Chapter Text
His hands slammed down onto the table.
A sharp pain instantly shot through Ford’s hands, his bandaged palm only serving to bleed out more and stain the already old and rough medical application he had scoured for in a frenzy. He cursed at himself audibly, but had no time to care because something was in his HEAD, and he NEEDED to get it OUT.
A thud radiated throughout the shack, the cold seeping in through the boarded windows doing NOTHING to make his burning skin cool down, his head was on the table, breathing ragged. He'd been awake for more than he should, not really a new thing for him but even HE knew his body's limit.
His head was hurting. Everything might as well be in flames with how hot he felt, if he had a fever then he couldn't let it bring him down because resting meant giving Bill free reign over his body.
Ford couldn't risk anything at this point.
He could only pray, pray and pray that Stanley would come, that Stanley would be at the address, that he wouldn't question anything and actually come for him because he so desperately needed someone, anyone, he knew to be here. To see what he's been doing for years. To take his research and hide them, but not destroy, because it was EVERYTHING that he was. Is.
Ford lifted his body up, having been hunched over for too long. He gritted his teeth. Think. He needed to think. Get another cup of coffee and keep the shack cold because he couldn’t let himself be comfortable for even a second. Staggering back, he navigated his way towards the coffee maker, the machine was whirring loudly, but not enough to drown out the voices in his head, unfortunately.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
And he swore for a second he saw the shape of a triangle in the corners of his eyes.
"You know, you're realll funny, Sixer"
Bill's voice echoed throughout the shack, the source of his voice unknown to the other, it was like he was everywhere yet nowhere at all, his voice felt all encompassing, like it stretched for miles yet it had a slight static to it, a ring so infuriatingly loud that it was clear that its one goal was to overwhelm Ford.
"Shut it Cipher!" Ford hissed out, his eyes darting to a shadow where he thought he'd see Bill project himself onto, only to find nothing on the wall. Bill was only in his mind.
Bill was only. In his mind.
Bill can’t do anything unless he's possessing him. Ford’s just got to ignore him, ignore that annoying voice in his head, and work. The portal room can't be accessed by anyone else but him with the retinal device he set up, so all is fine. For now.
The machine beeped, and Ford quickly shifted his focus back to the machine, pouring himself a cup of coffee, albeit with rather shaky hands, that doesn't matter! What matters currently is time, and he's wasting it by NOT drinking to try and keep himself as sane as he can be.
"What? Do you think you could outsmart me? HAH! Buddy, I'm in your HEAD! I know what you're planning."
There was no triangle in sight, though glimpses of his form would be scattered here and there, not for Ford to see, but to confuse him and overwhelm his senses. He didn't make himself visible, he didn't have to, the sound of his voice itself creeped up the back of Stanford Pines, making sure to cling onto him and continue to make sure Ford could not think, could not begin to rationalize a single thought. Ford's threat lied in his knowledge and quick thinking. Take out his brain, and he's reduced to nothing more than a puppet he could mess around with.
Bill could not let his puppet be able to think.
"You reallyyyy think that I wouldn't know you'd ask for your brother's help? Oh buddy, endless timelines exist that you can't even begin to comprehend where you take this very same action and guess what? I win every. Single. Time. What makes you think this time is going to be any different?"
Ford gritted his teeth, his nails digging into the wooden table. "He'll be here. I don't care what other worlds you've seen, I won't let you win in this one." And he would make sure that won't happen. Other "hims" be damned, Bill might as well not be telling the truth, the demon will lie and make his way into your head, so what's to say he's not lying about him having supposedly won either?!
Trusting Cipher’s words now is the same as believing ANYTHING he’s said before. Useless. He gulped down the bitter coffee in an instant, shoving the cup away. It did little to make him any less tired.
Stanley has to come. He'll come. He wouldn't abandon him. He's giving Stanley an opportunity here! He'll be here.
He will.
"You're being stupid, Fordsy. You know he isn't going to help you."
Ford ignored Bill’s voice entirely, he hurried back to his study, reaching for his journal and flipping through the pages anxiously. He’s been considering ripping out the pages of his worst moments (trusting Bill) and especially of.. Stanley. But he hasn’t had the guts to really destroy his work.
He needed to hide them, it was stupid that he HASN’T hidden them yet, Bill could get access to them, Bill could do just about ANYTHING to them and he wouldn’t know.
Ford hesitates, a pen in his hand, ready to write a new page, yet nothing comes to his mind.
"What’s the matter brainiac? Running out of creative JUICES?"
Ford’s breath hitched. Bill’s voice was right in his ear. Bill’s tone was dripping with sarcasm in every word, his voice was still so ear-piercingly loud. Bill made sure Ford could hear him, even if he refused to acknowledge him. It was adorable, seeing him so worked up, the way his breathing quickened, the way his head seemed to blank entirely, he was so stressed, and it was so cute! And pathetic!
"Do you really think your little ‘Bill-proof’ suit is going to help you? That your fire can do ANYTHING to me? You can try! See if you can shoot me here!"
Shadows contort to form a triangle-like shape in front of Ford, a bright light practically blinding his senses flashing in the center of this weird shape, resembling the demon's singular eye. Ford flinched at this sight, his stance tensed and his six fingered fist clenched, as if he was about to fight.
"Or here!"
Another similar figure pops up, this time on the ceiling above where Ford stood. And then another popped up on the sofa. One on the carpet. One on the lamp. One on the coffee Ford forced himself to chug down. Shadows kept distorting, lights kept appearing and disappearing as the words "or here!" repeated over, and over, and over again, growing louder, that ring growing sharper and more irritating, the room starting to twist and contort.
Ford’s head spun as he watched more, and more, and more images of Bill projected onto the wall, the ceiling, the sofa, everywhere and anywhere and he can't help the way his breathing quickened, the more his body kept darting its eyes all around, trying to find—or reach out—to whatever is around, because a small, miniscule part of him STILL missed Bill and he HATED that.
By the time he had finished looking around the room, he was back to hunching over his table, reaching for his crossbow and gripping it tightly, as Bill made sure to mimic the feeling of his hands gripping onto Ford's shoulder, practically ripping his sleeve as he whispered into Ford's ear through the chaos.
"No one's coming to save you."
Ford heaves out, his mind racing with thoughts, both that were his own, and not, a mixture of chaos that was so horridly BILL, and he wished he didn't recognise them so easily. He needed to do something, something that would actually be effective, he didn't have much time and he knows that door isn't going to keep Bill out forever, he'll find a way to ruin him, his life.
Or well, more than he already has anyway.
What if his plans don't work? If he wastes too much time then that could cost the world, what then? What could he do if one day Bill manages to pass through? Manages to open the portal and by the time he wakes up it'll all have been too late? What would he do? He'll be the reason for the world's destruction, he'll be a failure!
His grip tightened, he pulled something up to his chest, his hands shaking but he knew he couldn’t let Bill have any chance. Not even one.
His finger hovered over the crossbow’s trigger and-
Stanley stood at the front of the door of the mysterious shack the postcard he had been sent had led him to, worst car ride of his life getting there, by the way. He dusted off the snow coating his thin jacket, cursing the snow. It was absolutely freezing outside, but this. This was it.
Ten years of not seeing your own brother, and he sends you a postcard with the same fancy handwriting you grew up learning to understand spelling out an address to Gravity Falls Oregon, accompanied by a messily scribbled out “PLEASE COME!” written on it. The first thing his brother had sent him in the last ten years.
