands at the edge of the ring of firelight awkwardly while they talk to each other. He’s not sure what this group is, but he’s sure they aren’t loyal to Bill: they’re too… lame.
Finally, the giraffe-necked creature pulls a thick silver watch-like bracelet out of its jacket and offers it to Ford with a click. Hesitant, Ford carefully reaches out and takes it, the metal cool and slightly buzzing in his hands.
The giraffe-necked creature gestures at the watch, and then its own stump of an arm, where it has a bracelet of its own.
“You want me to put this on?” He asks, and the giraffe-necked creature’s bracelet buzzes as he speaks, little black lines— words?— scrolling across its face. The creature nods.
He slips it on. The bracelet vibrates against his skin once, and then settles, and he feels the buzz move up through his arm and into his ears. The chittering of the creatures grows muffled for a moment, and then comes back clearly, as words he can understand:
“...sure looks like a human to me.”
“Oh, come on, there’s no way…”
“I am human,” he says, and can understand the various exclamations they all spit out in shock. “Fascinating! What is this, a universal translator?”
“Dimensional translator,” the giraffe-necked alien corrects. “A model K127X. I know it’s old, apologies.”
“Oh, no,” Ford waves a hand in thanks, the bewilderment of his situation obscuring his exhaustion, for the moment, “I’ve never had one before, so the model is no issue.”
“Never had one before?” The pig-faced alien snorts. “How have you gotten this far without a translator?”
The horn-skulled alien gestures towards a sitting-rock, and Ford takes the seat with a grateful nod. He wraps his arms around himself, tightening his coat, and leans in towards the fire. “I’m afraid I’ve only ever been on my home planet before. This multiversal travel is new to me.”
“What a damned bad place to end up.” The bearded one scratches at her facial hair. “Ach, where are our manners? I’m Uberjin.”
“Tal-korvic,” the giraffe-necked alien offers.
“Mitchie,” is the horn-skulled alien, and—
“Bertozik Nolokiv Gradiecio Mplora… the fifth,” says the pig-faced alien.
Ford nods. He’s not sure if these are their real names, or Anglicized versions the translator is feeding him, but he’s glad to have a way to refer to his new friends besides their features. “Doctor Stanford Pines. It’s nice to meet you— irregardless of circumstance.”
The measly gang exchange glances, all eyeing each other’s wounds. “Doctor…?” hedges Tal-korvic.
“Oh, not that kind of doctor,” Ford corrects, embarrassed. “An academic doctor. I’m a scientist.”
Bertozik oinks. “A scientist? So you’re smart?”
Ford looks at his feet. “Allegedly. These days it seems like I am perhaps not as intelligent as I’ve once been assigned.”
This seems to resonate with the group, and they nod and mutter amongst themselves. Tal-korvic cradles a pot of pinkish slop between his bandaged limbs and offers it to Ford. “This should be safe for humans. Good graces, a human, I’ve never met one before.”
Ford takes it, wafting it gently towards his nose. It smells like strawberries and meat. “Are we humans… rare?”
“Earthen dimensions are very protected. The Dimensional Authority doesn’t let many of you slip through the cracks.”
“Dimensional Authority?”
“The ones in charge.” Tal-korvic scoffs. (For the record, I’m not in charge. Timelines and essential events and such are way above my pay grade. I just write things down. Please don’t blame me for anything that’s about to happen.) “The ones who were supposed to protect us when we were on that mining colony…” the group grumbles with frustration, “... and instead we got sucked into a wormhole, and into this trash compactor of existence.”
“The Nightmare Realm.”
“Is that what you call it?” Mitchie laughs. “I guess that’s fitting.”
“Oh, I didn’t come up with it. That’s what Bill calls it.”
Bertozik shrieks, and the others cower. Tal-korvic takes his pointy stick and aims it at Ford, who sticks his hands up in horror. “You’ve talked to Bill? How? Are you one of his henchmaniacs?”
“What? No!” Ford insists, watching Tal-korvic’s weapon. “I’m on the run from him! That’s how I ended up here.”
Tal-korvic narrows his big eyes, unconvinced. “How did you cross paths?”
Ford sighs, tucking his hands into his lap and rubbing at them mournfully. “That’s… an incredibly long story. Now that I know Earth is a protected dimension, however, it makes more sense. He tricked me into making a portal to my world, in an attempt to claim it as his new empire. I… I abandoned my friends, hurt people… you thought I was smart because I am a doctor, my friends, but I am deeply foolish.”
Uberjin stands, and the others fall silent. Ford gets the sense she’s their leader. “Don’t be ashamed, Dr. Pines. Bill—” the others gasp again, and she shushes them. “Bill is one of most feared, powerful beings in the multiverse. This place, the Nightmare Realm as you call it—”
“It’s falling apart.” Ford interjects. “Crumbling under the weight of its own design.”
