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Ford didn’t know what it was, but the twins he didn’t know anything about mere days ago insisted upon leaving food and water on a little footstool they placed next to the elevator to the basement. It gave off the impression of being a prisoner in a bleak depressing way he knew rationally wasn’t the intent (Didn’t help that they never gave it to him in person, like they were his wardens or something). Not to mention that Ford was mainly subsisting on his perfectly fine nutrition pills, he didn’t need to waste time to sit down for meals… or worry where and when I’m going to get my next one.... Ford would rather take it back up to give to someone who really needed it, but usually just ended up tossing it more often than not. The water was nice for getting those pills down and it was usually the bodily need he couldn’t avoid, so that was usually all he took while working hard on his portal dismantling.
Busying himself with the portal some more, Ford found contentment in the actions of destruction. That portal had spelled certain doom for too many people to count. It may yet still spell doom, if that Rift my brother created escapes its containment. Ford tried not to think of it as he finished taking the large triangle part of the portal and turning it into smaller ones that now rest on the ground against the wall. Looking at the whole, he had dismantled quite a large portion of the invention that had ruined his life. It had been a long time coming now; Ford always deeply wished that Stan or just about anybody had it torn down immediately after he was pushed into it, entirely while he was journeying through dimensions. Sadly that obviously hadn’t been the case and now everything was in the balance.
Stepping into the elevator, satisfied that that was enough for one day, Ford was alone with his thoughts without anything to distract him for the seconds it took to reach the sub-basement above. His mind was an ocean of anger and fear. Just thinking about Stan was enough to make him rant silently at the situation his brother had so kindly put him into. Before a hint of what Bill could do to everything he ever loved bringing him to a silent panic attack, breathing fast and heavy as his imagination told him horrific things that triangle would do to his family without question. Ford took a calming breath as he reached the top of the elevator, uneven emotions nearly distracting him from what was on that little footstool tonight.
It was two pieces of lightly buttered toast. Ford frowned at it, the previous food items were much more elaborate. A full breakfast of pancakes, eggs and bacon; sandwiches with almost all the fillings you could want, though none that Ford found appetizing anyway; even a steak dinner one time. This… was not even close to that. Ford wondered briefly if they’d noticed that he hadn’t eaten the previous food items and had given up trying so hard for him, or if they truly thought he’d like buttered toast for dinner. Ford, in a change of pace from the entire few days he’d been here, picked up one of them. It was toasted and buttered evenly, perfect for what it was. But it had evidently been here for longer than a few minutes, any heat it previously owned dissipated into the chill air of the basement.
Oh what could it hurt? Ford thought as he took a hesitant bite of the toast, his taste buds unsure what to think of the taste and texture of the food as he chewed the small amount of crisp bread, unused to much more than the bitterness of the pills. It tasted rich and almost entirely too much at that. Which was odd, considering it was just toast with a thin layer of butter. Ford squinted at it, his mouth watering at the sight of it now that he’d given in to the temptation. Swallowing what he’d bitten, Ford nearly choked. Pills were one thing, but irregularly shaped food? Apparently it was difficult to swallow after becoming used to nutritional pills. He took a swig of the water, washing it down in one smooth motion.
Ford took a few more bites, finishing the slice of toast he’d taken with a few more awkward swallows, taking the second piece of toast in case he wanted another one, and stepped up the stairs to the room that was supposed to be his storage room but was instead a tacky gift shop now with little more than a scornful glare as he stepped into the relatively normal part of the house. It was late, no tourists to gawk at him thankfully.
The notable thing he noticed, as he went to his room to retire, was that the toast he’d just eaten felt like a rock in his stomach, heavy and unnatural in an organ that had long acclimated to pills to the point where not much more than what was in there now was already filling to him. A rumble of displeasure spoke his thoughts from the depth of his now aching gut the moment he decided to start eating the second one. Stopping halfway through eating that one, the rumble grew to loud gurgles. Ford wasn’t a stranger to stomach aches, but this one felt weird in the one way he didn’t like it to be. Served him right for straying from his diet, even this once.
It wasn’t like Ford hadn’t eaten anything in the portal, he remembered nabbing whatever he could find regardless of how weird it was, whenever he could near the beginning of his journey. It had just begun getting harder and harder to find meals to fill his belly all the time and he had limited space to put rations on his person. So one day he decided enough was enough and discovered nutritional pills that would fufill a decent amount of his daily needs at a vendor on one of the crazier dimensions. They had started as simple supplements to whatever he could scavenge, but as he perfected his own recipe for the stuff or found other places for better versions of them he simply decided he would rather use the time he’d be wasting on finding food on the closest and most efficient way of ingesting the nutrients his body needed. It doubled the time he had to figure out how to defeat Bill and that was all that mattered.
Though, now that he was in a place that logically should be full of food he could eat, he found his appetite for it greatly reduced in that regard. Living on pills had been enough for so long that he only really ate when it was a special occasion and even then it was usually only a single food item or even just a drink. Like back at Jheselbraum’s place… Oh, I miss Dimension 52 already… Ford swallowed back the feelings of wistfulness, finding a good spot on the couch to read a book he had previously found lying around the portal room from all the way back when he had wanted to touch up on his knowledge on quantum theory.
However, Ford cringed inwardly as his stomach began to turn, more minutes into reading his book. Placing a hand on his abdomen in a vain attempt to calm the tempest it was becoming, he continued the book. Though it certainly made it difficult to concentrate. His brow furrowed, regret etching his features as his decision to eat the whole piece of toast and a half came back with a vengeance. Nauseous, he put the book down and ran to find the closest thing to expel the rebelling toast, which was the trash can in the corner. Ford’s stomach grumbled angrily as it rid itself of the toast with a meager helping of acid, landing in the mostly paper filled bag lining the trash.
“Uggghh…” Ford groaned, kneeling with arms crossing his stomach. It didn’t settle until it made him dry heave, the contents noxious and burning as they passed his mouth and throat. Sitting there on the ground, across the room from the couch he’d been sitting for mere moments, Ford resolved to stick to the pills. Shakily standing up a few moments later, he pulled out the trash can’s bag and tied it off with plans to toss it in the dumpster out back of the Sha- his house. But that would wait until he washed his mouth out with a glass of water or two, maybe a swirl of mouthwash for good measure. It made Ford glad it was night, then the other residents of this house would never know he threw up trying to eat one simple slice of toasted and buttered bread in a pitiful show of weakness.
He didn’t notice the small footsteps running up into the attic or how the door was ajar, too fatigued to focus on anything other than the remaining vomit in his mouth that he was refusing to swallow before finding a sink. Ford, finding the kitchen sink being the closest, refreshed his mouth and rehydrated himself with only one thought in his mind as he went to actually go to bed for once in his disconcertingly shaky and still slightly queasy state.
Next time, just give the food to someone else before being so foolhardy as to eat it. That would be wise.
“Dipper!!” Mabel yell-whispered into Dipper’s ear, concern in her eyes as he slowly opened his. He tried to wave her off, but she was persistent as always, “Dipper, Grunkle Ford’s eaten the toast!”
“...and this was something to tell me now? Let me sleeeeep….” Dipper moaned after a beat, rubbing his eyes with a drowsy stare with his eyes drooping, sighing at the expectant frown on her face, “This had better be worth it, Mabel…”
“You know he’s been acting weird around food, Dipper, I thought you wanted an update as soon as possible! Also this update’s really important,” Mabel stressed, her feet tapping with anxiety that even Dipper in his groggy state could sense, “I saw him leave the basement with one of the pieces of toast, and I think he ate the other one already if the crumbs on his face were real!”
“You said that already…” Dipper flashed her an annoyed frown, clearly wishing she’d waited until morning before giving this information. He looked like he was going to ignore her and go back to bed, until Mabel spilled the beans (with a slight disappointment that there were no cans of beans to emphasize her point).
“Dipper, Ford… threw up… right after eating it,” Mabel said suddenly, startling Dipper into sitting up like he hadn’t been trying to sleep the whole time, “I… heard and… maybe watched a little through the door. It looked and sounded awful…”
Dipper stared at her, confusion gracing his brow. They both had started this whole thing by trying to be nice to their Grunkle Ford as he cooped himself up in the basement for whatever reason. Leaving him food right outside the elevator was Mabel’s idea. Stan was pretty against them going down there again so this was the best they could come up with that wouldn’t get them in too much trouble. However, Dipper caught a glimpse of Ford throwing out the food once after he suspected he hadn’t been eating it. Which made him want to start this whole scientific investigation.
But now, what had started out as maybe having kinda paranoid suspicions that Ford might now be half-cyborg specifically starting right above his stomach or that he had his own food he hid from everyone and didn’t need the extra food, had turned into speculation of concerned twins for their uncle’s health. Dipper tried to rationalize it as a stomach bug or some other kind of sickness, but Ford looked fit as a fiddle the last time they’d seen him and they both knew it. Ford had eaten the toast, and then he threw up. It was very… weird. Though Dipper was seemingly not in the mood for the speculation right now, an annoyance in his voice that conveyed his exhaustion.
“Now that I think of it, it was probably a fluke. Maybe it was moldy and we didn’t notice before we put it down there or something,” Dipper was quick to wave it off, which might be because he wanted to go back to sleep in Mabel’s disgruntled opinion. Didn’t he want to know more about the Author? Especially if there was something wrong with him? “I only saw him throw food out once, maybe he just didn’t like the sandwich I gave him that one time. He has to eat something, otherwise how’d he survive out there?”
“I dunno, I just thought it was weird. Don’t you feel the same?” Mabel murmured with a loud yawn. Dipper looked away. “You think we should tell Stan about that?”
“Maybe… Don’t know if Ford would like that though,” Dipper stated noncommittally as he returned back into the covers. Their discussion was rather fruitless, to Mabel’s chagrin. “He probably wouldn’t want you to announce it to everyone. He can handle himself, there’s no way he went without eating for thirty years. I mean that’s like, impossible. And now he can have all the food he’d ever want, so it’s not like he’s struggling to find any or anything. Though if he throws up again, then we know there’s more to it… I guess.”
“I know…” Mabel sighed, wishing Dipper wasn’t half-asleep and cranky about it so he’d actually take her seriously. Before she knew it, he had made his half-asleep state become full-asleep and all she could do was join him. The Ford and food problem was something they would have to solve in the morning or something. Mabel hoped Ford was alright as she drifted off to sleep, her mind cruelly promising dreams of food the moment her eyes drooped. She promised to tell Stan, worried about going directly to Ford as if he would get mad that she’d given him the toast that made him feel awful and watched him vomit.
Hopefully they could figure out what was up with Ford if there really was something wrong.
“Ford.”
“What?” Ford didn’t look up from his desk, his hackles rising as he tried to continue his work. Stan promised to leave him alone when he was down here. At the very minimum. He couldn’t help but feel his twin’s gaze boring into his neck as his irritation grew in the pit of his shriveled up stomach. Stan cleared his throat, practically ordering Ford to look at him. He did so, reluctantly, to see Stan holding a cup of some kind of smoothie.
“Mabel wanted to give this to you. Says she’s worried about you,” Stan placed the cup on the desk stiffly; Ford could see the bitterness in his eyes with a hardened frown, “Probably a good idea to drink it or somethin’, seeing as I’ve never seen you eat since I saved you. But what do I know? I’m just the messenger here.”
“If it’s really that big of a deal to you Stanley, I’ve been getting a sufficient amount of nutrients the entire time I’ve been here,” Ford grumbled as he examined the smoothie with a flip of his stomach as he imagined drinking it and likely expelling it right after. The bottle in his coat was burning a hole as he danced around the subject. “You don’t need to worry about me and neither does Mabel. I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?”