He didn’t know how he felt about all of this, or what to feel at all, now that he arrived at the place he assumed his brother had been hanging around for at least the last few years.
Excitement, regret, frustration, but one thing’s for sure. He was freezing. He put his difficult to process emotions to the side, he’ll get to understanding them and whatever other therapist junk at a later date, he’s got time, building up the courage to knock on the door. He freezes up and hesitated knocking, taking a look around instead.
He grimaced at the nails that were out of place, planks that poked out of the floor, and wood that looked like it hadn’t been furnished in months. Yeesh, some rundown place this was, but it still seemed a little less.. tacky than his crappy motel anyway. I mean, a whole house all to yourself was definitely better than hopping from place to place every few weeks. Honestly, Sixer should let him crash over, help him take down the boards and fix up like old times! Hah.. yup, old times.
“You haven’t seen your brother in ten years. It’s okay! He’s family, he won’t bite!”
Stanley tried to reassure himself. He took a deep breath in, raising his open palm to the door handle once more. He bit on his lip. This reunion could NOT go wrong in any way, I mean, house in a recluse forest in some weird town? Not a red flag at all! He's Stanford, completely harmless, (besides what happened.) He's sure he’ll be welcomed with open arms.
He hoped, at the very least.
As he finally knocked on the door, he could hear some scrambling (he assumes it was) from the other side, and before any word was even spoken, the door had swung open with a scary amount of force and Stanley now had a crossbow pointed at him, his brother being the one who was gripping onto it, crazed eyes staring at him as his frantic voice shattered the silence.
"WHO IS IT?! HAVE YOU COME TO STEAL MY EYES?!"
Stanley stumbled backwards and was stunned, only for a moment. A crossbow in his face, a wild look in Stanford's eyes, one that he’s never seen on that nerd's face, but with all the years they've missed together he's just going to assume it's the result of one of the science experiments he's probably got cramped up in this place. His face contorted slightly, mostly to deadpan Stanford.
"Well, I could always count on you for a warm welcome."
Ford let his crossbow drop to his side. He let out a sigh of relief as he realized who was standing in front of him. It wasn’t Bill or any stranger, like he feared. Not at all.
It was Stanley. Stanley came. He actually came.
He was there, standing, in the flesh, he was breathing, he was looking at him, staring at him with brown eyes that were just like his and weren’t yellow and didn’t glow and he—he was alive. And oh god did that make him feel so sick. His eyes darted around, checking just in case anyone was around.
"Stanley, did anyone follow you, anyone at all?"
Stanley looked hardly impressed with his question, rolling his eyes, which only served to drive him into a deeper paranoia that he couldn’t shake from his mind. Was Bill possessing Stanley?
But his eyes were normal. BUT! Perhaps Bill found a way to possess someone without any visual indicators, he didn’t know the full extent of Bill’s abilities! He thought he did, but he had been tricked by him once, so this could be another one of his schemes!
Maybe while he had scrambled over with the crossbow Bill might've found a way to Stanley and possibly- god no. If Stanley had also been dragged into this mess then he would never be able to forgive himself, nobody should ever-
"Eh. Hello to you, too, pal."
Stanley grumbled, a tired look in his eyes and an annoyed tone to his voice, oh shoot, he didn’t mean for it to come off that way. Whatever, it was too late to change anything now anyways.
In an instant, Ford found a flashlight in his pockets, grabbing Stanley's collar and pulling him close, frantically checking both his eyes, just to make sure. Hm. Not yellow. They weren’t yellow. Neither of them were yellow.
That's fine. That's. Fine! That's alright. Okay. Stanley’s fine.
Stanley was taken aback by the pull, and even more shocked or well, confused, at his brother (who he hasn't seen in ten years, by the way, did he already say that?), shoving a flashlight in his eye. Is he at the doctor's or something? What is this, a checkup? He hasn't seen his brother in ten years and apparently he seems to have lost it. Just what is going on?!
"Hey, what is this?!"
Stanley shoves his brother's hands aside, he still didn't know what to feel. He wasn't one for reading, that was always Stanford's thing, but he'd kill to read a book on "How to interact with your estranged brother who you haven't spoken to in ten years while he's also coo-coo crazy."
He watched Stanford, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as he studied his twin. He was a mess, and that was putting it lightly. Bloodshot eyes filled with terror and stress, limbs jittering with any slight movement, mostly flinches, head darting towards any little sound. How did his brother become some sort of paranoid nutjob? Ah- that was probably too mean, a...a paranoid..person. Yeah.
But it really wasn't like Stanford at all, he never saw him stressed to THIS extent, sure exams would stress the guy out from time to time but stress that got the other practically gritting his teeth and pulling out his hair? He frowned. Something was terribly wrong.
Stanley paused as he stared at his brother, his mind concluding that this exact moment was totally the right time to start trying to process his emotions about all of..this. He had to admit, it felt both terrifying and kind of nice to receive that postcard from Stanford, even if it brought him to the middle of nowhere.
He was still happy to see his brother after so long, but now the fear that accompanied that joy turned into worry. Something must've happened to make his brother be on THIS much edge. And if his brother trusted HIM, after all these years, to help him, then he'll do the best he could. To make up for lost time and all.
Ford steadied himself after being pushed back, heaving. He was about to say something, something along the lines of "Sorry! I just had to make sure you weren't possessed by Bill Cipher!" but in the end, nothing came out of his mouth, just dry gasps and quick intakes of breath that he eventually found himself having to hunch over just to NOT throw up. Stanley was REALLY here. He wasn't alone, he really wasn't alone.. There were too many things that needed to be done but he just can’t THINK right now.
"Sorry, sorry. Come in."
He quickly stepped aside to let Stanley in, immediately retreating to his head to go over the plan. Okay, first order of business, he needed to get Stanley situated, explain everything slowly instead of rushing in. He might still have some time, as little as it may be, he MUST still have some time left to figure out a plan with his brother. He needs the portal gone for sure but he can't get in there by himself, he never once risked it. But with Stanley here now, he might risk it.
That's for later, though. He needed rest, time to think and regain his energy before he could form anything coherent. He hasn't had that coherency in so long, but with Stanley around, he could sleep easy. Or well, easier, now that there was one more person who could help him stop Bill should he be up to any (un)funny business.
"Stanley, I know this will be hard to believe, but I need you to listen to me."
He went over to small table under the fish tank, grabbing a bundle of research papers along with his second journal, he needed Stanley to get a hold of this situation as fast as possible, and he WOULD have gotten his third journal if not for the fact that he was insanely sleep deprived currently, he found himself shoving everything in his hands over to Stanley’s arms. Despite the overwhelming want to NOT hand his research over so rashly, he just. He just needed this.
"Everything I've written in these pages is true. If I wake up with a grin-or wake up in GENERAL after i fall asleep that. is not ME."
Stanley peered down at the journal that was shoved towards him, a crimson red hardcover with an outline of his brother's six fingered hand and the number 2 engraved onto it. His head tilted, scrunching up his face as he was coated with a look of confusion. Since when did his brother keep diaries? It really has been a while, huh.
Against his better judgement, he opened the book, flipping through the pages that were filled with notes and drawings of...of...wait, that can't be right. Stanley narrowed his eyes, bringing the book obnoxiously close to his face as he continued to scan the contents inside. Magic spells, ancient artifacts, WHAT IN THE WORLD WAS A WIZZORCISM? And he thought HE was the scam artist of the two.
