Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stanford Pines awoke, finding himself with the uncomfortable, yet familiar feeling of the sleeves of his sweater imprinting on his forehead, and the rapid pin pricking of his forearm, protesting after most likely spending hours being used as a pillow. Ford blinked away the tiny black dots in his vision, and slowly straightened up into a sitting position, adjusting his glasses as he went. After a moment, he turned to stare at the display clock next to his desk, a thing Stanley had placed and Ford kept because of its usefulness. Seven O’ Clock. Ford looked again, then gasped, as he realised he had slept at his desk for over ten hours. Not to mention, he was late for dinner. Again. Moving quickly, Ford went to grab his trench coat, putting it on before ascending via elevator to the main floor of the Mystery Shack.

“Oh look who it is.” Stanley clapped his hands, a smile on his face, as his brother at last entered the kitchen, “The man of the hour. How’s that research treating you, eh poindexter?” 

Ford grimaced at the instant attention. Mabel, Dipper and Stanley were all staring at him as he finally made his way to the table. Ford felt as if he was being examined under a microscope as he sat down at the remaining empty space at the dining table, right next to Dipper, who was thrilled to see him again. Ford had rarely left his lab this summer, and he was starting to feel the guilt creeping in for not spending as much time with his nephew as he had promised he would over the video calls.

“It was fine, Stanley.” Ford mumbled, he picked up the fork, poking at the food. Some kind of steak, and oddly enough, glitter was sprinkled on top of it, giving it a glossy shine. Ford blinked, then the corner of his lips tugged up, Mabel, he thought fondly, as he took a small bite out of the steak. 

“What were you researching about, Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked, unable to contain his enthusiastic energy. Even after two years, Dipper's fascination with the supernatural had yet to fade, and so was his curiosity about everything Ford worked on. Ford smiled, glad to indulge Dipper’s curiosity. “Oh, it’s nothing important.” He waved off, “There was a sighting of an meteor crashing into Gravity Falls just two weeks ago—”

“And my brother has been working his ass off to find that stupid thing since.” Stanley blurted out gruffly, interrupting Stanford midway. He stabbed at the steak with his fork, leaving the silverware to be lodged there, as he gestured frustratedly with his hand during that sentence. On some level, Ford can sympathise with Stanley’s frustration regarding this matter. 

He has been working tirelessly to find that meteor, but even so, not one of his sensors can pick up on the trails of where the meteor landed. Or even if there was a meteor in the first place. He has dumped the first two weeks of summer into his research and yet still, he was no closer into making a breakthrough. He knew that Stanley wanted him to spend more time with the kids, especially since there was only that much time that Mabel and Dipper could stay. In comparison, the meteor was not going to leave any time soon, and Ford can always pick up the mystery again when the kids leave for home. Yet, a part of his mind refused to let it go though, there was something calling him to find that meteor, and Ford knew in his gut that he had to find it. Preferably within a short amount of time.

“I assure you. It’s nothing to worry about.” Ford adjusted his glasses. Dipper, however, was already looking at him with concern. “I can help you if you want.” Dipper offered, “I can cover a lot of ground.” Mabel nodded, as she too, began staring at Ford. “Yeah, Dipper and I have been hiking a lot! We can totally help with your me-de-or problem, Grunkle Ford!” 

“Mabel, it’s called a meteor.” Dipper whispered-yelled at his sister, who only giggled. “Potato, po-ta-toe.” She responded.

“Besides, the point is that we can help Grunkle Ford. So that he doesn’t have to be cooped up in that dusty basement anymore!” Mabel smiled, and Dipper sighed but conceded to his sister. 

“She’s right, Grunkle Ford. Can you please let us help you?” Dipper asked. Seeing Ford hesitate on the request, Dipper immediately nudged Mabel who upon the prompt from her brother, began to give Ford her infamous puppy dog eyes. Ford turned his face away, realizing the twin’s ploy. But it was already too late, the damage was done. “Oh jeez. Mabel, sweetie, please just stop already. You’re going to make me give you whatever you want if you go on like that.” Stanley grunted then turned to his brother, “Come on, Sixer. Just give her what she wants.” 

Ford sighed, then nodded, “Yes alright, I’ll let you kids help me.” Dipper and Mabel excitedly cheered at that, following it up with a twin high five.

“But it’s very dangerous, so I’ll need you kids to exercise proper caution.” Ford cautioned, “I’ve tracked down the meteor by eyewitnesses accounts, pinning its location to be the west of Gravity Falls’ forests. But my sensors weren’t able to pick up on anything else, so whatever this is, it could either be absolutely harmless, or trigger the next Armageddon.” 

Dipper gulped, but Mabel only laughed. “Oh come on, Grunkle Ford. We’ve faced the end of the world! How dangerous can a little piece of rock be?” Mabel swung an arm over Dipper’s shoulder, “Don’t worry! The Mystery Twins have got you covered.”

Ford chuckled fondly at that, oh to have the fearlessness of a child. Then he reached out and ruffled the twin’s heads. “I’m sure they do, Mabel. I’ve got the utmost faith in the both of you.”

Dipper’s eyes practically sparkled. 

“However, I’ll still have to supervise you on this expedition.” Ford added, “I haven’t been in this dimension for a while but I’m quite sure that you shouldn’t leave children alone in the woods.” He looked to Stanley for confirmation, but his brother only gave him an unhelpful shrug. 

“Probably.” He tacked on. 

“Careful.” Ford hastily reached out to steady Dipper, who had tripped over a well hidden branch and was midway to falling on the unforgiving dirt. Mabel bit her lip, before bursting out with a barely stifled giggle causing Dipper’s face to flush red. “Hey! It was dark, okay?” Dipper attempted to defend himself, but that only made his sister chortle even more.

“Yeah? Are you sure your eyes aren’t getting worse from all that reading, Dip-dip?” Mabel teased good-naturedly, Dipper grumbled at her taunting and rolled his eyes. 

“We literally have the same eyesight–”

“–Nuh uh, the ophthalmologist said that mine was better.” 

“That was one time!”

In the midst of the siblings’ bickering, the sound of bushes being rustled were picked up by Ford’s senses. Swiftly, he placed a finger on his lips, Dipper and Mabel sensing Ford’s uneasiness, quieted instantly. Dipper’s brows narrowed and Mabel shuffled closer towards her brother. As footsteps grew closer and closer towards them, Ford’s muscles tense, adrenaline rushing through his vines and preparing him for a fight.

More rustling, and a bush on their left began to shake even more. Its branches rattling from side to side as if being pushed and grappled by a strong force within. Ford whipped out his gun from the inner pockets of his trench coat, and stepped in front of the twins. “On my mark, run.” He commanded, voice low so as to not alert whatever it was inside. With luck, it might just be a gnome or a minor anomaly. 

“But Grunkle Ford–” Dipper protested before letting out a scream when out from the bushes, a growling wolf leaped in front of them. But this wasn’t just any wolf, as its structure was made out of sticks and wood, and two empty black holes replaced its eyes. Under the moonlight, its visage only became more terrifying. It didn’t help that the wolf was freakishly tall either, looming over the group with its height. 

“What- What is THAT?” Dipper pointed at the wolf, who was prowling towards them. Ford shot at the wolf, but with each blast, the sticks which it was made out of only collapsed for a moment before floating back to its original’s place.

“Run!” Ford yelled, turning to grab both of the twins by the scruff of their shirts with one hand, the other hand still holding on to the gun, as he turned periodically to snipe at the legs of the canine, temporarily halting its pursuit.

He hauled them in front of him when he sprinted to where he was deemed as a safe enough distance. Mabel and Dipper, upon being put back on their feet, began sprinting as well, panting as the sound of firing and the bright flashes followed fast behind them.

“That should be impossible! It- that thing, I’ve never seen it in the Journal before.” Dipper yelped as he ducked low to avoid being smack in the face by a low hanging branch, “Grunkle Ford?”

Ford gritted his teeth, after a particularly terrible shot, turning back to follow behind the trail of the Twins. “It’s a timber wolf.” Ford explained, as he caught up to the both of them. “I never wrote any notes on this creature before. Frankly, due to their extremely territorial nature and aggressiveness, I never got around to studying them.”

Dipper’s eyes widened, “But you must know something about it right? A weakness of some sort?” He pressed on, “Anything?”

Ford shook his head as his brows furrowed in thought, mind scrambling to find something he knew about the species. “What about fire?” Mabel suggested. Dipper frowned, and said back in a deadpanned tone, “Mabel, we’re in the middle of the woods, that’s going to cause a forest fire.”

“Maybe not!” Ford tapped his chin, “Timber wolves, they are attracted by the scent of smoke.” He finally recalled the last time he encountered a timber wolf.

Dipper’s jaw dropped, “But why would it want to go towards something that can destroy it?” 

Ford pursed his lips at the question, but opted to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. Reaching a hand into his left inner pocket, he pulled out the leftover match box that he had yet to clear from his trench coat since his time in the portal. Suddenly grateful for his past self’s hindsight, he lit up a match, blowing it out before slowly halting his running. He swished around, trench coat billowing behind him as he faced the timber wolf head on. Waving the match over his head, successfully capturing the attention of the timber wolf, whose head turned to the direction of wherever the match was. Only then, certain that the plan would work, he threw it as far as his arm could manage. Further assured by the wolf following in the direction of where the match landed.

When Ford was certain that the predator was gone, he quickly went over to the kids. He crouched down, his eyes scanned over the twins, and checked them over for cuts and bruises. “Are you kids okay?” He asked, sighing in relief when Dipper and Mabel nodded. 

“Good news, Grunkle Ford.” Dipper smiled giddily, his body radiating with joy. Ford, noticing the oddly good mood, raised his brow. 

Were children meant to be so happy after facing a near death event?

“We found the meteor!” Mabel revealed through barely masked excitement, pointing at a giant crater in the dirt, the centre of it occupied an enormous rock with spots of red and yellow.

Ah, that made sense. What didn’t make sense though, was the relatively non-nuclear appearance it had. 

Or the abandoned castle that was placed several miles behind it.

Chapter Text

Blinding light flashed before his eyelid, flashes of multicoloured chaos, centuries of life, of memories and all the jumbled up feelings of an immortal dream demon, of Bill Cipher, being stuffed like cotton into a taxidermied carcass. His entire being felt as though he was being torn apart, piece by agonising piece, brick by brick, reshaped, recontextualized. First being made into particles, then sucked into a vacuum, and spat back out again, ad nauseam. 

The path forward was stagnant, and the path backward was gone. All Bill could do was endure.

And he endured. He endured the pain that was beyond imagination, beyond comprehension. Pain that was so all encompassing that for a moment, two dimensionality and three dimensionality both disappeared. All that existed was the suffocating torment. But then, he came to.

The All-Seeing Eye blinked open. Bill groaned, then, he took a moment to ordinate himself, though he would never admit that he needed it. Get someone to love him, eh? Bill shuddered at that thought, depending on which dimension the Axolotl sent him to, this would either be as easy as pie, or take centuries to accomplish. Manipulation was hard work after all, and Bill distinctively remembered an entire dimension where their whole shtick was being paranoid and untrustful. Ha, kind of like Sixer after they had that whole ‘creative disagreement’ over the portal. The crucial difference was that Fordsy is actually pretty cute when he’s angry, unlike those green sentient carrots who lived in that dimension.  

Bill would have preferred to fist fight starving cannibalistic demons, or to eat some of those weird yellow ghosts in that arcade game over this. Hell! He’d even take the Yo-Yo Dimension over this. Those guys there at least knew how to party like it was the last day of their lives.

Whatever, he waited thousands of years for his plan to come into fruition, this was just a minor hiccup. Soon enough, he’ll be lounging back up at the newly reconstructed Fearamid, and everyone shall rue the day they ever crossed him. Especially the Pines.

Finally, Bill got off of the ground, and took stock of his surroundings. It was some sort of foyer that the Axolotl had stuffed him in, except, NO it wasn’t. It was way too bland, it was as if someone sucked the saturation out of the room halfway, leaving only shades of grey and the occasional splash of red. 

Two Couches pooled together to form an open rectangle at the centre, and in front of them was a fireplace, a chandelier lined the centre ceiling to floor, and a couple of generic old paints were up on the walls to make them look less empty. Bill couldn’t help but note that the couches weren’t even made out of human skin. That Axolotl, what a cheapskate! And that guppy thought it was a benevolent god? Ha! Bill was more generous during his takeover than that salamander was, ever. Making note of the giant oak doors which probably lend him outside and the two grand staircases which both led to the second floor (Geez, this place was BIG), Bill promised himself to check it out later.

At last, spotting that there was only one window within the foyer, carefully positioned above the rest of the furniture. Bill, naturally, floated up to gauge which dimension he had landed on.

The view of a forest greeted him, a sea of trees. He looked on further, past into the distance, the vague blurry shape of a water tower greeted him. The colour scheme was familiar, and so was its structure. It tickled Bill’s conscientiousness in a way that a past puppet’s name would. Forgotten yet able to still stir that familiar wave of memory nerves within Bill’s being. 

He squinted, then it struck him like a ton of bricks.

Ǵ̷̘̺Ṛ̸͉̔͝A̵̟̋̉̚V̶͚̘͐͆͌I̵̧̮̩̒̕T̶̨̘͇͂̂̆Y̷̡͎̾ ̷̙̆̐F̷̤̣́̋A̵̗̘̜̋Ĺ̶͜L̵̡̧̥̓S̸̖͉͆̕͝

That transdimensional frilly guppy seems to have grown a twisted sense of humour. Kid’s growing up. Bill would almost respect the audacity, if the joke wasn’t played on him. Instead, his entire being flashed red in anger, burning hot rage causing his shapeshifting abilities to short circuit and be invoked without conscious input. Contorting, the triangle grew three times his size, with sharp teeth protruding through his opened middle, arms multiplying on both sides.

Ford was weary of stepping foot into the abandoned castle. It was late after all, and he didn’t have any proper gear on hand to deal with any ghosts, level 5 or above, if the need arises, and with a castle that was moss covered like that and vines growth practically infecting the last reminding stones, it was the guaranteed stamp for several ghost encounters to occur within. Not to mention, he had never heard about a castle being built on the grounds of Gravity Falls before. So, he had proposed to go back to the Mystery Shack instead. Mabel and Dipper had enough adventuring for the day, and they can always come back later, once Ford has gathered the proper equipment.

However, it seems as though fate has conspired to force their hands in this matter.

It started small, when he and the twins began making the trek back home. A barely noticeable tickling of the skin, wet droplets that fell tiny and prickly. But then it grew, and grew. 

Soon enough, a thunderstorm was underway. And when finally a lightning struck a tree nearby, lighting it up into an orange fiery. Ford ushered the kids back. It was far too dangerous to continue making the walk home. Going through the forest during a thunderstorm was a recipe for disaster, and the last thing Ford wanted was Dipper and Mabel getting caught in the crossfire— especially not when they were only here because they offered their help to him. 

When Ford told the kids this, he was met with general agreement, so they all went back to the front gates of the castle.

“Yay, castle exploration!” Mabel exclaimed joyfully when they were in front of the giant arched oak doors. However, her enthusiasm was met with a grumble from her brother. “I’m just happy we’re getting out of the rain.” Dipper sighed as he took his hat off, twisting the fabric with both hands, he squeezed out a substantial amount of water onto the floor. Mabel, standing next to him, took the more chaotic approach to dry herself off by shaking her head like a dog would, drying most of the rain out of her hair but also flinging most of the water on to her brother in the process. “Quit it, Mabel!” Dipper complained only to be faced with Mabel’s soft laughter, “Sorry.” She said, not very apologetically. 

It was then that Ford gave a quick, sharp knock on the door. Once, then when no one, or he supposed in this instance, nothing responded. He knocked again. After that didn’t garner any response either, he cautiously pushed the door open and stepped in. He was greeted by the very decidedly, not threatening view of a normal foyer that you’d see at a four star hotel. Which was odd considering the outside of this place looked as if it was abandoned for centuries. Candles lit the place up with a dim but warm glow, and the wallpaper didn’t look the slightest bit deteriorated. Ford frowned, but slowly he gestured for Dipper and Mabel to follow. Mabel quickly bounded up towards Ford, followed by Dipper who was much more vigilant and on-guard than his sister. Yet they both gawked in awe at the decoration and the huge space. 

“Woah. Do you think there’s a prince living here?” Mabel asked, as she darted to the centre of the room, checking out the fancy furniture that had all these intricate patterns and golden details. “I don’t know, Mabel. This place looked pretty abandoned from the outside. Maybe this castle is just a ghost hideout.” Dipper replied, walking up towards a couple of paintings on the wall and examining them. They seemed to have the style of Impressionism art, but the subjects they drew were all very modern. Dipper was pretty sure that computers didn’t exist in the 1860s’.

“Aww, you’re no fun!” Mabel pouted, “Imagine how cool it is if a prince lived here. I’d be able to meet a prince! Don’t you want that for me, Dipper?”

Dipper rolled his eyes at his sister’s antics but smiled fondly, feeling a bit nostalgic at that. Mabel has long grown out of the obsessed boy crazy phase she had during their first stay here at Gravity Falls. Nevertheless, it was times like these that the old obsession seemed to surge back a tiny bit— when faced with the chance to meet a new potential love interest that’d be different than the run-of-the-mill guy.

“Well, kids, I’m sorry but I think we might have to stay here for the night.” Ford announced, in his hand was a cellular device that Stanley insisted he get once they had finished their boat trip and went back to settle in Gravity Falls. “I tried calling Stanley to pick us up, but there’s no signal this far out into the woods.” 

“That’s okay, Grunkle Ford.” Dipper reassured, “At least we’ll be able to walk back to the Mystery Shack next morning.” 

“Yeah, besides, we can think of this like a sleepover.” Mabel squealed excitedly, “I’ve never had a sleepover in a castle before! I totally should’ve brought Waddles here, he would’ve loved running around this place so much!”

Ford sighed, “I suppose there’s no helping it. It would be best if we tried not to explore the other rooms for now, you kids can take the couch.” Dipper and Mabel looked at each other, finally Dipper spoke, “But aren’t you going to sleep too, Grunkle Ford?” Ford blinked, confused by the question, but then he realized. “Oh, it’s alright. You don’t have to worry about me, Dipper. I slept at my lab today.” Dipper looked as though he was still slightly concerned, but slowly he walked to the couch and laid down. Mabel followed after taking the couch on the side. 

“Good night, Grunkle Ford.” They both said in unison. And Ford smiled softly at that, tucking himself down at a corner, back leaning against the wall, head resting at the bricks of the fireplace. “Good night, kids.” He echoed softly.

It took a couple of minutes but gradually, Ford began to hear the breathing of the twins beginning to even out. Careful of his movements, he slowly stood up, making sure not to make a noise so as not to disturb Dipper or Mabel’s sleep. He descended up the stairs. He wanted to check on a few things, just in case— No harm in trying to look for something useful when the kids are sleeping.

What Ford didn’t notice was the triangle shadow that stretched ominously behind him upon the wall, or the fluttering of flames that lit the foyer turning from orange to blue.

Bill had a full body shiver when he felt someone entering his territory. 

Okay, let’s back up a bit. Bill Cipher has been trapped in this stupid glorified prison cell for almost two mortal weeks now, and he did not care for any of it. At all. But when he tried to get out through the front door the first few days, he found out the hard way that whenever he walks out that cursed door, all of his powers just disappeared, he can’t float, can’t transform, he can’t enter into the dreamscape, no nothing. It was the containment bubble all over again, except this time he was even more trapped and with no one to toy with. How did the Axolotl expect him to find anyone, let alone someone to love him, like THIS? Seriously, he was half tempted to just throw away the challenge entirely and just lay back, enjoying himself while he could. It’s not as if that frilly salamander was going to check in on his progress or anything. Probably. But then the possibility of getting his powers back in their entirety, was really too good to pass up, especially when he has had a taste of what it’s like to use them again here. 

So, when he was alerted by the approach of a human mind, he was practically chopping at the bit to show himself. His powers signalled to him the potential avenue of entering a nearby dreamscape, and Bill, never one to ignore his instincts, opened up a sphere to see for himself who was gullible enough to enter his realm and subsequently become his next puppet. 

But instead of some townie from Gravity Falls, he was greeted by the face of Stanford Pines, trench coat wet and boots tracking mud onto his carpet.

“Sixer.” He didn’t realize he said that word out loud before it was reverberated throughout his chambers. He would laugh at his luck, if it didn’t make him want to hurl. Of course, of all the beings in this dimension to throw at him, it had to be Sixer that the Axolotl sent to his renegade prison, like some sort of bad omen before a plague. 

Sixer, who had been so vocal about how much he hated him; who had practically ran a marathon around hundreds of dimensions just to evade Bill’s clutches; who had said he’d rather die than join Bill’s henchmaniacs on innumerable occasions— Sixer, who had out stretched his hand towards Bill’s and said ‘From now till the end of time.’ like a reverent prayer on his lips, and a worshipful promise wrapped in benediction, their partnership tattooed in the fabric of time like it was a tapestry meant to withstand forever. 

Bill clenched his fist, and quickly pulled away from that thought as if it scalded him. But then he pondered for a few moments what this all meant.

Fordsy once loved him, didn’t he? Bill’s eye crinkled up in what was, he told himself, an amused smile. Not a fond one, no not at all. But the thought of a Sixer who had worshipped the ground Bill walked on, was just absolutely addicting hilarious to him. Not to mention, if Fordsy loved him before, who's to say he wouldn’t fall for him again? These mortals were always so predictable, so consistent and ever enduring in their mind numbing routines after all. Last time, Bill just didn’t put in enough work to turn Sixer back to his old roots. Too busy with instigating Weirdmageddon and all, who can blame him? He knew that Fordsy had to fall in love with him again once Bill reminded him of how entangled they were to one another's roots. Not to mention, he now had all the time in the world to get Sixer seeing things his way, and he knew just the way to do it. 

Now, where exactly did he put that old piano…

Ford walked down a dark hallway, flash light carefully secured in his hand as he observed the increasing appearances of alien lexicon and characters which appeared sketched into the fancy wallpaper the further he descended. Strange scribbles that lend themselves to an uncomfortably familiar feeling within Ford’s chest, like he had somehow seen these drawings before. Déjà-vu, wrestling hard with his logic which says that he’s never been here before. It wasn’t just the scribbles though, far enough in, the decorative pieces of the hallway began to be placed in manners that were just… wrong. A ceramic vase placed upside down, for example, or a painting hung sideways when the subject of the portrait was painted in a vertical manner. Then it happened. 

A door to his left flashed a flaring light behind it, its shimmer framing the hinges. It was the only indication of light or life which existed in this seemingly endless corridor. And Ford’s attention was utterly caught, so was his curiosity. Gently, he pushed the door open, biting his lip as the door made an awkward creaking noise, no doubt from years of disuse. His flashlight made a tour of the room first, revealing what was essentially a fairly normal study, when it cast its glow on the several pieces of furniture placed in the room. Ford took a few steps inside, startling when behind him, the door hinges creaked slowly as it closed on its own. 

Footsteps that were not his own echoed in the room, further exasperating his paranoia. There must be a ghost haunting this room.

“Step into the light.” Ford ordered, his grip on the flashlight steady, even though its battery had long since run past its prime during his exploration, barely able to light up what was in front of him. The being seem to hesitate in the shadows for a moment before the beginning notes of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ played on a piano, and then, the room lit up into ambient candle lighting, revealing none other than—

“Bill Cipher.” He choked out, throat suddenly unbearably dry. Ford thinks it has to have been horror which filled his tone, but his body felt entirely too numb to be scared. No, this was the feeling of watching a train derail from its tracks, helpless and unable to stop it from crashing towards the nearby pedestrians. 

“Sharp as ever, Fordsy.” Ciper’s eye stared straight at him with great sadistic amusement. It took everything Ford had to control himself from just shooting the bastard clean off the stool he sat on. Everything about this moment was just too surreal. Perhaps he never left Bill’s penthouse suite, Ford thought almost maniacally. All the moments he had with his family after the Weridmagedon were merely a dream cooked up by his ballistic mind in a last ditch effort to hang on to a trend of commodified sanity. Ford clenched his fists. Willing himself to take a deep breath, he reminded himself of all the reasons why that thought was utterly false. He was in the present, Dipper and Mabel were down stairs, sleeping. Unaware that Bill Cipher, apparently was the occupant of this abandoned castle in the middle of butt-ass nowhere of Gravity Falls Oregon’s forest. Somehow not dead, or stuck as a stone statue, despite all that his brother has sacrificed.

The thought of Stanley made his burning hot rage simmered to a boil, and his knuckles went white.

“What are you doing here alive you triangular demonic fiendish bastard?” Ford’s voice was eerily calm, in spite of the storm that raged inside him. Bill didn’t seem fazed though. “Woah there, Sixer. Not even a ‘Greetings!’ after seeing your old pal again. Where have your manners gone?” Bill’s voice sounded like a record screech to Ford’s ears, and when Cipher got off of his chair, creeping towards Ford, Ford instinctively backed up a few steps.

“Cut the games, Cipher. I want to know what in the world are you doing here, and why on earth I shouldn’t just shoot you where you stand.”

“Hey, would you look at that, the great Sixer, jumping straight into violence as a go-to solution. Who would’ve thought!” Bill mocked, absolutely not jumping to the point as Ford wanted. But it turns out, Ford didn’t have to wait much longer because Bill then teleported right in front of Stanford, larger still, and eye showing to Ford Dipper and Mabel who were curled up and sleeping in separate couches.

“ANYWAYS! I see you brought those kids of yours to visit me, Pinetree and Shooting Star. They look pretty cozy all snuggled up in MY couches sleeping, eh? Would be a shame if something happened to them while they’re so HELPLESS.” And to punctuate his threat, Bill’s eye showed a vision of both twins enshrouded by fire, then dashed the image of when Cipher had Dipper and Mabel encased in his grasp during the climax of Weirdmageddon, with the threat to kill off one of them just to make Stanford submit to him looming in the air. 

“Bill, I swear if anything happens to them I’ll—”

“You’ll what, IQ?” Bill chuckled, then blue chains clasped into place on Ford’s wrists and ankles, pulling him up so that he could meet the floating triangle’s eye. “You’re not exactly in a PROPER position to negotiate with me right now. Sixer.”

“What do you want, Cipher?” Ford hissed, struggling at the sudden predicament of being trapped in this position again, by Bill Cipher, no less. 

“What I WANT is simple, Fordsy.” Bill reached out to give a sharp tug at Ford’s hair, causing his scalp to sting terribly as his head wrenched back to meet Bill’s gaze. 

“–All you gotta do is stay here, and I’ll let your family go home, back to that Shack of yours with old Fez, safe and sound.”

Chapter Text

“What?” Stanford Pines’ incredulous tone was enough to give anyone pause, anyone, but Bill Cipher apparently. Since the Triangular Demon only barrelled on, arms tucked behind his back and eye solely focused on the six-fingered human like a laser beam.

“Come on, IQ. You haven’t gone deaf since I last saw you, have you? It’s a very simple question.” Bill let out what Ford would describe as an awkward laugh if he didn’t know any better. 

Then Bill’s eye turned red and he suddenly loomed over Stanford, using his ability to shift bigger and tower over the man. “Unless, what you need is a little MOTIVATION?” 

Ford winced but mostly from the volume more than anything, “Jesus, Bill. Calm down! I was only asking because I could’ve sworn you said you wanted me to stay here. With you.”

“BECAUSE THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I SAID, POINDEXTER.” Bill’s form began to fill up with statics and glitches as he turned more and more like an eldritch abomination the more Ford dared to question him. It would’ve left anyone who didn’t know any better to shake in fear. However, Ford did know better. The decades he had spent dealing with Bill Cipher haunting his dreams, feeding his nightmares— waking up to the terrifying notion of what Bill has done to his body —really desensitised him to the minor Rocky Horror Show Performances Bill does when he’s trying to threaten people into compliance.

And as he predicted, Bill shrunk down when he realized that Ford was not giving in to his tantrums, floating back up to Ford, he once again was returned to his (relatively) normal state, jovial manner back on.

“Come on, Fordsy. You know you want to. I mean, you don’t really have a choice!” Bill circled back around the human, before he settled in front of the scientist, materialising a collar on Ford’s throat to tug at the chain. 

Ford glared up at the demon, firmly unimpressed by the show of power.

“What if I promise not to torture you?” Bill bargained, peering down at Ford as his hand causally petted at the soft head of hair. “It’ll be boring, for sure. But I’m willing to give you the Cipher’s Special, Sixer. Since you’re so special to me.” That sounded so outlandish that it almost got Ford to bark out a laugh, did Bill really think he could manipulate him again with such cheap tricks? At least the last time, he attempted to make his compliments sound flattering and semi-interpersonal. 

“Why? What’s in it for you?” Ford’s distrust was evident, and Bill can physically see Sixer’s metaphorical feelings towards Bill bar go down. Not that it was up in the first place, but still, Bill panicked and began to grasp at straws.

“Nothing.” Bill lied, like a liar. “Except your company of course. Since—” Bill’s eye darted around the room to find an excuse, landing on the piano that was shoved in the middle.

“I’m practising a new song!” Bill exclaimed as he pulled Ford along by the chain, going back towards the piano. “And you need to hear it! Why? Why the faith of your dimension— NO! All dimensions depends on it!”

“The faith of the multiverse rests on me listening to your orchestra performance.” Ford adjusted his glasses, but it still wasn’t able to conceal the dirty once over he gave Bill. 

“Are you calling me a liar, Stanford?” Bill asked, his shrill voice getting even more pitcher. “Pretty sharp, IQ! Right even!” Bill yelled.

“In any case, I still need an answer, Fordsy. Chop chop, I haven’t got all day!” Bill chuckled at his own joke, “Just kidding, I literally have an eternity to wait. But you still should make up your mind soon though. Cuz, those kids of yours sure don’t!” His pupils flickered between the pictures of a Shooting Star and Pinetree. The sight of that hit too close to home, it filled Ford with both panic unease and the urge to move, to save his niece and nephew.

“Fine.” Ford conceded, though it hurt his pride to do so. But, that was a small price to pay, there was something greater than his pride on the line right now. “Fine! I’ll stay!” He lifted up one finger towards Bill. “On one condition.”

“What is it, Sixer?” Bill’s bottom eyelid curled up in the smuggest look an eye can convey. It was obvious that Bill thought that he had it ‘in the bag’ as the kids say.

“Let me say goodbye to the Twins first.” Ford answered, it was not a plea, because he’d never beg Cipher for anything. Not after all that has happened. But, Ford thinks, it might be the closest it’ll get to it.

“Ha! Consider it done.” Bill snapped his fingers and suddenly they were both teleported to the foyer. “Wow, I never thought you’d be so sadistic, Fordsy.” Bill taunted, though at least he kept his voice quiet and not trying to wake Dipper and Mabel. Even as Ford was getting back his grip from the abrupt transportation, and thinking of a way to explain the situation to the kids.

“What? What are you talking about, Cipher?” He grumbled half-heartedly.

“Oh, you know! Letting Pinetree and Shooting Star see you one last time before you cruelly take yourself away from them. In my dimension we consider that top notch comedy— ripping families apart! Sometimes literally.” Bill’s laughter grabbed Ford’s attention in all the wrong ways, making him weigh hard on the consequences of punching Cipher's face right now.

Ford stopped himself though, it was no use wasting time on Cipher. Not when this might be the last time in while he’ll see Dipper and Mabel, until he finds a way to sneak away from Bill of course.

Sighing softly, he walked towards the twins, both curled up on the couches backs facing Ford, but while Dipper’s head resting on the armrest, Mabel was resting her head in her arms.  

“Woah there, Sixer! Impatient much?” Bill snapped his fingers, and a chain clasped around his ankle, pausing him in his steps. Ford glared up at Bill, who floated closer to the human. “I think you’re forgetting one thing here!” Bill reminded, pointing at his right hand.

Ford only looked on in confusion, causing Cipher to roll his eye. “Jeez, come on brainiac, don’t go all dumb on me here. The deal. You have to make a deal with me first.” He outstretched his hand and blue flames ignited, engulfing it in a daunting glow. Ford couldn’t help but to glance down at the hand, breath going ragged in his chest, his throat unbearably dry. It was undoubtedly Cipher’s hand, Ford thought, four fingers encased in black and blue. The hand which he had shook once in his mindscape believing it to be that of a friend’s almost a lifetime ago. 

Ford never imagined that he’d ever make a deal with this demon again. Still. He had to now, back into a corner. He didn’t know what Bill Cipher could do, and why exactly he’d been staying here. However, he’d wager a guess that Cipher was probably trapped here in this castle, otherwise he would’ve ran towards Gravity Falls by now. Or at least went and unleashed his powers to start another Weirdmageddon. However, by fate or by luck, Bill seemed to have retained all his powers within this small pocket of space, his domain in which Ford had so foolishly stepped into— where he had led the twins straight into.

So for now, he had no choice. He must correct his mistakes. Protect Dipper and Mabel, and allow them to have the chance to escape and return home. What happens to him doesn’t matter. 

Finally, in what seemed like a moment of contemplation to Bill, but an eternity of deliberation to Stanford Pines— Ford reached forward to shake Cipher’s hand.

This wasn’t the first time Stanford Pines had shook Bill Cipher’s hand, but this does mark the first time he had done so, not for himself but for others. For the people he cared about. For his family.

Quickly, once the flames dissipated, and deal was sealed, Ford pulled his arm back, rushing towards Dipper and Mabel without a backwards glance to the already disappearing Bill. 

Not ungently, Ford shook Dipper awake by the shoulders, then repeated the same gesture with Mabel. “Dipper. Mabel. I apologize for disturbing your sleep. But you have to wake up.” 

“Huh?” Dipper came to with a jolt, shooting up to a sitting position. “Grunkle Ford?!” He exclaimed, voice cracking. Mabel awoke as well from all the commotion, rubbing her eye, “What’s happening?”

“Is something wrong?” Dipper asked when Ford was silent for longer than was usual, contemplating a way to answer. Ford mentally cursed at himself at that, he knew that Dipper was perceptive, and he should’ve prepared himself earlier for this conversation. Well, he supposed it was too late for that now. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“I’m afraid something is indeed very wrong.” Ford admitted, knowing that telling the truth was the best option, he needed the kids to leave immediately. Run while they had the chance. “Bill Cipher is alive.”

“What! But how is that possible? We defeated him!” Dipper gasped, and he immediately stood up from the couch upon hearing the bad news, Mabel didn’t fare any better since she did the same, pulling at her hair. “Yeah! Grunkle Stan lost his memories and everything.”

Ford clasped his hands behind his back, wishing to conceal his heavy fidgeting caused by his current circumstances. “I’m afraid we were wrong. However, Bill has offered me a deal. Of sorts. You kids will be able to go home safely now. And since the storm has passed, you two should have no problem on returning.”

“But what will happen to you?” Mabel asked, hand squeezing arm. “Aren’t you going to come with us?” She looked up at Ford, and the glistening of her eyes just made his heart clench even more at this difficult decision. “I’m afraid, I cannot follow.” Ford answered, looking away. Both twins widened their eyes when they realized the implication of Ford’s sentence.

“But, it must be a trick!” Dipper scrambled, “You have to go with us, Grunkle Ford. We have to leave together.”

Ford sighed, moving closer, he pulled Dipper and Mabel in for a hug. After a moment, he took a step back from the twins, afraid that if he didn’t let go now. He won’t ever do so. With great determination in his gaze and sternness in his voice. “No. I cannot go. Please, you must leave without me.”

Dipper looked up at him, distressed, “But—”

“Go!” Ford huffed, “Please leave.”

Dipper’s eyes widened but Mabel, realizing the severity of the situation, tugged gently at her brother’s sleeve, “Dipper, please.” She pleaded, dragging her brother towards the door. And reluctantly Dipper followed, but his eyes followed Ford all the way to the door. Even after the door was shut, Ford can still feel Dipper’s gaze piercing through him.

Stan was just about to sit down at the porch with a nice pit cola in hand when in the distance he could hear the sound of idiotic children screaming from most likely an eye bat or something. Ha! Shouldn’t have stayed up so late then, kids these days! He thought amusedly, before he vaguely saw two short shadowy figures running closer and closer to the shack, voices becoming much more familiar in tone.

“Grunkle Stan!” He squinted. Oh, Hot Belgian Waffles! Those are not just any idiot kids— They were his niece and nephew! Quickly, he ran over to Dipper and Mabel, meeting them halfway in front of the bottomless pit, anxiously checking them over. His frantic movements were interrupted though by both of them clinging to his legs tightly.

“You have to help us!” Dipper and Mabel yelled in unison. 

“There was this castle and—” Dipper began to explain. 

“—The storm, Grunkle Ford told us to go.” Mabel added frantically.

“We don’t know what to do! Please help us, Grunkle Stan!” They both yelled, causing Stan to flinch back from the abuse to his ear drums, rubbing his left ear with one hand, he carefully extracted himself, kneeling down to face the kids better.

“Woah there, kids. Calm down. I can’t hear double, you know. You gotta tell me what’s the problem one by one, alright?” Stan then placed a hand on each of the twin’s backs.

“Bill Cipher is back and he took Grunkle Ford.” Dipper rushed out in one breath, before slapping a hand on his mouth, and coughing up a lung full of choked air. “Oh god, I think I’m gonna vomit.”

“That demon did what to my brother!” Stan growled and stood up, fist clenched, “Where is he now?” 

Mabel shook her head, “It’s no use, Grunkle Stan. Grunkle Ford made a deal with him.” Stan has rarely seen Mabel this sad before, and it pained him to see her like this, adding another layer to his anger that once again Bill Goddamn Cipher was messing with his family. 

“That knucklehead! What was he thinking?” Stan cursed but mostly he was just worried, worried that Ford would get himself hurt after he had just gotten his brother back a year ago, worried that all the progress they’ve made to their relationship will all be for naught, because that godforsaken triangle couldn’t just stay dead and buried. Wait, out of the corner of his eyes, Stan saw Dipper having something stuck on his back. What the—

“Dipper, spin around.” Stan demanded, and Dipper only grumbled. “Now is not the time for your games—”

“Don’t you trust me, kid?” Stan huffed, “Just spin, alright? There’s something on your back.” Dipper rolled his eyes but after a moment of staring at Stan, spun around back facing towards him.

Stan gasped, staring at the post-it note that was stuck to the back of Dipper’s vest and somehow survived Dipper running through the woods? He picked it off of the kid, and Mabel seeing this, curiously peeked over Stan’s shoulder as he read the note. 

Which was obviously written by his brother— considering the neat cursive —however the content upon it just didn’t make any sense. Letters intercepted by vague mathematical equations, words that didn’t make any grammatical sense put together in an incoherent order.

“What is it, Grunkle Stan?” Dipper turned around upon realizing the sudden silence, walking towards Stan’s unoccupied shoulder to take a peek at the note. 

“One of my brother’s riddles again.” Stan grumbled, squinting at the post-it note with an expression of mild annoyance and frustration. “That poindexter always got to make everything so dramatic.” 

Mabel bit her lip, “Come on, Dip-Dip. You’re really great at solving puzzles right? You can probably figure this out.”

Dipper’s brow was furrowed in a look of concentration, but shook his head, “Maybe if I had more time, Mabel. Right now, the words just look like a bunch of gibberish to me.” 

“Alright, alright. I think it’s really past you kids' bedtime.” Stan sighed guiding the twins back into the Shack with a hand on their backs. “I’ll get the puzzle solved by tomorrow morning, alright? Don’t worry. Just focus on getting some sleep for now.” Stan tried his best to reassure, but the look on Dipper and Mabel’s faces told him all he needed to know on how much they’ll be able to sleep tonight. Very little, most likely. Hell, he’ll even bet his Stan Bucks on it.

Mabel went up the attic without another word, the day has clearly taken a toll on her, Dipper however, stayed behind, taking another look at his Grunkle.

“I really hope you solve it, Grunkle Stan. I can’t even imagine what sort of horrors Bill must be subjecting Grunkle Ford through by now.” Dipper shuddered, wrapping an arm around himself.

“Hey, don’t worry, kid. Your Grunkle figured out how to open an inter-dimensional portal by reading that nerd’s gibberish.” Stan smiled, “This little note is pretty much child’s play to me. Now scram. Go to bed, kid.”

Dipper sighed, then went up, following behind his sister.

“What do you think, Fordsy?” Bill swept the room over with a hand, an arm over Ford’s shoulder, “Is this better than the penthouse suite or what?” He asked, eye turning to Ford, waiting for a reaction from his favourite human. But Sixer only grumbled. Wow, downer much? Here he thought that Fordsy would at least show some gratitude towards Bill for not keeping him inside a dungeon cell or the equivalent of it. But no— he was giving him the cold shoulder.

“Not even a thank you?” Bill asked and Ford’s left eye twitched just a tiny bit, showing how done he was with Bill’s antics. “Cipher, I swear to god, if you say one more word—”

“Geez! Alright! Alright.” Bill lifted both arms up as a gesture of surrender, he was trying to get Ford to like him after all. And a little concession now and then wouldn’t hurt. Let Sixer win a bit, it’s the best way to warm him back up towards Bill. “You settled in then, if you want to be alone so much.”

Then with a snap of a finger, and poof, Cipher was gone. Ford was just about to let out a sigh of relief but not after a second has passed, Bill reappeared.

“I forgot to mention. You’ve got to— uh, join me for dinner later.”

“But it’s already midnight?” Ford questioned, giving Bill the ‘are you kidding me’ face, brows raised and lips pursed into a tight line.

“Breakfast it is then! You’ve got to join me for breakfast, or else you’re not eating! And I know how much you fleshbags love to eat. See yah later, Fordsy!” And with that, Bill once again vanished.

Leaving Ford to contemplate the room in silence.

Chapter Text

Wrists wrenched backwards as Ford gritted his teeth, blue iridescent chains kept his arms above his head, pinned and useless, utterly spread out like a piece of paper, he was helpless and powerless to stop Bill from taking what he wanted. Ford hated feeling like this, he had vowed not to ever let himself take this position, yet here he was, again and again, subjected to the scrutiny of Bill Cipher, stripped of all his armor and defenses. “Torture me all you want, Cipher! You’re not getting that equation.” Ford growled, voice rough, and the sensation of painful pricking arose in his uvula every time he spoke, still he pushed through, he had to show Bill that he was not one to be toyed with, he would not succumb to manipulation of any sorts ever again by Cipher, he had passed that point. He had to be.

Raising his head, he stared straight ahead at Bill’s eye, meeting the demon head on with defiance. Though, in his gaze, Bill’s form was blurry, more than usual, edges incomplete, like the vague amalgamation of two dimensionality and three dimensionality flickering and intercepting with one another. His voice, though, rang clear like bells to Ford’s ear, crackling and flickering the yellow glow of his isometric sides. “Oh, Fordsy. I don’t care about the equation anymore.” Bill’s hand grabbed Ford roughly by the chin, index and thumb squeezing his cheeks. “What I care about is you… You’re mine, Stanford Pines. Forever and always. You’ll never escape me, because I’m a part of who you are. We made a deal, Sixer.” Bill’s eye was fixed solely on Ford, never wavering, like he was the only thing worth looking at. 

“I’ll always have a place in your mind. Whether you like it or not.” Bill then dematerialized into another plane, body left behind still, and Ford can feel his right eye throb with a horrible stinging sensation. 

“No! Get out of my head, Cipher!” 

But all he got in response was laughter, biting and scratching inside his skull, laughter that eventually mixed with his own. Falling from his lips, from Bill’s lips, from—

Ford sprung himself up in a cold sweat, hand fisted in his sweater, above his left chest feeling his heartbeat going haywire. Perspiration beaded down his neck, and his skin felt incredibly clammy, his limbs tangled every which way under the heavy sheets. A nightmare. His fist clenched into the sheets, he should’ve never fallen asleep in this cursed place, not when he knew that Bill’s eye could be anywhere within this realm. His likeness was plastered all over the furniture here— he wondered how he didn’t notice it when he entered this place —triangles were littered and sprinkled on each detail ornate carving, it was hidden at the faint pattern of the wallpaper, almost transparent except for the vague outline when you walked up close and see it from underneath a light source. 

Bill could very well be watching him now. Carefully examining him, or even worse, he could’ve observed Stanford’s nightmare. What he dreamt about— how Cipher still affected his mental state even after one long year since he was gone. Presumably dead by everyone in Gravity Falls.

He hadn’t even needed the sleep, Ford thought, as he kicked the sheets to the side. But the moment he hit the bed for some shut eye, to think of what his next move would be without having to stare at his surroundings— an ever aching reminder of his overall situation. He had inexplicably fallen asleep, dragged down by the siren sweet lawl of the comfortingly soft mattress. It must have been a while since he has slept in a bed so comfortable to let it affect him so. Back on the Stan O’ War II, there were bunk beds sure, but sleeping on a boat was bound to be uncomfortable no matter what. Not that he’d trade the adventure he and his brother went on for anything in the world. Nevertheless, he never had the time for that trip to the store to get a new bed since he got back to Gravity Falls for the summer, so he has been sleeping on the couch— or oftentimes his desk. His time in the portal wasn’t even worth considering. Ford sighed, it’s not that he didn’t know the benefits of sleeping well— for god sake he was a scientist— but there were always more important things grabbing his attention at the moment. To him sleep just seemed so unproductive, when he could be doing so much more when he’s awake. Which is why I’m in this mess in the first place, Ford reminded himself. 

He swung his legs over the edge, and got back on the carpeted grounds. He reached for his boots, and put them on, taking the moment to observe the patterns which stretched at the centre of the carpet to the edge then back again, swirling indefinitely. Then suddenly, the patterns on the carpet shifted, lines coming together, gathering into a ball, then the edges sharpened into—

A triangle, an eye, a tophat. 

“Cipher!” Ford backed up on the bed, to the middle as Bill emerged from the ground, floating until he was up above Ford, making Ford have to look up to face him. 

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead! Ready for some breakfast in bed?” Bill snapped his finger and he made a footstool into a white feathered rooster, as it produced a generic cock-a-doodle-doo, it jumped up into a newly summoned plate that Cipher’s hand grasped in his hand, melting away into a puddle of a sunny side up egg. Ford recoiled backwards as he saw that, the sight of Bill’s powers making him wish to eject the contents of his empty stomach.

Bill shoved the plate into his chest, Ford grabbing it before it fell onto the floor, seeing his disgusted expression, Cipher chuckled. “Don’t like your chicken cooked by getting their molecules disintegrated? How about this? You get your pretty ass over to the dining hall so we can have breakfast together— banquet style? I can make a mean pancake!”

Ford cringed at that, so used to Bill’s antics that he knew exactly what Cipher was trying to imply. “I’m not eating a talking pancake, Bill.”

“Geez, Fordsy, way to suck the fun out of it! You’re still going though. No use moping in bed!” Bill rolled his eye, then snapped his finger, and the scenery suddenly changed. 

When the whiplash-inducing teleportation was over, Ford found himself sitting on a hard cushioned chair, arms resting uncomfortably resting on the ornate but impractical rough golden detailed armrest. All kinds of breakfast foods stretched in front of him: waffles, pancakes, baked oatmeal and when Ford looked into distance of the huge dining table he sat at he could see that at the end, was Cipher, hand holding a martini, elbow up on the table and staring straight back at him.

Bill coughed as Ford continued on only staring at him in stoic silence, “Hungry yet, Sixer?” He asked, in an attempt to make conversation, but Fordsy only narrowed his eyes at him. “The food’s not poisoned.” He added when he realised that Ford wasn’t making any attempts to eat, or even respond to Bill. So petty. You fool a guy one time, and suddenly he acts as if you’ve killed his entire family– Oh wait, Bill did try to, didn’t he? Whatever, who needed family anyways? Certainly not him, and definitely not someone as smart as Six-fingers. Bill was practically doing ol’ Sixer a favour. And this is the treatment he gets? Talk about ungrateful!

His train of thought was broken by the growl of Ford’s stomach, and a small, barely noticeable reddening in the cheeks on the human’s face. