Chapter Text
Fiddleford hadn’t realized he’d dozed off until he was hazily awoken by footsteps. He shook himself, all his senses still half-blurred from sleep. “Stanferd?” he muttered, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes. What time had it been last he’d checked? What time was it now? Curse the lack of windows down here. This damn basement was too cold, too dark, too… too soulless. Was that the right word? It felt like the right word. The garish blue light seemed to follow him into his dreams nowadays…
Standing up with a stifled yawn, Fiddleford replaced his glasses and approached Ford’s shadow in the lab, traversing a maze of machinery and parts. Ford was still wearing his day clothes, because of course he was. Poor man worked too hard. “Ford, what’re you doin’ up?” he asked. “I thought you went to bed.”
“Oh, I did!” Ford’s form - hunched over machinery - shuddered with a chuckle that was really more of a cackle and when he turned around, he had a wide smile with all too many teeth stretched across his face. Backlit by blue lighting, the shadows seemed deeper and Fiddleford could swear that for a moment, Ford’s eyes seemed yellow and slit.
This thing may have worn Ford’s face, but it was not Stanford Pines.
“Glory!” Fiddleford yelped. He backed away, shoulders up to his ears. “Gotta be dreamin’...”
“Hah! You wish, Specs. But sure, it’s a dream, we’ll go with that.” Not-Ford threw an arm around Fiddleford’s shoulders, pulling him close in a way that was too rough and restricting to be friendly. “Calculations aren’t lookin’ great, is that right?”
A swallow. His voice sounded so wrong. “Uh… ye-”
“Well MAYBE you should stop WORRYING so much, ya jitterbug! Leave dear ol’ Fordsie alone, he has enough to worry about. Or don’t!” Not-Ford laughed again, this time less manic and more sinister. He slapped Fiddleford on the back. Hard. “Whichever makes you feel better when the end comes. I think I’ll let your boyfriend decide what to do with you. Won’t that be fun? I gotta hand it to you though, you chose a good one. Shame you left your wife for a man who’s already taken, hahaha! Boy, the DRAMA between you two is never-ENDING! Lies and secret love and betrayal; somebody could SELL this! I’m throwin’ popcorn at the TV here! Just kiss already!”
Fiddleford flushed, but ultimately ignored the accusations, assuring himself that this creature, this Not-Ford, had no idea what it was talking about. For as much as he would have liked to call this a dream, everything was too sharp; he could feel his own heartbeat in his chest, smell the unwashed sweat on Ford’s body.
The light from the portal - haunting and ever-present - stung his eyes.
“What are you?” The words were meant to be a demand, but they came out as more of a squeak. “What am I?” Not-Ford pulled away, exaggerating shock and placing his hands on his hips. His next words were marked with similarly excessive gesturing. “I’m a human! Stanford Pines! I’m the dumbest genius on earth and I’ve got a thing for blondes, triangles, and the number six! Kinda strange actually, but HEY that’s why we like ‘im so much, ‘ey Specs?”
Fury and fear fought mercilessly within the battlefield of Fiddleford’s mind. “Get out of my friend!” To his credit, this demand possessed far more dignity than his previous yelp, but he hadn’t the time to congratulate himself. “I dunno what kinda sick games you’ve been playin’ to get into Ford’s mind, but I’ll find a way to send you back to hell, demon!”
“Back to hell? Why do that when it’s already delightfully miserable in here!” Not-Ford poked at his own face, that strained grin still plastered on his face. The expression looked physically painful. Almost as painful as the sharp slap to the face he gave himself. “Whooo! Sixer works this thing HARD, hahaha!”
Fiddleford cringed, fists clenched as he debated tackling Ford’s body to the ground to make the demon stop. “Why you-”
“Not like I could hurt him more than he already hurts himself! Don’t humans need food to live? Haven’t seen this idiot put anything but coffee into his mouth hole in ages! You really should take better care of him, otherwise he might make a deal with a dream demon- OH WAIT!”
Not-Ford strode forward unsteadily, swaying like he’d had too much to drink. Despite the height Fiddleford had over his partner, the demon seemed to tower over him. “Stanford and I are making real progress on our little project and I’d hate to see all our hard work be ruined by some fidgety wreck who suddenly got wise. Whaddya I cut ‘cha a deal? You keep your yap shut and keep being a good little tinker and I won’t make your life an unspeakable horror! Heck! If you’re REAL good, maybe I’ll even let your family live!”
Eyes narrowed, a swell of fatherly protectiveness bleeding into the blue hues of horror and dread. Bluff or not, that was too far.
And the demon just kept on talking.
“Ya know, Specs, I gotta ask… Does your wife know she married a coward? Or do I have to tell her that you only thought of socking me in the jaw? Just asking. Figured she’d want to know. Not like you’ve ever lied to her before though. I mean, not really! ‘Project shouldn’t take much longer.’ ‘Ford’s just a friend.’ ‘I love you.’ Little things, little things!”
Fiddleford heard the shout in his throat before he realized his own vocal chords were making it. He threw himself at the monster, utterly enraged. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do, and perhaps he would have hesitated if he had taken into account that any physical harm he did to the demon would ultimately hurt Ford as well.
But it didn’t matter, because almost as soon as he moved forward, he was shoved backwards, slammed against a piece of machinery and held there. Not-Ford’s eyes flashed yellow above him, full of malice.
“So you do have some fire in you after all. Who woulda thought? For as entertaining as it would be to see you try to stop what’s in motion, I’ve worked too hard for too long to allow some mortal weakling to create any unnecessary delays.”
Not-Ford pulled Fiddleford closer to him by the front of his shirt, so their noses were almost touching. The eye-contact made him squirm, so piercing that Fiddleford swore he could physically feel the demon’s eyes on him even when he looked away. “I’m real good friends with the monstrosities that haunt your nightmares. You step out of line and no memory gun will be able to erase the scars in your mind. Are we clear?”
Fiddleford nodded eagerly, his heart beating rapidly.
“Lovely.” Not-Ford released the engineer and gave him a smug look. “You’ve done good work,” said the demon, nodding towards the portal. “You deserve some rest. Sweet dreams. Sleep well. You know; if you can.”
With a chuckle, the demon withdrew, leaving Fiddleford alone in the cold basement with the towering portal and its cold blue embrace.