"Wow bro, these drawings are NEAT! Hey, where'd you get all of these ideas, you may be even better at the scam business than ME!-”
He let out a cough in shame, noticing the look in Stanford’s eyes as he noticed his brother clutch a bit too tightly at his sleeve.
“I mean, uh, yeah! Cool stuff! Reallll nice.."
Oh yeah, super smooth Stanley, way to let it slip that for the past ten years you've been conning folks all over the country and running away from the cops just to get enough money for gas and food. Real master of social situations.
After that humiliating comment that he will now pretend did not just come out of his mouth and a few more pages scanned, Stanley closed the book, shrugging as he nudged it back to his brother. Stanford’s eyes were starting to droop, and he could tell even after all this time when his brother would start getting drowsy.
Stanford looked EXHAUSTED, and yeah, sure he might’ve pulled one or two all nighters back in their teenage years for some extra credit passion projects, but the guy should really know when to give himself some shut eye.
"Hey man, so, it doesn't take a genius to see you're not..the best, at the moment, maybe you SHOULD get some sleep, and I'll take note of that request of yours"
He comments, with a bit more nonchalance than he intended. God, he hated how this kept on happening. He doesn't exactly know how to act around his brother after so long, what is he supposed to do? Is he supposed to act bitter for the fact that he never stood up for him when his father was kicking him out?
Be apologetic and beg for his forgiveness for what he did to him in highschool? Act all buddy-buddy like nothing's wrong? Apparently he chose the third option, because the other two meant he had to acknowledge that those last ten years were real and this isn’t all just some fucked up dream and he really did NOT see his brother for ten years and he really DID fuck up his life because after ten whole fucking years the next time he sees his twin, his best friend, he’s apparently losing his sanity.
But yeah, just gotta continue playing it cool…all of this magic and journal stuff must be some sort of psychotic break. His brother needed his help, so he’ll BE a good brother.
This time he’s sure he’ll be.
Ford couldn’t tell whether the irritation that was building up in his gut was from Bill or Stanley’s comments. He couldn’t believe what Stanley was even saying. Scam business? SCAM BUSINESS?! Is Stanley SERIOUSLY thinking about a way—to exploit—to get MONEY from unsuspecting customers, NOW?! When he's in the middle of a breakdown, finding out that his muse was a monster! That his muse was a demon—and Stanley cared more about money than for the WORLD?!
He looked at Stanley, his eyes widened in shock, before his hands shot out to grip onto Stanley's jacket, clutching at the seams as repressed anger started to bubble up to the surface.
"Trying to make a business doesn't matter right now Stanley! We are border-lining on world destruction here! You can make another scam afterwards if you so wanted to—BUT NOT NOW!"
He pushed Stanley backwards, his hands shaking, even more blood seeping into the bandages. He watches Stanley for a short second. He felt like he was going to be sick, Stanley wasn't taking this seriously, he has never taken anything seriously, never really believed in the paranormal because of course why would HE.
He never cared about what HE liked, what he enjoyed, so why the hell should this even MATTER. It shouldn't hurt that Stanley wasn't considering his words in such a moment of need.
A hand ran through his hair, a small cackle leaving him as he could feel his hand tremble. Hold it in Stanford, hold it in. This isn't the same as that night. You're fine.
"I DO need sleep, Stanley, I really, really do."
He wasn't sure what more he could say.
Oh. Right.
"I need you to take this, just as seriously. You don't understand what kind of danger we are in—the danger the WORLD is in! Just-"
“Wow, he doesn’t even believe you!”
Bill’s voice suddenly pierced Ford’s ears, the being still refusing to show himself, but just to mess with Ford a bit more, he made it so that his right shoulder felt hot, burning hot, just as a reminder that even if he couldn’t see him, Bill is always. There.
“Sure he came to see you, but once you start rambling he’s gonna leave, ya know. You’re CRAZY!”
Bill’s cackles echoed throughout the shack, a cackle only Ford could hear, it was shrill and deafening. God it was entertaining, watching the other react so strongly to even the tiniest of changes. Ford hissed as that agitating voice pierced through his head, a voice that made him jump, his hair standing on its edge as he looked around frantically, yet Bill wasn't in sight.
Not around, not anywhere, just his voice. His voice and the scalding sensation on his right shoulder, making his hand shoot up to clasp it. His breathing only grew heavier, his skin feeling warmer than it already was. That wretched cackle echoing throughout the shack made his neck snap to where it originated from.
But there was no direction he could take, no distinct path.
Because there was nothing there.
"Get out of my head Cipher!" He screamed at nothing. He clutched at his side, his body growing heavy. The more energy he spent, the more his body was giving out, his vision was getting blurry from how long he had been awake. His limbs felt weak, even his voice was starting to become strained and hoarse from the lack of sleep. Shit. His body was starting to fail on him.
No. Not yet. Not right now.
Ford still had things to do. He tugged at his hair, a frustrated groan leaving his lips as his eyes darted back to Stanley. God, he probably looked insane right now. How shameful.
Stanley stumbled backwards, steadying himself by placing his arm against the cupboards beside them, looking down at his brother with his eyes widened. Oh god. God fucking DAMN IT, STANLEY. Always saying the wrong things, doing stupid shit that only upsets his family, of COURSE he screws up his first meeting with his brother. He says the most STUPID SHIT and then his brother gets hurt, it's JUST LIKE THAT-
No. Not now Stanley.
Now's not the time to dwell on the past.
It sucked, yeah, and he would be lying if he said he didn't entirely move on from what had happened, but that doesn't matter right now. What matters is the fact that his brother was shaking in front of him, with bloodshot eyes and breathing so quickly he worried he was suffering from some sort of asthma attack. He can't believe he only just now noticed the bloody and bandaged arm, just what has been HAPPENING?
"Okay, fuck, listen Ford I'm sorry about- that comment, I'm not tryna capitalize or anything- wait how'd you know about that."
Has his brother been keeping tabs on him this entire time?! He knew about his scams, about his whereabouts, oh my god that's how he knew which crappy motel he was staying at, because he still at least was updated with his life every once in a while through his ads, and Stanley...doesn’t know...anything about his brother.
Come to think of it, he didn't know what college Stanford went to after he got rejected from West Coast Tech, he didn't even know if he WENT to college at all! He didn't know what jobs he worked at, where he stayed before the shack, whether he made any friends, whether he had any lovers, nothing.
He knew nothing of his brother.
And yet, he still trusted him enough to help him??
Stanley felt beyond disgusted with himself. How was he the only person Stanford could turn to, he didn’t understand, how the only person Stanford could turn to was his deadbeat failure of a con artist brother. He was so confused, nothing made any sense, Stanford was always the smarter one of the two, this was all just- TOO much. He needed his brother to explain everything. Fuck his complicated and convoluted thoughts on how much of a failure he was. That was for later Stan to worry about.
Stanley warily stretched out a hand towards his brother, offering it to him as his brother’s body shook, growing weaker by the second. Just how long hasn’t he slept?
“I have way too many questions right now, just, let me help you up first, and then you explain to me just what’s been happening.”
Ford watched Stanley reach for him, offering a hand towards him to keep him upright. Right. Stanley didn't know.
Stanley didn't know about the portal, about the plans Bill had, didn't know about the demon, the paranormal, the barrier, the experiments he's done, about F, his other journals, about the fact that his brother, his twin, was a foolish idiot who fell for someone's flattery out of sheer desperation and THAT'S why he was in this predicament, why he's so weak and sleep deprived, because he let himself be FOOLED. TRICKED.