“Not sure how you can do that without eating a bite of food, but whatever,” Stan turned to go, his mission he obviously complained about doing the entire way completed in a way that irritated Ford, “You go starve yourself in the only way you know how if ya want, I’m checking on the kids.”
“I’m not starving myself for your information, you who apparently knows-all about healthy eating despite letting the kids eat junk all day,” Ford growled, hearing Stan’s echoing footsteps pause mid-stride at the words. Before Ford could think, he pulled out the bottle and showed them to him as he turned around. “These have kept me alive on the other side of the portal after you pushed me in there and I rather prefer them over the drudgery of eating! Now can you leave me to do my work in peace, please?”
“Wh- Stanford, those are just pills. What are you talking about, kept you alive? That’s hardly enough to not be starving yourself!” Stan yelled, yanking the bottle out of Ford’s grip and staring down the pills like they personally offended him. His eyes scanned them for something Ford couldn’t parse from here but it didn’t matter that much. Ford snatched it back and glared pointedly at Stan until he relented. “Anyone knows that. And if you can’t see that, then I don’t know what to say!”
“Alright, I get it. Now can you just get out of my lab, as was in our little truce?” Ford tried to stay patient, but the breach of trust at that little grab at his only source of nutrition was not doing Stan any favors in that regard. Stan grumbled the entire way, but he did. The moment the elevator closed and sent its insufferable occupant back to the surface, Ford relaxed significantly. He kicked himself for bringing up the pills, realizing he should’ve known better than to think Stan would take it with the grace he expected of him. Or that he wouldn’t notice how I don’t eat food in the first place… Ford shook his head.
Ford turned back to his work, trying his best to ignore the smoothie on the desk with flashbacks to last night’s attempt at consuming what the twins made him. There would not be a repeat episode of that if he could help it. Besides, today he was going to finish dismantling the portal. And that was more important than a smoothie he didn’t need. Not even one made by one of the kids. Ford sighed, giving the smoothie a sidelong glance. It was purple, probably full of fruit he couldn’t identify just from that color. Perhaps blueberry. Maybe… No… If Ford couldn’t handle a regular piece of bland toast, than he surely wouldn’t be able to handle an obviously more intense fruit purée.
Though maybe the fact it was liquid would help. Maybe it wouldn’t feel like so much of a rock in his stomach like the toast had, if he regulated his intake. A sip really couldn’t hurt, could it? Ford argued with himself over the efficacy of consuming any amount of the smoothie Mabel had made for him. He didn’t even know why Mabel worried about him, sure he was healthy enough to anyone around to see. Though even he knew that the fact he found food left for him every day seemed to tell a different story. Who would do that if they hadn’t noticed something? Ford shook his head, this was inconsequential compared to his more important work with Bill Cipher’s little plan to take over the world.
So Ford brushed everything about his admittedly weird diet off, leaving the smoothie on the desk as he went to go continue dismantling the portal. It didn’t quite leave him how intensely Stan had reacted to learning of his nutritional pills, but since when has he started listening to that reckless fool of a brother? Stan didn’t know what he’d gone through on the other side of the portal, while he was sitting pretty pretending to be him while making a mockery of his life’s work and trying to get everyone killed for nothing. Ford shuddered remembering the worse ones that barely left him alive for the threats to his life and lack of human-safe meals.
Why’d everything have to be turned back to lack of food today? Ford didn’t understand it. Perhaps his family’s odd fixation on it only gave his mind something to obsess over that wasn’t his worst nightmare. Regardless, Ford wasn’t about to let it take over his work. He took one look at the half-dismantled portal with a grin as he realised today was the day he was going to finish taking it down. A yawn stole the moment as he went to work ripping apart the rest of it, a sign of how late last night had been. Ford pushed through the fatigue, letting his anger at Stan and Bill fuel him as the last parts of the portal were taken down at last, left to figure out a way to dispose of the scraps at a later date.
Ford spotted a creature in the corner after he covered the window’s view of the portal’s destruction, the Cycloptopus he remembered taking with him through the portal in a jar that was clearly not holding it anymore. About as intelligent as Earth’s octopi, if not more… able to escape jars if they put their minds to it. Plus a degree more aggressive. Ford smiled, this was a perfect excuse to show his family that he was both capable and healthy enough to handle himself without their pestering. He didn’t need their help with something he’d figured out years ago. And now he can prove it, by fighting this little Cycloptopus in front of them all. That’ll show them. It would also help his cool factor in those twins’ eyes, if nothing else.
So Ford gathered the eight armed and one eyed cephalopod into his arms and rose to the first floor, his plan to prove his health in full force the moment he stepped outside the vending machine where he heard everyone gathered.
Showtime.
Dipper sat across from Ford, his eyes lowered to the Pitt Cola on the dining room table. The events of the last week had all but culminated here, after a scene that Dipper didn’t feel like erasing from the basement below. If Ford didn’t have that metal plate… his mind would be gone right now… ugh… Ford’s past had caught up with him and Dipper was lost in the fray after using that mind reader. A few moments later and Ford was on the receiving end of a blast of memory gun energy that simply ricocheted off the plate that was affixed to his skull and destroyed the thing Ford was using to scramble his mind against Bill. It was… crazy.
Taking a sip of the Pitt Cola, Dipper noticed that Ford also had his own open can. In any other case, that would’ve been such a mundane observation that Dipper would’ve felt crazy to think anything special of it, but all this time he had believed that Ford didn’t eat anything this entire time. Granted, this was a drink, but it was still oddly noteworthy as they commiserated over Bill pulling the wool over both of their eyes. Dipper shook it off, he was going crazy. Ford probably just ate in secret and he was prodding in a weird way that would only alienate him from the Author. He was fine, if his feats since that one night proved anything.
“I’m sorry for what happened down there… I shouldn’t have been so nosy about your thoughts…” Dipper apologized, contrite as his misdeed had ruined everything, even if he was scared at what he’d seen of Bill in Ford’s mind, “Now we don’t even have a machine to protect our minds! What are we going to do now?”
“No worries, Dipper, there’s still a chance to fortify the house with the moonstones and the unicorn hair, if Mabel has indeed followed through with her mission” Ford reminded, leaving his drink untouched other than the open tab. Dipper took a swig of his own drink, both as the refreshment that it was and as an experiment to see if Ford would follow his example. But before anything could happen in that direction, Dipper was startled by Mabel’s sudden appearance. She was wide-eyed and pumped up on adrenaline, smiling so wide as she shook an amazingly multicolored handful of hair in their faces.
“Did someone say unicorn hair?” She was excited, practically jumping up and down at their reactions. Wendy, Grenda, and Candy were behind her, covered in multicolored… something. A large chest of treasure being dumped on the table, Dipper’s little experiment forgotten as Ford praised Mabel for all she had done and Stan stole the majority of the gold coins and jewelry from the chest. Dipper finished his drink with a few burps, watching with a humor in his eyes as Mabel and Grenda bickered over the remaining gold before Ford urged him to take the unicorn hair outside with him.
Dipper noticed that Ford had left the can of Pitt Cola sitting on the table from all the hullabaloo that had become the arrival of the success of the girls to get unicorn hair. Pocketing the unicorn hair, Dipper took the soda as Ford went down into his study to get his moonstones. If Ford wasn’t going to drink it, then he didn’t want to waste it. Maybe I should ask him if he still wants it when we’re ready to get this magical shield ready. Dipper felt pessimistic, Ford hadn’t drank a drop of his soda the entire time they’d been chatting. Like he was trying to keep up appearances while still not participating in things. Dipper knew that he had probably forgotten it, but still. It was strange.
So strange, that Dipper almost fumbled over his words trying to ask about the soda the moment Ford met him outside after placing the moonstones around the house.
“So, um, Great Uncle Ford?”
“Yes Dipper?” His voice was full of warmth, fully expecting something about their plan Dipper believed.
“You left your soda on the table. Are you still planning on drinking it?” Dipper’s question should’ve been simple enough, but Ford faltered as if he’d asked him a loaded question. Odd. Dipper tried to smooth it over with explanations that totally didn’t seem like he was trying to pry into things he didn’t fully get. “It’s fine if you don’t want it, I totally get it. Not everyone likes the pit inside the can and all. Just want to know if you care if I have it or something.”
“Oh, right. Our chat distracted me a bit,” Ford scratched his neck while Dipper offered it up to him, “I guess I could have some of it. Before we get to this protecting the shack business and all.”
“Some?”
“My stomach’s not what it used to be, I’m afraid. Getting old and all,” Ford explained as he took the can of Pitt Cola, though somehow Dipper sensed something deeper than that in his tone. Regardless, take a sip Ford did. Before taking a few more as he led Dipper to a great spot to start putting the unicorn hair. Dipper followed his instructions and began placing the glue covered hairs on one of the creases between the wooden logs, a tedious process. Dipper was fine with it, it was just something that naturally took a while to complete. Though now he was stumped.
“Great Uncle Ford, what should I do about the-” Dipper began to ask about one of the pipes leading from outside the house, only to find emptiness where Ford had been previously supervising the activity. It had been taking a while. Dipper assumed that maybe he’d gone in for a restroom break or something, before he spotted the can Ford had been previously drinking from on the ground, discarded as if he’d dropped it. Or threw it, but there were no garbage cans around and Dipper didn’t think he was the type to litter. Half of it was spilling out, soaking the dirt underneath it with sticky and bubbly soda that Dipper didn’t think the underground nature would appreciate. Curious, he headed inside. There was still that question he needed to ask anyway.
His stomach lurched as he heard the unmistakeable noises of someone throwing up somewhere on the first floor. His mind was instantly brought to what Mabel had told him more than a week ago about that toast they’d given Ford, rushing to the source to find a locked bathroom door. Knocking, he was instantly answered with a rushed ‘I’m fine, go away Stan!’ that sounded haggard and awful, before more sounds of retching almost made Dipper lose his own soda. Dipper almost resolved to go to the other side of the unicorn hair he’d finished already, before he heard Ford mumbling something on the other side of the door the moment the assault from his stomach seemingly finished.
“...oh I knew I shouldn’t have tried to drink that stuff,” Ford said, disappointment dripping in his voice, “Why’s it so hard to keep to my diet? Why do I keep trying to eat things I know will come back to bite me?”
Understandable, Ford must have a sensitive stomach. Though what stomach would be sensitive to toast was another matter. Dipper, satisfied that he’d solved the issue at hand, began wondering just what foods were safe for Ford to eat without worrying about losing it minutes later. Eh, it’s not that important, I’ll just let him pick out what’s good for him. Dipper left the Shack to continue protecting it before Ford even left the restroom, feeling extraordinarily awkward at the thought of the Author catching him gawking at the door. He was halfway done when Ford finally came back out to watch his progress and give him tips.
“Sorry about that, had something to… take care of,” Ford said, completely side-stepping what had just occurred, completely oblivious to Dipper catching him having a sick stomach. Dipper let him think he was alone with that, realizing that it would probably be quite embarrassing to be caught purging the soda given by the twelve year old that looks up to you. Ford gave him an odd look at his zoned out stare. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing, going back to getting our ol’ Shack protected from Bill thing now…” Dipper didn’t know how well he was doing pretending nothing had happened, but he shrugged it off as he finally finished getting the unicorn hair around the Shack and watched a fascinatingly pretty bubble engulf it in its entirety. It wasn’t hard to forget the events of the interrim when Ford, The Author of the Journals, gave him a handshake with a proud smile, trying his hardest not to squeal as he heard the magic words.
“I’m proud of you for everything you’ve done today, Dipper. It takes real guts to stand up against Bill while he’s possessing one of your loved ones and I’m glad I know you’d do whatever it took to stop him,” Ford remarked, lampshading the events of the basement with a certainty that almost made Dipper faint with how easy he had complimented him. Though, even though he was glad to pretend and forget it didn’t happen for Ford’s sake (and for his own sense of meeting the author, if he was being honest), Dipper still had a tiny part of him whispering that something was still up with Ford and his eating habits, or even lack thereof.
“Th-thanks… I guess I do have the guts to face him…” Dipper said as they walked back inside the Shack, Ford leading the way. Ford looked fine. As fine as someone who hadn’t thrown up earlier could look like. Besides, Dipper had already settled the issue as being a sensitive stomach problem. All this worry was just getting to him. What he should be worried about was Bill, not about what Ford did for breakfast or whatever. So Dipper resolved to finally let his anxieties about all that go, and just enjoy the time he has with the best person he’d met in the world, his great uncle, the Author of the Journals.
Ford could handle himself, couldn’t he? Otherwise, how was he here after thirty years of surviving the multiverse? Dipper tossed the thoughts away as he went up to the attic that evening. He was just being a stupid and paranoid twelve year old. Dipper sighed, joining Mabel in her celebrations at their successful mission. He could tell Mabel was giving him a look the entire time that was either saying ‘did you figure out what Ford’s deal was?’ or ‘are you alright?’ and Dipper couldn’t tell which through his mixed feelings. Either way, he didn’t say anything, just grabbed a few gold coins and fiddled with them.
With a big relaxing deep breath, Dipper finally let it go.
He hadn’t noticed the grimace on Ford’s face or the subtle hand touching his stomach as they went their separate ways in the gift shop.
And Ford was grateful for that.
Ford rattled the chains keeping him hostage, his body complaining of the electricity that had flowed through it mere moments ago. Bill was infinitely terrifying, though Ford wouldn’t let it show that it was working on him. That equation wasn’t going to leave his mind if he had anything to say about it. Clearly that was frustrating to Bill, who was pacing mid-air after his latest assault being fruitless. Bill faced him once more, the shape that had been a thin line with legs in Ford’s perspective stretching into the triangle he’d grown to loathe. Bill squinted, still thinking about something that made Ford only a little nervous.
“WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING, SIXER, HMMM? YOU TIRED?... YOU NEED SOMETHING TO EAT BEFORE YOU’LL TALK?” Bill said ‘eat’ as if he knew something that only earned a scowl from Ford. There was amusement in Bill’s eye at his reaction, before raucous laughter that tore through Ford’s ears like little knives. “I’D LET YOU STARVE UNTIL YOU GOT YOUR MOUTH UNSTUCK FROM TELLING ME THAT SIMPLE EQUATION IF I KNEW ANY BETTER.”
Ford didn’t speak, opting to glare at Bill menacingly. Go ahead and starve me, see how well that turns out for you! Ford yelled within his head. Years of subsisting on his precious nutrition pills had made him resistant to hunger. Heck, he hadn’t found the time to take his daily intake for at least a day and he was still feeling okay, if a little bit weaker than normal. Though the way Bill had said he’d do that ‘if he knew any better’ made Ford uneasy. What did Bill know? Ford tried to hide his fear, though the way Bill was studying him with that same amusement didn’t give him any confidence that he could let go of his guard.
“THOUGH FROM WHAT I’VE SEEN OF YOU, YOU’RE ALREADY DOING THAT FOR ME!” Bill was gleeful as he telekinetically removed the pill bottle Ford stored his constantly refilling nutrition pills within from his trench coat and examined it with a certain victory in his movements that made Ford wilt inside. “STARVING YOURSELF SLOWLY AND PRETENDING YOU’RE NOT! IT’S ALMOST LIKE YOU’RE TRYING TO RECREATE MY TORTURE METHODS!”
“Well it’s certainly working isn’t it? I’m still here!” Ford seethed, batting out with an arm as if to try taking it back in vain. Bill chuckled, tossing the bottle from hand to hand before opening it and pouring one of the pills out into his palm. Analyzing it with his eye, Bill laughed even harder. “Give it back! You have no use for it!”
“BUT DO YOU?” Bill asked, a challenge in his entire cursedly physical form that left Ford shaking with rage at the unfairness of it all, “YOU’D HAVE TO SWALLOW A DOZEN OF THESE THINGS TO BE EFFECTIVE, IF NOT MORE! NOT TO MENTION THAT YOU’D STILL BE HUNGRY.
“I’M SURPRISED THAT YOU COULD STAND IT! GOOD ON YOU FOR TORTURING YOURSELF FOR ME!” Bill cackled, pouring the last of the pills into a flame he conjured as Ford watched in fear and fury, “THOUGH ALL THAT CERTAINLY ISN’T AS HELPFUL AS I’D WANT IT TO BE… HMMM I HAVE AN IDEA…
“IF YOU’RE NOT FEELING THAT HUNGER NOW… WHY DON’T I…” Bill snapped his fingers and something within Ford’s belly twisted in awful ways that made him grimace, “LET’S SAY… REMOVE YOUR DENSENSITIZATION TO YOUR PROBABLE CONSTANT HUNGER AND MAKE IT DOUBLE!”
Ford recoiled as the promised hunger tore through his gut with a vengeance after a few starting hunger pangs, something he’d long gotten accustomed to ignoring to the point that his stomach had given up sending signals long ago. It had long learned to just accept the nutrition pills and nothing else, but now… now he was feeling all that lost hunger attack his senses like a starving tiger. He felt nauseous and painfully empty, like he could eat entire continent and still feel starving, but still purge it moments after consumption. Ford cried out as the most painful growl rumbled through his entire torso, threatening to rip out of its place if only to get something to eat. He barely heard the laughter surrounding him, wishing for anything to fill his stomach, even if it was destined to come back up every time.