“Yes.” Uberjin confirms. “Bill has been a terror for all universes for millenia. He kills and destroys and warps without hesitation. He hides here, between worlds, to escape the Authority, but his world is limited. Earth is untouched, perfect for a demon with no desires but complete destruction. Because it’s so protected, his only way to get there is a sort of gateway. A—”
“Portal,” Ford finishes. He buries his face in his hands. “I gave that to him. I…”
“You’re not the first,” Uberjin says, and it’s meant to be comforting, but it just makes something ugly rise in Ford’s throat, almost like jealousy. “I doubt you’ll be the last. This is what Bill does, Dr. Pines, tricks and manipulates and eats everything away.”
“I’ve experienced that,” Ford murmurs mournfully. “No one has stood up to him? Not one?”
Tal-korvic laughs. “That’s not possible. Whatever power he’s shown you on Earth is just a fraction of his abilities. Out here, in his land, this world he created— anything is possible. What, you’d seek revenge?”
“Bill did more than convince me to build the portal,” Ford admits. “He… he manipulated the core of my being. Spoke to me on a deeper level. He made me think that he… cared about me, as a person. As a freak.” He said he loved me, and I believed him, he wants to say, but he’s not sure how his new friends will react.
Uberjin tilts her head. “You’re a freak? You seem like an appropriately constructed Homo sapien to me.”
Ford laughs a little, and holds up his hands. “There’s only supposed to be five.”
The group studies his hands. Uberjin strokes her front teeth. “A simple micro-limb difference? Humans are so particular.”
“I would classify that as an accurate statement.” Ford agrees. “Alas, they are my people. I need to protect them from Bill,” and make sure Stan doesn’t get tricked, he thinks to himself. “Would you have any idea on how to… return?”
The group quiets unnervingly. Outside, silence reigns too: Bill’s henchmaniacs must have slowed, or scattered to other parts of the infinitely large realm.
“The odds of returning to your specific dimension are low,” Uberjin admits quietly. “There are wormholes peppered throughout this realm, but no wormholes go to any Earths, due to their—”
“Protection, yes.” Ford recalls, frustrated. “I can’t go home?”
“If you created a functional portal, there’s always the chance of returning through it.”
“No, that’s not an option.” Ford shakes his head. “I can’t risk Bill getting to my world.” He stares down at his now-empty pan, and then back up at the group. “I need to learn more. About the multiverse, and about Bill. I need to defeat him.”
“You’re not the first to wage this particular war,” Uberjin warns. “And so far, none have been successful.”
Ford stands, wobbling as his vision spins. Right, dehydration— Tal-korvic’s slop is helping rejuvenate him, but it will be awhile until his body is fully functional. Curse his mortal flesh and all that. He shakes off the fatigue and fixes his coat. “I’ve never been afraid to be the first. I may not go home, but I can fight him. I can end it. Thank you all for your help— do you… do you need help escaping? Surely I can lend a hand as payment for your assistance, and your company.”
Uberjin waves a wrinkly hand. “Oh, no, we like it here! Sure, there’s the chance of being brutally consumed by one of Bill’s henchmaniacs, but it’s better than interdimensional mining taxes. Taxes are brutal, my friend. Look out for them.”
“...right.” Maybe the translator is too old for whatever word it’s interpreting as taxes. Nonetheless, he’ll abide by Uberjin’s advice. “Thank you again. I hope to see you in a world free from,” he gestures to the Nightmare Realm, “all of this.”
The group takes him to a small gap in the cavern wall. Space stretches in all directions, dotted with the swirling, glittery inky darkness of wormholes. Each burns bright and alluring in the center— all he has to do is choose one. One hundred millions universes— one hundred million possibilities. Despite himself, Ford finds excitement bubbling up within him. Ideal circumstances to explore the multiverse? Certainly not. But Ford’s father always told him to seize opportunities when he saw them. Granted, that was more about business and making money, but the advice still applies.
Ford eyes a particularly interesting wormhole, speckled with blue and red. With a final check to make sure no henchmaniacs are wandering through the void of space, he prepares to launch himself into the unknown.
“Thank you again,” he says to Uberjin, who shakes his hand.
“Good luck,” Uberjin offers. “If anyone can do it— I know we haven’t known each other long, Dr. Pines, but I believe you could be the one. You have the face for it.”
Ford smiles. “Until next time, friends. Stay strong.”
With a deep breath, Ford kicks off the ledge, and sends himself flying through the Nightmare Realm towards a wormhole. He hears the group behind him cheer “praise the Axolotl!”
Ah, the Axolotl. Not familiar? You will be. Ford doesn’t know who— what— the Axolotl is, but he will, soon. It’s funny… these people have suffered. Their own dimensions ripped apart by the beast known as Bill, forced into the drudgery of mining colony survival, left behind, abandoned, forgotten. And yet still they find breath within themselves to praise a being they will never truly know, will never get a response from, will never be reassured by.
I suppose that’s just faith.
Ford had faith once— in Bill. He let himself believe, just for a moment, that he was good enough to be cared for on a scope greater than anyone could imagine. As he swims towards his chosen wormhole, he has no faith left. No expectations of a greater power or even another mortal being helping. He knows he only has himself, and the knowledge he can gather.
The gravity of the wormhole snags him, and Ford opens his eyes to watch the glittery, star-speckled descent into a whole new world.