He didn’t know any of that.
Ford watched as Stanley turned his head left and right, scanning the area, trying to find anything that could help his brother. Unknown to his brother, he smiled at how worried the other seemed. He’s glad to know he still cared.
“Ya got tea? I think you still like tea, unless you don’t anymore, then I’ll just make something else and uh…” Stanley sucked in a breath as Ford tilted his head up towards him. Oh this was getting awkward. “Just- come with me and sit down, bro.”
Ford took Stanley's hand, Stanley helping him up, the two stumbling towards a couch as he found himself using Stanley for support. He had no other choice really, other than to rely on him because everything was just so, so overwhelming.
Ford practically crashed onto his couch, his exhaustion ALMOST getting the better of him but he managed to keep his eyes open. His vision was spinning, but he needed to stay awake, needed to keep himself together and think.
What should he do? What should he say? Where does he start? If he talks about Bill now, would Stanley believe him? He couldn't even find F even if he wanted to, F probably already left Gravity Falls back to his damn happy family—leaving him and this mess behind—like he was nothing!
Part of him wants to beg for him to come back, reach out and try to figure out how he was going to do all of this but he knew he could never face F again after what he said, it was too much for him to bear. This was his mess, a consequence he had to deal with for trusting Bill, because he was a fool—and F, was a smarter man than he ever could be. How truly wrong he was, to have trusted Bill as much as he did.
"Tea.. would be nice, but don't use the ones in the boxes, those can eventually kill you, if taken enough. Microplastics don't dissolve in your stomach."
Ford finally managed to answer, and as soon as he did, he immediately started overthinking again. Ahh.. Did Stanley know about microplastics? They did only start developing it recently, and nobody here seems to know about them yet. Stanley probably knew nothing about them as well.
"Microplastics are smaller practically unnoticeable particles. Toxic over time."
He added, just for clarification in case Stanley asked what it was. Stanley raised his eyebrows, impressed. Wow, his brother really did know him well, despite all the years they’ve spent apart. Because Stanley didn't know what the fuck a 'microplastic' was.
"Oh, uh, thanks pointdexte- i mean, bro. Uhm..."
Ford murmured a response to whatever it was Stanley said, he heard a familiar name sure but he couldn't really focus on what it was Stanley told him exactly. Whichever one of his names he said, he tried not to put much thought into it, he didn’t want to linger on past nicknames for too long. His vision was getting darker and darker but he forced himself to slap his face just to stay awake.
Curse this body, curse this shack, this town, curse that damn cave! He should've been smarter like his father had expected him to be but he won't ever be ABLE to be good enough. Maybe if he actually MANAGED to talk with others, bring himself to speak with humans, he wouldn't BE in this situation.
If he just KNEW what he had to say to please people, if he just knew what he had to do to make others give him the same smile they'd give Stanley, if he just knew how to talk like Stanley, how to be social and so calm around people, if he just UNDERSTOOD humans like he understood the paranormal, then maybe, JUST maybe he wouldn't end up like this, body burning, his hand stinging with pain, eyes so dry, feeling so, so alone. If only he had been STANLEY-
If.. only.
Ford breathed in sharply, shaking his head as he focused his eyes on an object, he can’t let himself be too caught up in his own mind, can’t let his feelings get the best of him because when has that ever resulted in anything good?
He clenched his fist, digging into the bloodied bandages wrapped around his hand. He didn't want to waste any more time. He had to come up with a more coherent plan. First order of business was done, but now what? What was the second order? What else should he tell Stanley?
He could warn him about Bill first.. if he was going to sleep or rest, he should at LEAST tell Stanley to look for signs of him. That if he wakes up, he should tie him up for good measure, just so Bill wouldn’t be able to do anything.
But then what if Stanley left? If he tells Stanley about Bill, would he be creeped out? Scared? Leave him here to fend for himself once more?
Stanley.. Stanley wouldn't do that. Would he? He could trust him, he could. He'll.. He'll....
He'll just.. just ask him to have a routine, just in case! He'll explain to Stanley later when he's been accustomed to the shack, he'll show him all of his evidence, his journals, with PROOF.
He's sure Stanley will believe him. He could take Stanley to that cave! If... it hadn't been winter. He could show Stanley his-
His.. his shrine.
Nope.
Gotta keep him far away from that.
So... fuck.. where does he start..?
Nothing he wanted to say sounded coherent, nothing he wanted to explain sounded believable, and he was too tired to even TRY anymore and come up with any more ideas. He didn't know where to start, not in his current state, and Stanley was here, blinking at him, looking at him expectantly just like that night and he-
He just.. he didn't want to drag Stanley down with him.
While Stanley gave his brother some time to himself to rest and gather his thoughts, Stanley scanned the cabinet for any other tea packet. He hasn’t made tea in a while, always preferred coffee or well, some hard ass gin, but he didn't think getting Stanford drunk would help at all. And the accidental nickname usage...he shouldn't get TOO comfortable with Stanford, they JUST saw each other again, gotta ease into nickname territory, even if he wanted so badly to pretend like they're still on good terms and nothing bad ever happened between them and that night didn't still sting-
He slammed the cup he was holding onto the table with a bit too much force. Oh damn it. He gritted his teeth as his grip on the handle of the cup tightened. Pull yourself together Stanley, everything is fine, just FOCUS. On your brother. He's the one who needs your help now.
As he waited for the kettle to heat up the water for the tea, Stanley took a quick look over his shoulder as he glanced over at his brother, his eyes focused yet so crazed, lost in thought.
Stanley frowned at the sight. Oh god. Stanford really was a mess. He really wished he could help, but Stanford needed to say something, just explain ANYTHING. That magic stuff in the book, that's apparently...real? What has he been doing in this cryptid rundown shack, has he been staying here the entire time, or is this a new place? What had gotten him so restless? Is magic and shit actually REAL?
So many questions. But Stanley knew better than to bombard the other with all of them at once. Come on Stanley. Just ask one question out of the 10 million bajillion quillion, that's a number probably. Come on. Just don't fuck this up.
"So uh..the shi- mhm..stuff, in the..journal, was it? Yeah, all of that magic and stuff...that's all real?"
He started off small and vague, that should be a good enough question, right? One that hopefully wouldn’t overwhelm the other, considering how out of it he looked. He turned his head back towards the kettle, watching as the water inside started to bubble.
Ford breathed in sharply, leaning back against the sofa. He was just about to close his eyes when he heard Stanley's voice again. This time, a familiar word appeared, one that he didn't seem to gloss over. Stanley was asking about his journals. His journals... his.. ugh.. which one? He had three, why does Stanley never specify anything? His mouth opened to speak. Second. Right. Second.
"Yes, there's.. more documented in my third journal. I've been studying the.. ahh.. weirdness magnitude? Of this town." He pauses, his mouth hung open. Oh, he remembers now.
"They're rather special, to this specific area. i can-"
“Oh it’s ALLLL real alright! Hey, show Stan THIS trick! He’s sure to believe you then!”
Bill appeared before Ford, finally taking form. Ford's train of thought was immediately cut off as a sharp yelp left from his mouth, eyes widening as he practically stumbled back into the sofa, or well, pressed against it? Sunk into his seat? Whatever the hell he did, he was overall incredibly distressed.
Seeing Bill manifest in front of him, he almost screamed for Stanley to look, almost pointed or reached out to the demon to prove that he was real, so he wouldn't HAVE to go through the pain of trying to convince Stanley that he wasn't just talking nonsense!
Bill was playing with a similar cup to the one Stanley was using to make Ford tea, swirling it around and batting his eye, mimicking a noblewoman at a tea party. He brought it close to his eye as his eyelids formed a mouth-like shape, sipping on the tea with an obnoxiously loud ‘slurp’ sound, smashing the fake? Real? Cup by throwing it to the wall, the sound of the broken pieces falling and then phasing through the ground was so irritatingly loud. Despite that racket, Stanley stayed unresponsive, his focus still on the kettle, back still turned to all of the current action.
Ford’s eyes followed the cup smashing on the wall, the sound making him flinch back as he watched it phase through the ground. Based on Stanley’s lack of reaction to the sound—and Bill—it most likely wasn't real. Of course it wasn't, Bill was just messing with his body, his nerves, his illusions. He was making him purposefully see things, this was nothing more than a trick, a tactic of the demon to make him lose his mind.
He couldn't help the way he glanced at Stanley’s direction, whether it's because he wanted to beg him to look back or to help him, he didn't know.
“Whoops! Sorry for making a mess in front of your speeecial guest”
Bill prolonged the word ‘special’ like it was some sort of tease, sitting cross legged in the space in front of Ford, his singular eye beaming down at him.
Ford could feel his chest tighten at the sight, his heartbeat felt so intense, like it was in his ears.
His ears. They were ringing. Good god the ringing was so loud.
He couldn’t hear anything. Well. He could but couldn’t at the same time.
It was loud. Too loud. His mouth was agape, trying to make a sound, or he THINKS he was trying to make a sound.
Nothing came out.
Nothing ever did.
Before Ford even had the chance to respond, however, Bill disappeared with a snap of his fingers and a large flash of light as the demon’s cackles echoed in the chambers of Ford’s mind, a light that blinded Ford, but, as expected, Stanley still could not see anything that had just went down.
Ford flinched, hands shooting up to his eyes as the light blinded him, the cackle echoing in his head, it was so much louder than the ringing.
His head hurt and he couldn't breathe. When had he stopped breathing?
He gasped, holding onto his chest, and blinked. Blinked a ton just so he could finally see again and-
And.
And there was only Stanley.
Stanley’s back was still turned to Stanford, and by the time he looked back, all he saw was his twin breathing roughly, staring at him as if he saw a ghost. The sight was more than concerning. One moment Ford was calm, and then the next he was shaking.
Stanley’s eyes darted to the side before he started to cautiously walk over towards the sofa, his arm outstretched as he reached over, intending to pat the other's shoulder, every step careful, like any wrong move would cause a catastrophe.
Stanley was getting closer, and that's okay, Ford was fine with that. Stanley could get as close as he wanted to, and all was fine! He just had to breathe, and he'll be fine and dandy! Just had to give himself a second, count the digits of pi in his head to ground himself, because that has ALWAYS helped him! After that, he just needed to think, apologize to Stanley and tell him it was getting a little hard to breathe, how hard would it be to convince Stanley he had asthma? Surely that would be an explainable reason as to why he felt so breathless, yeah?
He drew in a sharp breath, and blinked again, and in an instant Stanley was in front of him. He was close, too close, when had he gotten so close? In such a short amount of time? Was Stanley always in front of him? Wasn't Stanley JUST walking over? How was he here now? Was he dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Stanley was real right? He was real, he had to be real.
He grabbed him, felt his jacket, Stanley HAS to be real. There was no way Ford was just talking to HIMSELF!
Stanley watched Stanford’s entire body tense up, breath caught in his throat as the hand that grabbed his jacket twitched. This move just made him worry even more. Stanley tried to reach out, but quickly pulled back in case that felt too much for Stanford.
Did he do something that made Stanford suddenly act up? Or was it just a flashback? So many things could've happened in the ten years they’ve been apart, it was possible that Stanford was remembering things from his past.
Maybe he was hunted by the government so that they could study his six fingers, he could've been so lonely with no school to go to that he started hallucinating in order to cope, he could've gotten himself into the bad crowd and got taken advantage of by someone truly evil, oh god, Stanford wasn’t hallucinating was he? Was he high?!
His family—Stanley didn’t fail him, did he? He couldn’t have failed Stanford Pines.
He sure did hope that all of this wasn't indirectly his fault. Fuck. He should've been there for his brother, should've owned up to what he had done, should've not let his envy get the better of him, should've just let that stupid childhood dream of theirs go, should've KNOWN better- NO, NO. no.
Get a grip Stanley.
Worrying that your brother's horrendous mental state is your fault, blaming yourself instead of focusing on helping him. Constantly thinking back to that night, refusing to move on, GOD he’s still thinking about the past when in the present his brother was heaving, having a whole ass panic attack, and he was still being so SELFISH.
He sighed, a worried expression on his face as he inched closer to Stanford.
Tonight has been weird. So, so weird. But he had to help.
It’s the least he could do.
"Hey, uh, Ford, just breathe, I'm-" Stanley's voice came through, followed by the kettle as steam poured out, letting out a really, really loud wheeze.
Loud. Loud. Too loud. Did Stanley flinch? Did Stanley react? He didn't react then, so if he didn't react NOW then maybe he really ISN'T REAL! Its hands were too close and Ford didn't know what to do. Everything was too loud and that damn kettle was steaming. If something was on fire he wouldn't know because he already felt like he WAS on FIRE!
"GET AWAY FROM ME!"
He shoved it back, whatever it was, maybe it was Bill, it was probably Bill messing with his mind, it HAD to be. He checked its eyes earlier but what if he had been dreaming? Did he fall asleep? When? Maybe when he closed his eyes on the couch? Was that why Bill was there? Was this his dream? If Bill was there, he needed to protect himself, he needed a weapon.
Wait.
The crossbow. He needed the crossbow. He needed to protect himself. Where was it? Did he throw it away? Fuck. He needed to find it. He needed to find the real Stanley and protect him from Bill, he needed to hide his research, he needed to stop Bill, he needed to make sure the portal was closed, he needed sleep, he needed so many things but his mind was so overwhelmed with too many thoughts, too many emotions. He couldn’t focus on anything, he couldn’t even THINK.
"I won't fall for your tricks Bill! I'll- I'll destroy you! You can't use him against me!"
He stumbled, whether it was back or forward, he couldn't quite tell. He needed his crossbow, just, something, anything, and fast, or else Bill would use his brother against him, use the one thing, the ONE thing in his life that he has left, and if he can no longer look at Stanley the way he once could, what would he do? He needed to save him before Bill ruins this, before Bill ruins the only good thing he has left.
He gritted his teeth, staring daggers at it, the thing he assumed to be Bill, remembering the one phrase that proved true time and time again, a phrase he tried so hard to follow yet he couldn’t help but go against it, and every time he did, he only got himself hurt.
‘Trust no one.’
Stanley stumbled backwards, god he was really losing his balance a lot today, reaching out to grab at a conveniently placed lone chair to steady himself onto, letting out an exasperated yelp at the shove, it taking everything in his psyche to not swear the other out at the action. If anyone else pushed him with that much force, he would show them the ol' New Jersey treatment, swearing them out like a sailor who had just lost his catch for the tenth time in a row on a fishing trip. But the man in front of him, glaring at him like he had killed someone dear to him, was Stanford, his twin brother. He wasn't just "anyone".
"Ford, hey- Hey! It's me! Stanley! Remember! You shipped a whole ass postcard to me!! I don't think 'Bill's got a similar sound.”
Stanley gasped out, gears turning in his head. Bill. That name got brought up twice, who WAS that? Was he (or they? Oh yeah it's the 1980s, who gives a fuck about gender neutral pronouns) just a hallucination? Or one of Stanford’s old buddies? WAS he a buddy, given how hostile Stanford got at the mention of him? Jesus, what exactly was Stanford getting up to in the last ten years?
And "you can't use him against me", what does that mean? Was the ‘him’ well...him? As in Stanley? A small part of him hoped it was, or well, not just a small part, a really big part, but with how little he knows about Stanford’s whereabouts and previous rendezvous, this "him" could be anyone! Regardless, Stanford was distressed at the name 'Bill', so he puts a pin into asking about all of that soon. Asking about a lot actually, but that's saved for when his brother actually got some sleep.
Ford doesn't know what he should do, say, or think really. He hasn't been able to think for the past minute- or hour, or however long it's been. He hasn't been able to focus and he doesn't know what he could focus on. He's been trying to keep himself busy, trying to keep himself upright, he's been trying to find a way to fight back against Bill for days, he's been trying, and trying and TRYING and NOTHING is working, because he doesn't KNOW what he could do to kill GOD.
He was just a man, a SCIENTIST, his knowledge of this town- the weirdness- his MUSE helped him! And without his muse what WAS HE?!
Ford stumbled backwards, staring at Stanley with wide eyes. Stanley was saying everything he did, he DID send him a postcard, he had assumed Stanley had come over and maybe he DID and maybe he's being too paranoid, too STUPID to see that he was just LOSING IT over something completely UNREASONABLE!
Stanley looked so hurt, what did he do? What did he say? Good god what was he doing?
Why did he spend his life in this shack? Years of work and hardship all for what? Praise and recognition that will never come because he's nothing but a nobody? Why did he waste his life on the paranormal when he could've just listened to F? Why did he dedicate YEARS of his life to worshipping a demon, a demon who made him feel seen—made him feel wanted—made him feel UNDERSTOOD for the FIRST TIME in his LIFE.
Why, why? Why must it be like this?
“Eh, I think Stanley DOES sound like Bill. See! Stanley! The B, I, and other L are silent, though.”
Bill's voice rang in Ford’s ear, more words from the demon trying to mess with him. He hated how he understood every single word from him, how it was so coherent whereas everything else felt like a blur. He can't see Bill.
Not yet.
"His name is nothing like yours!" Ford choked out, eyes darting to the side, or wherever he assumed Bill could be at. Bill could be anywhere, at any point. If he just predicted it faster than Bill did, he might have a chance. What kind of chance? God fucking knows.
The more Bill spoke, the more he doubted himself. Stanley might be real, or maybe he wasn't, this could very well be Bill trying to get him to lower his guard, and when he eventually does, he'll use that against him again and REALLY make him pay for even daring to underestimate or trust anything the demon had to say. Bill was cruel, he HAD to have thought about it at some point, and he has. He made that phone call, made that call that he- that- THAT DOESN'T MATTER RIGHT NOW!
“You know, I never actually thought of using that sack of meat, but THANK YOU FOR THE IDEA! That’s what I like about you, pointdexer. You’re reallllll smart..”
Ford couldn’t handle the way that nickname felt on Bill's tongue. It wasn't meant for Bill.
Bill could see what Ford was doing. He was trying to run, trying to escape the responsibility of finishing what he had started. What a hypocrite, devoting himself to him, singing his praises and doing his bidding, and now when things are about to get good, he wants out. So unfair! Men are so not ready for commitment.
If Ford was smart, Bill was arguably smarter. He could figure out his little scheme from a mile away, hell, he predicted this exact scenario would happen, given how it has played out in millions of other timelines and realities. It was cute to see Ford try to outsmart him! So he’ll let him try, let him try to have the upper hand, get him to believe that he’ll have his happy ending with his brother. The satisfaction of ripping that joy from his six fingered hands would be ever the more satisfying then.
“You know, you could at least show the shrine if you want to expose me sooo bad, Fordsy. Go on! Show him the dedication and effort you put into worshipping me, bet he’d wanna help you then!”
Ford tensed up at the mention of the shrine.
Oh no. The shrine.
He can’t let Stanley see the shrine. If Stanley knows it was his fault for starting all of this in the first place, who knows if Stanley would want to stick around, he couldn’t risk that.
Bill cackles again before a shadow contorts behind Stanley, who was still trying to reassure Ford, into a chibi and dare I say ‘cutesy’ version of the three sided beast as his singular eye winked (or well, just blinked, hard to tell if it was a wink with just one eye) at him before shifting back to its normal shape.
When Ford couldn’t find Bill’s body anywhere, his head snapped towards Stanley’s direction, shit, he had taken his eyes off the other for way too long. There was a shadow behind the other man, a triangle in his shadow and that made his breathing grow heavier, stumbling back towards the doorway of the kitchen. Were they in the kitchen? Fuck, where were they? He looked around, it was still his shack. Still the same.
“Just tryna help!” Ford could practically hear the grin in Bill’s voice
"If you want to help—then get out of my head!"
And suddenly, Ford’s body was slammed against the door frame, but it wasn't with too much force to a point where it hurt, just enough to get him to feel hands on his own coat, tugging at it, holding on so desperately that he didn't even know he registered his movements, his eyes darting frantically to the face, to see- no slit, just a face staring at him, a frown plastered onto its face, worry and care in its eyes—and that made him feel so SICK.
"Stanford, it's me! C'mon—snap out of it pointdexter!"
Stanley's voice came out rough, not with enough force to really yell at his brother, just enough to calm him down because really what else was he going to do? Slap the shit out of his brother and tell him to stop being crazy like Mom used to be on a Tuesday with her wine?
He wasn't going to do that! He watches Stanford’s face shift from fear, to anger, and then to disgust. Stanley felt himself tense up. Sheesh, the guy looked like he was going to throw up, should he let go just in case? He didn't really have any other spare clothing and it'd be hell to just—right, getting off track here.
Stanford was in the middle of a breakdown and he knew he HAD to do something. Okay. Stanley. Focus. Reassurance is key. You’ve been through panic attacks yourself before. Not ones that looked like whatever Stanford was going through, but regardless. Reassurance is what Stanford needs.
"I ain't in your head—I'm here! all- uh.. All flesh and bones!" He tried to smile, probably failing miserably but it's the least he could do, he just needed to be there for him in whatever way he could be.
Stanford seemed to have calmed down, or well, the most that he can at least, his breathing less shaky and his body more relaxed as his eyes returned to their drowsy look. He was slipping, a hand coming to his arm and Stanley only just noticed that the door-frame was probably digging into the guy's back, whoops.
He quickly let Stanford go, though kept in mind to still help him stay upright, his hand awkwardly wrapping around Stanford’s shoulder. Alright. Main mission! Get this guy to sleep. Surely he could find his bedroom, how hard was it to find his own brother's room? Small shack, small town, Ford can't be THAT heavy.
Stanley struggled to keep his twin upright, to his dismay, Stanford was heavier than he anticipated, and the distance between Stanford’s room and the kitchen was more than he believed it to be. It took Stanley some time, but eventually he managed to help Stanford into his bed.
Stanford didn’t say anything, he didn’t even look like he was completely there either, just kinda stared blankly and it made Stanley drift and wonder if maybe what he did had broken his brother. Dammit. He couldn't have traumatised Ford, could he? based on how he reacted prior he had suspicion that maybe that night had. had.. ugh! just. That doesn't matter, not right now, not ever, they'll fix everything up, HE'LL fix everything up, they'll be fine.
"I'll just- get 'ya some tea, alright?"
Stanley said with a crooked smile, Stanford was all settled in his bed, laying quietly, as his brother stared at the ceiling. That was fine, with some rest he's sure his brother’ll be more rational in the morning.
He quickly went to FINALLY pour the hot water into the tea he had prepared—not the one in the boxes—and let it simmer for a bit, before finally bringing it over to Stanford. It was rather domestic now that he thinks about it, making tea for sick Stanford, hah! Sixer still needs him around after all.
Hah.. jeez..
He handed the cup to a sleepy Stanford, who thanked him quietly under his breath, taking a large sip of the tea. When he was done drinking, Stanford placed the cup on his bedside counter, turning his back to Stanley as he took a seat near the foot of the bed, the silence both awkward and really nice to soak in.
Stanley took a quick peak at Stanford’s state, how he went from frantic and terrified to drowsy to frantic again in a span of a few minutes. He sighed, adjusting a part of Stanford’s blanket, making sure the guy was comfortable.
This was all so crazy, just what happened while he's been gone..? "Soooo, uhh. About-" He turned his head to Stanford, having given the guy the tea, he was sure he'd be awake.
Well. To his surprise. Stanford was out cold.
He shouldn't be too worried about that. He'll just talk to him in the morning!
Now, what the hell should he do in the meantime?
When Ford was starting to finally fall asleep, he could feel that distinct pull, the way his body, his soul, was being moved, transported into something he was all too familiar with. He couldn't fight it, couldn't fight the need to wake up because his body was just so exhausted, and Bill was actually letting his body rest and not puppeting it, so the LEAST he could do was just.. let it happen, let his body be taken to the dreamscape.
Bill was laying on his side, one leg raised and leaning his triangle form on one of his arms as the other rested on the floor. He was looking over Ford’s body as it was pulled into the dreamscape. He grinned with his eye, propping himself up comfortably.
Bill was in a rather flirtatious pose, not taking any of this seriously, a rose hanging loosely on his eyelid. Gotta give the other a, heh, WARM welcome, you know, the joke referring to the singular lit candle that barely illuminated the room Bill had teleported the two into for the night. A room Ford would definitely be familiar with.
Despite the candle, the air was slightly chilly, the wind blowing softly as the banners that surrounded the circular place began to dance in it, banners that adorned Bill's very form. Wow, he sure was a sexy devil, Ford really did a good job with capturing his essence!
Prisms decorated the shelves of this holy place, prisms that the other had collected because they were 'in his image.' Yeesh, talk about obsessed. Ah, he missed when Ford WAS obsessed, like a lost puppy who was just begging for praise and attention.
Now he's gone all crazy and spiteful and as much as he likes this back and forth, it stopped being cute when Ford actually had the balls to call for help. HAH, as if that failure he called a brother could help. He couldn't escape the wrath of the human police force, what's to say he could escape the wrath of an interdimensional reality warping deity.
He knew Ford was lonely but JEEZ! The fact that the one person Ford had left was his..brother? That he hadn't spoken to in ten whole years? He really outdid himself in picking the perfect person this time huh, one point for Bill woohoo!
The vibe Bill was going for with this dream was very..mixed. But that was the point. To be able to mess with Ford while also reminding him of his place, of his insignificance, of his mistakes.
The candle was placed in between the two of them, separating the two as the candle's soft glow made Bill's form more unseen, it helped him creep in the shadows, helped him to further spiral the human into disarray and insanity. Below the two laid the wool carpet of Bill, made by Ford himself, as unlit candles surrounded the circle.
Back in the good ol’ days it was used as a summoning circle for the two to communicate and to let Bill into Ford’s head, back when he had to ugh..ask for permission to enter into his mind. But those days are gone, and now he can enter whenever he likes! Wow, he and Sixer are getting closer! This is a progression in their relationship! He wipes a fake tear off his eye at the thought.
Bill’s eye widens as he hears faint groaning beside him, the man starting to fully enter the 3rd stage of sleep (the non-rem stage, for the nerds in the audience), Bill wiggling his eyebrow as he watches the other turn over and notice him.
“Hey there Sixer..”
He coos, almost tauntingly as he watches the other’s horrified reaction. After tormenting him for so long, he must’ve not expected this shift in mood, but hey! That’s Cipher for ya! Always gotta keep him guessing.
Ford woke up with a groan, even in his dreams he still felt the weight of stress all over his body, he was.. laying on his side. He wasn't sure what the hell he was laying on, it felt soft, like wool, but he'll assess that later. His vision was blurry, glasses crooked, and by the time he managed to rub his eyes and adjust his glasses to fix his eyesight, he immediately found himself jumping back with a startled noise.
Of course.
Of course Bill would be here, why wouldn't he be? He wanted to scream at the demon, tell him to get the hell out of his dream and just let him sleep, he was GOING to, since in the dreamscape he could actually touch and feel Cipher. But.. The sight before him made him pause when he finally digested it. A rose in Bill's eye, laying on his side, one leg raised and leaning down- What the HELL was Cipher doing?! He could feel a blush creep onto his face but he quickly shook his head at the wretched thought.
Snap out of it Ford! This is Bill Cipher for hell's sake! Triangles are NOT attractive—Get that in your head!
Ford sat up, rubbing his face with another groan. He could already feel a headache growing without having to say a word, this wasn't the mindscape, so there weren't any stars around, and since they weren't there.. He lifted his head to look around, and in an instant he could feel dread sink into his heart as he started to recognize this exact room.
The second floor.
The shrine.
He was left rather stunned for a moment, unsure of what to say because he was being shown the very evidence of his devotion, it made him cringe just thinking about it. How truly foolish he had been, to think or believe that Bill was once so.. so special to him, and here he was, paying the price for trusting that demon.
He stood up, glaring at the dream demon on the ground, he has never quite learnt how to control his dreams, not yet at least, he's tried before to impress Bill but beyond simple creation and a BIT of scenery shifting.. he couldn't do much.
"Cut it with the act, Cipher. I'm not opening the portal."
Bill lets out a maniacal laugh, clutching to his front as he starts to float upwards, lazily drifting in the air as he starts to circle Ford.
"Ah, Pines, Pines, Pines. When have I ever asked you to do that? Always assuming what I want instead of asking, that's not how communication works, ya know!"
Bill floats up and grabs one of the prisms, caressing its sides and playing with it, spinning it on his finger as if it were a basketball.
"You-" Ford bit back a retort, watching Bill float to grab one of the prisms and caressing it, the sight only served to really embarrass him further, it made him feel even more stupid for ever trusting Bill. How humiliating this all was, if he wasn't an idiot he would've lunged and knocked the prism out of Bill's hand already. Bill hummed, laying on his back and swimming around the room, continuing to mock him by stroking the prism he was still holding in his hand.
"I just missed this place, that's all! Back when you listened to me, appreciated me, didn't do stupid shit like try and get rid of me."
At that last sentence, Bill’s singular eye slowly leered towards Ford’s direction, staring directly into Ford's soul. Though he sounded cheery, that last sentence was supposed to send a chill down Ford's spine, the temperature of the room suddenly dropping, the candle serving as the only source of warmth.
Ford’s heart skipped a beat when Bill looked his way, hair not exactly standing on its end but he visibly tensed up. Bill always had a knack for controlling how the dream realm felt, he knew that from personal experiences and.. well, it was all just neurons and nerves, nothing ACTUALLY real. Bill threw the prism over his shoulder, the prism clattering on the floor, not breaking despite being glass. THAT’s how you know this is all a dream.
"Ya know, it's cute! Seeing you try! But calling your brother, really? Just because you've got the same face doesn't mean I want him too."
Bill teased, floating behind Ford as he grabbed onto his shoulders, pressing his fingers deep into his flesh, relishing in the groans of pain spilling out of Ford's mouth, his grip sure to at least leave marks.
Ford opened his mouth to respond, but bit his tongue at Bill's words. Does Bill seriously have no shame? Heat rushed to his face at the statement, which he quickly shook his head to get rid of whatever heinous and deranged thoughts had just crossed his mind. He quickly spun around to smack the demon away, the feeling of his grip lingering but Ford made a mental note to not think about that.
"Why don't we talk this out first, buddy, in the privacy of our special little room. Let's not do anything rash, yeah!" Bill coos, floating closer into Ford’s space.
Ford’s voice came out rough, agitated. "Talk about what? We have nothing to discuss!"
Ford took a few steps back, minding his steps, having to hold back a scoff, he behaved more like an angsty teenager rather than an adult man who's in the process of "breaking up" with his muse, it might as well be the very same thing since for one, he really, really wanted to roll his eyes, just because the sight of the demon evokes that feeling of annoyance and a strange want in him.
"We both know you only want that portal and nothing else." He glanced at the banners adorning the room, wincing as the memories started to surge back. "Bringing me here isn't going to change anything."
Well, he was at the very least SURE that it wouldn't change anything. Certainly nothing about it would make him think otherwise, not the banners decorated in Bill's image, not the prisms he had gotten because they reminded him of his muse, not the golden statue of Cipher that he would often look at and touch endlessly because his muse wouldn't come back, because he probably…
...
Nope. No way he has any other scientists. No way. And even if he did. Ford didn’t care. Because Bill was horrible, a demon who wanted nothing but the destruction of his universe. He hated him with every fibre of his being. And whatever Bill was trying to pull wasn’t going to distract him from his goal of stopping him. "Plus, getting rid of you is only logical."
"Logical? Oh, Sixer, for someone who's a scientist..."
He leans closer to Ford, his breath heavy against his neck as his grip transferred from his shoulders to wrapping around the other man, tight and constricting, like a boa suffocating its prey.
"You do tend to act on your emotions..."
Bill whispered into Ford’s ear, Ford letting out a gasp, his face burning as Bill lets go of him. He lets Ford fall over as he hovers above the man, conjuring up an almost identical projection of Stanley, one that looked so human-like, so real, except for the glowing yellow eyes with a singular slit that replaced his regular pupils.
Ford clenched his fists, his previous feelings vanishing as soon as he saw Bill’s projection of Stanley, Ford seething at whatever Bill was trying to do. Seeing Bill use his brother's image right in front of him definitely stirred up some unresolved resentment that Ford doesn't want to admit, alongside a growing anger of seeing Bill use the same brother he still cares so much about like he wouldn't do something about it, there was no way he was going to let the demon get away with that, who does he think he is?!
"You're just giving me more tools, ya know! Putting more fuel to the fire! And oh boy, am I just THRILLED to work with what you have handed to me on a silver platter, just, picture this, Fordsy. What if-"
"Don't you dare think of hurting him!" Ford used the base of the golden Bill statue and cut Cipher off with a whack, hitting him in the eye with his own sculpture, it was probably ironic. He threw the statue at Bill when he was sent flying, just for good measure.
"OW."
Bill shrieked, his voice slightly glitchy and scratchy, and as the statue dropped to the floor, the demon let out a frustrated yell as he grew in size.The ground, no, the entire world shook as he grew. He towered over Ford, the ringing that was present in the real world returning at an intensity that could shatter eardrums if this were reality, Bill's voice reverberating as the room started to close in on them, or at least, it felt like it was, it was hard to tell what was left of the shrine when all Ford could see was Bill's giant eye, pulsing with anger and hatred.
"ALRIGHT, SIXER. THIS AIN'T CUTE ANYMORE."
The demon grabbed Ford's form with his now gigantic hand, squeezing him as he pulled him close to his eye, his grip tightening as he felt bones start to crack as he crushed him. Ford better be thankful this isn't real.
"OH JUST TRY AND STOP ME, FORDSY. I KNOW YOU THINK YOU'RE SOOO SMART, THAT YOU COULD OUTPLAY ME, BUT GUESS WHAT. YOU. ARE NOTHING.”
Ford could barely breathe in Bill’s grasp, gasping for air as he felt his bones crush his inner organs, sputtering out incoherent wails of pain. He refused to look down, because if he did, he would be met with the sight of his squashed up ribcage and sliced up organs. His breath hitched in his ruptured lungs, tears welling in his eyes, the pain overwhelming his senses. Oh god. This was terrifying.
Bill really loved to remind him just how scary he could get. Even if it wasn’t real, this FELT real, he could feel his stomach and liver press against one another as his ribcage punctured his heart, fuck, fuck, fuck it hurts, it hurts so much—FUCK.
He gritted his teeth as he tried to get back into touch with his senses. Come on Ford, you have to remember this isn’t real, remember the digits of pi, remember the entries in your journal, remember his brother, think of anything that isn’t the excruciating pain you’re experiencing right now.
He kicked his feet helplessly as he squirmed, trying to free himself, to wake himself up, but the pain wouldn’t stop, Bill’s hand kept on pressing and squeezing and all Ford could think about at that very moment was how much everything HURT. He started to sob, he didn’t even know what he wanted to say. Did he want to curse out Bill for being so butthurt over being hit in the eye once?
Taunt him for how childish he’s being? Beg for him to stop? He didn’t know, didn’t know anything because all he could comprehend at that moment was how much everything hurt, and how badly he wanted it to stop.
“THAT BROTHER OF YOURS WON'T GET RID OF ME.”
Bill’s eye shone like a spotlight on Ford’s crushed up body, the man’s eyes wide with terror and fury as he looked up at him, shivering and gasping for air.
“YOU WILL FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED."
The demon snapped his fingers with his free hand as he suddenly shrunk his form to his normal size, Ford’s body instantly repairing itself as if he did not just go through the nine circles of hell in terms of pain. The shrine around them vanished at the snap as well, replaced with...nothing. Pure nothingness.
Everything was pitch black, empty, devoid of objects, movement, or sound. It was true emptiness. Ford floated aimlessly, clutching at his chest as he registered the fact that his organs were not falling out of his body, that his bones weren’t crushed, that he was..alive. Ford slowly looked up at Bill, biting down on his lip as he stared at Bill with a petrified look in his eyes.
He felt so small, so helpless, like he could do nothing against Bill’s absolute power. And that was just in his dreams. This was what he was up against, what he had brought upon the world. His brows furrowed, giving Bill a rage filled glare.
He had to warn Stanley. He will as soon as he wakes up. He had to make sure Bill wouldn’t be able to hurt him. He doesn't know how he’ll be able to do that, but he has to try. He couldn’t let Bill take the one good thing he had left.
In response to the other’s state of horror and vexation, Bill squinted his eye upwards, as if to give Ford a crooked smile.
"I'll make sure you do, just you wait." Bill snapped his fingers. And he was no more.