“NOW WILL YOU CONSIDER MY SIMPLE OFFER?” Bill asked with a coy smile on his nonexistent mouth, before conjuring a four course meal that he kept just out of reach, “YOU CAN EAT THIS AND INFINITELY MORE IF ONLY YOU LET ME HAVE THAT PESKY LITTLE EQUATION!”
“No… no I won’t… urrghhh…” Ford grumbled, wishing he could at least touch his belly to soothe it from its awakened hunger. But nothing would make him give Bill what he wanted, even if it could stop this terrible yearning for food he was suffering through. Ford felt like he would die, not even from starvation, just from all the stomach twisting pain of his hunger. Bill had started to shoot electricity at him again, but Ford was barely able to think. He felt like his gut was eating him from inside out, swearing he could feel stomach acid tearing through his abdominal cavities where it didn’t belong, though logically he knew that wasn’t happening. It just felt like it was. And that was somehow worse.
If Ford survived this, which was a big if, he promised himself to try eating more than he had for those two weeks he’d been back plus countless years before. Anything was better than what Bill had inflicted upon his poor stomach. Even the inability to keep barely anything down besides his now destroyed pills and water was preferable to constant horrible hunger. At least throwing up gave him relief afterwards. Ford sighed and felt himself relax as Bill got distracted enough by the sudden arrivals to let the hunger and the electricity relent from afflicting his body. Ford smiled, watching his house as some kind of giant robot fighting off the monsters was a satisfying rest from all that had occurred.
Until he was frozen again after fearing for the kids’ and everyone else’s lives, that wasn’t very much of a calming moment. Not at all.
“You know you don’t have to do this, Stanley…” Ford’s voice sounded awfully haggard, his second thoughts shining through with every word. Stan scoffed at him, mentally preparing himself to face Bill and have his entire mind erased in the few minutes they had before Bill inevitably caught the twins and came back for his ultimatum. “I… I could bargain for your lives… I could make Bill keep this town safe… I… I…”
“I do have to do this, Ford. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if my bullheadedness over on that magic circle thingy cost us everything…” Stan sighed, Ford’s hesitance over erasing him was confusing at best and frustrating at worst. What was the big deal? It wasn’t like there was much useful stuff in here. That was why he was the one to get erased anyway. Ford had that plate in his head and even if he didn’t, Stan would probably hesitate much too long to erase the person he’d been trying to save for thirty years, not even for all the nerd junk he got stuffed up in that mind. Ford, on the other hand, had put off the impression that he wouldn’t care that much, not until this very moment. “We don’t got that much time before Bill’s onto us, so snap-snap, huh?”
“I guess you’re right. This is all my fault, isn’t it?” Ford laughed sardonically, walking to the corner and pulling off his clothes while Stan looked on and did the same. Suit blazer, white button-up, red tie, pants and shoes… then the fez. Stan spent a few moments looking at it with his clothes hung over his arm and shoes under his arm, feeling a deep kinship with it that felt a little silly as he was just letting Ford borrow it for their ultimate plan to save the world from that dastardly triangle. It had helped him become the Mr. Mystery he needed to be to save Ford from the portal after years of paying off that darn mortgage. Stan touched the symbol of the fish fondly before turning around to see Ford pulling down his pants.
“Ford?” Stan asked, before sharply gasping as his brother straightened up. There were a number of scars covering almost every inch of Ford’s skin, alongside tattoos covering the rest. Not to mention red and fresh wounds on his neck and wrists from some kind of torture that he had apparently just been saved from. Stan definitely didn’t leave those parts about Ford’s bare body unnoticed, but there was something else that felt bigger than those. Taking off the sweater and trenchcoat had revealed that they weren’t quite as ‘skin-tight’ as Stan had initially assumed. Or at least not as well-fitting. In a way that concerned Stan deeply.
“Ford, I… since when was the last time you ate?” Stan was staring, Ford looked positively small without his sweater and trench coat. Stan could see the outlines of ribs poking through his skin, watching them shift as Ford turned around to give him a withering look. “And I don’t mean those dumb pills you showed me earlier. I mean real food.”
“I don’t think we have the time to talk about my body, Stan…” Ford gestured for the clothing in Stan’s arms, tossing his own at his feet. Stan simply stared, wondering how this was the same person that had overpowered him straight out of the portal. “But if you’re so curious, the last time I ate while still being able to keep things down was probably a few dimensions before you saved me. So about a couple weeks. Not like I was eating that regularly before then either.”
“How are you still alive…?” Stan was flabbergasted, feeling lucky that he’d managed to pull him out of the portal when he did. Otherwise it was looking that he would’ve starved to death over anything else. “You… you look so… thin…”
“Those nutritional pills gave me all I needed. Though now that Bill has destroyed them to torment me, I realize that maybe they didn’t have everything I needed to thrive…” Ford frowned, feeling his belly with an odd expression. It was as if he finally noticed how thin he’d become and not in one of those supposed ‘good’ ways either. No, he looked malnourished. Not enough to show on his face, but enough to be worrisome. Stan felt guilt stab through him, the implications of Ford not getting the food he needed enough to resort to nutritional pills that were barely adequate filling him of thoughts of how he’d gotten into that situation. And he didn’t even try to get him to eat anything! “Regardless, this is entirely not important in the face of our little situation. Let’s get clothed before Bill comes back, yes?”
“Promise to actually eat food when this all blows over, before I get my mind erased, will ya?” Stan asked as he pulled on Ford’s clothes with a hurriedness of a man who just remembered the stakes of what was happening. Ford did the same, and before too long they were in their disguises. Stan froze as he remembered he didn’t have Ford’s six fingers, wondering how he was supposed to fake that before Ford handed him his gloves with a bit of extra tissue paper stuffed into the extras. “Please?”
“I promise. It’s not like I have much of a choice now that my pills are gone forever, though,” Ford remarked lightly, the Fearamid shaking heavily as Bill began the approach. Stan and Ford as each other’s opposite moved into position, staring at each other with a singularity that promised that Ford’s little issue with his nutrition would be solved after Bill was destroyed. Stan gave a strained smile at Ford, who returned it right as the booming voice of Bill Cipher filled the room entirely and they both looked ahead to see the terrifying sight of the twins within that demon’s grip.
“TIME’S UP FORD, I’VE GOT THE KIDS! I THINK I MIGHT JUST KILL ONE OF THEM FOR THE HECK OF IT! EENIE, MEENIE, MINEY-”
“WAIT!!”
Showtime
Ford was smiling, Stan was smiling, the entire group of kids at their feet were smiling. Everyone was happy, even though it was a little bittersweet out here after those wonderful twins left for home down in Piedmont. It was a picture perfect ending to that wonderful summer with all its twists and turns, up and downs. Stan almost couldn’t believe it. There was no way this was real. His twin wanted to get to know him again and was even planning to put them both on a boat that had been a dead dream for so long that Stan had to keep rubbing his eyes as if he would wake up any minute now, like what kind of miracle is that?
Well, he couldn’t believe it until he felt Ford start to collapse into his arms. Stan startled and supported him to the ground, where he saw that he had fainted. Feeling for his vitals, they were trembly and unsure, a worrying sign that had Stan panicking. So much that he practically ordered Wendy to call for an ambulance. She did, while Stan watched Ford’s face for some kind of response. Nothing, only shaky breathing.
“Ford, wake up!” Stan shouted into the unresponsive face of his twin, about to slap said face until Ford’s eyes blinked open. He had to remind himself that the ambulance was still coming as he saw the out of it stare in Ford’s eyes. What happened? Stan thought he was okay, he saw him eat plenty of things since Weirdmaggedon ended, it couldn’t be that, could it? Soos put a hand on his shoulder in comfort as Ford looked at him with hints of fear within the unaware sheen of zoning out came in and out. Stan only held Ford’s awfully light body as he felt glad that the twins had already left. It was an eternity before the ambulance arrived. An eternity Stan was fine with staying with Ford, but he’d rather know what was going on with him than anything else.
Finally, the ambulance took his brother away to the hospital, whizzing away with all its lights on. Stan could only hope his brother was alright as he ushered the kids gawking at the scene home to rush to the Stanleymobile. Please be okay… he thought as he raced to the hospital with everything in his heart worrying for his brother’s health. Perhaps he should also worry about his own health, but right now that was not as pertinent to what was going on so it wasn’t exactly a concern. It would be a miracle if they were able to pull off that trip at all at this rate. Stan shook it off, his dream couldn’t be failed that easily. Right?
In any case, the hospital was as cold and sterile as he knew and hated as he followed the receptionist’s instructions to wait until his brother was stabilized with a grumble in his heart. Everything was going wrong. Everything that he sadly couldn’t control. Stan’s mind wandered, remembering Ford’s poor and nonexistent diet the entire time he’d been back with a kick at himself for not trying to do anything more substantial than just letting the kids bring food down to the elevator of the basement he’d cooped up in. He never followed up on what Ford did with the food, but from what it sounded like, he either tried it and couldn’t keep anything down, or he knew that would happen and tossed it all. Maybe a nuanced mix of those two actions. Stan tried to ignore the blatant waste of food with the potentially tossed meals, but the irritation could not let him rest.
Whatever, Ford’s health was worrying him more than the food waste did at the moment. It almost drove him crazy sitting in the waiting room for news that he was willing to just go running for wherever Ford was to see for himself, but somehow he was able to restrain himself from getting kicked out of the hospital for anything less. He chewed his nails and he wasn’t even a nail biter! Stan was almost glad he was given the go ahead to visit Ford a half hour later, even if it meant he had to see him with tubes going every which way on his person the moment he stepped into the door. Stan was by his side before anyone could tell him to take things slow. Ford turned to him and Stan could see the tired smile in his eyes for his face was occupied.
“Hey Ford…” Stan said quietly, quick to notice the IV in Ford’s arm that was giving him a steady supply of nutrients according to the doctor. Ford’s hand wiggled in an attempt to wave that Stan appreciated, though he still didn’t fully understand what was going on. The doctor, seemingly looking into his mind, cleared his throat and tapped on some charts. Stan dutifully turned his attention over, listening as he gave him an explanation.
“Stanford is suffering from a moderate case of chronic malnourishment, presumably due to overreliance on supplements over eating… anything at all,” The doctor showed Stan some numbers, pointing out concerningly low ones, “Stopping cold turkey on said supplements has caused his already tenuous grip on his nutrition to take a serious dive into starvation as he has been unable to keep any sort of regular food down.”
“Ford, this true? I thought you ate the entire week!” Stan exclaimed, watching with heartbreak as Ford nodded sadly. Ford had been eating whatever the kids and Soos could make him while Stan was recovering from his memory loss, and had even had a slice of cake at the twins’ birthday. Though, now that he thought back to it, there was always a moment where Ford was missing from the scene and now it was clear that he had slipped the scene to go throw it all up every time. Stan had shrugged it off, either because he was still having a hard time with his memory or he was busy dealing with birthday stuff. Stan felt regret that he hadn’t checked on him in those moments, twisting his face as he saw Ford’s heartbeat all irregular on the monitor.
“There is something else. We found that alongside his malnutrition that he has a heart condition and seizure disorder exacerbated by his starvation,” The doctor dropped, making Stan’s own heart sink for fear of Ford’s life, “He was having what’s known as an absence seizure alongside his fainting when the paramedics arrived at the scene. Did you know about this?”
“No… I didn’t know there were other types of seizures other than the big shaky kinds…” Stan felt it all click inside his head. Why Ford had complained of being exhausted after his minimal assistance in getting the Shack fixed up from Weirdmaggedon, his grouchiness in the mornings leading up to the end of summer, how thin he was. And… how Ford zoned out more often than not. It was… concerning, to say the least. Stan reached for Ford’s hand and held it softly. “How long does he need to be here for?”
“As long as it takes for him to get back to eating solid food and regain enough strength to walk, then potentially receiving a pacemaker for his heart and medications for his seizures,” The doctor answered clinically, leaving Stan alone with the hospitalized Ford as soon as everything was understood. Stan sighed. Everything was going fine until that fateful moment when Ford fainted and had a brief seizure he didn’t know was a seizure until now. Ford squeezed his hand and, although it gave Stan the brief comfort he needed after all this stress, he felt everything sink at how weak it was.
But all he needed was that firm and insistent smile on Ford’s face that was saying everything would be okay to break down and finally believe it would be okay. Even if they had to postpone that trip. So Stan would wait.
And he did.
It had been a long and arduous process to get Ford back to being able to consume solid food without immediately losing it to nausea. Most of the time he was spent recovering from it all in the hospital or resting back at home. Though he mostly consumed smoothies of anything the others were eating, to keep his stomach from being overwhelmed right away after years of not using its full capabilities. It was a triumph when he managed to finish digesting his first meal that wasn’t simply injected into his veins as separated nutrients akin to a better version of his pills. A triumph that lead them here, a few months later, to finally get going on their trip Ford had promised him.
Stan smiled as he looked out at the open sea, knowing that Ford was within its quarters getting dressed for their new day after a few months of sailing already. He wouldn’t be doing this without him, literally and figuratively. There was something to be said about how they’d gotten to this point being their first trial after repairing their relationship, but Stan wasn’t all that good about philosophy stuff. Besides, at least Ford not only could eat what he wanted with only a few reservations, but he also had those other medical issues caught before they could’ve become a bigger issue. Ford has a pacemaker and seizure medications now, preventing major emergencies on the open waters as best they can. It gave Stan peace to know that his brother was taken care of.
Speaking of, it was taking a while for Ford to come out of his quarters, earning Stan’s curiosity and maybe a dash of worry. Hoping his thoughts about his brother being protected from major health events wasn’t immediately jinxed at the thought of it, Stan wandered over to their quarters to hear annoyed grunts within. Stepping inside, it appeared that Ford was struggling with buttoning his pants. Stan only took a few more steps before Ford turned around, all red in the face with his effort and now maybe a little shame as Stan stared at him.
“Will you stop staring and maybe hand me some of your sweatpants? Mine shrunk in the wash…” Ford grunted, finally giving up as the button on his pants would not take. Stan could only burst out laughing as he realized what was really going on, while inwardly he felt a flood of emotions fill his heart at the thought that Ford was regaining weight that he sorely needed after everything. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, nothing, it’s just kinda silly that you think those pants shrank in the wash, that’s all,” Stan chuckled as he tossed him his yet to be worn sweatpants as requested. Ford gave him a withering glare as he pulled them on, words of how insulted he felt very clear behind his eyes. Stan decided for once to relent his teasing, hinting at something that Ford wasn’t seeing through the shame of needing bigger pants. “Hey, it’s better than being starved all the time. You actually don’t look like you’re gonna keel over in the next moment and actually live a little! A bit of a bigger bod’s no big deal, considering. Just look at me!”
“Hmmm. I actually haven’t thought of it that way before… thank you for the perspective,” Ford earnestly responded, grabbing a bit of the pudge that had filled his frame out and over in the intervening months of finally getting back to a decent diet that wasn’t relying on nutrition pills with a certain look that didn’t seem as ashamed as he’d started to become when Stan entered. The potential for being upset at gaining weight was superceded by the victory over malnutrition Ford had suffered for uncountable years, finally content and safe to regain some semblance of health after prolonged starvation.
“I guess I can say that I am glad that I am no longer the half-starved man I used to be. And this…” Ford rubbed his belly in effect, remembering all the times he couldn’t have done such a thing due to his inability to keep food down with a gentle pride, “...is my prize for making it out of that barely living life I led. Thank you for helping me out of that, alongside everything else you’ve done for me. I can’t thank you enough.”
“No problem, Ford. You look much better than you did back in the Fearamid, that’s for sure,” Stan lightly tapped Ford on the shoulder light-heartedly, leading them both out to the deck to watch the sun rise on the occasion. What Ford had looked like in the Fearamid compared to what he looked like today was like night and day, black and white. There was nothing else quite as stark. Ford was more healthier than he’d been in years and he was finally happy, in more ways than one.
Stan watched Ford look out at the waters of the ocean while living a dream they’d never thought was possible to reach, a thoughtful expression stretched on his face. None of that introspection, you nerd! Stan thought as he wrapped an arm around Ford’s shoulders and lightly jabbed his belly with another arm with a playful laugh. Ford grinned and gave him a noogie in response, reassuring that he hadn’t crossed some sort of invisible, unspoken boundary. Before they knew it, they were play-fighting on the deck of their boat without a care in the world, laughing up a storm the entire way.
The journey was rough, but they both made it. Ford reveled in the new life he was given with his new appetite and belly to come with it, fancying whatever meal Stan could figure out how to cook for him with a voraciousness that Stan hadn’t seen from him ever, especially since he left the portal. Ford would surely get used to regular and normaller meals better than he ever had while on the run and he was certainly never planning on going back to his awful diet of pills that had almost ruined his life. Stan wouldn’t let him. It was the only thing Ford would reluctantly be grateful about Bill over, the fact that that triangle had destroyed those things. It was… weird and didn’t feel too good to think about for too long, Ford most often preferred to say that he was grateful he had Stan to help him bounce into better eating habits over… that. Stan didn’t blame him.
Ford was finally living again after years of believing his health wasn't important in the fight against Bill and that was what mattered.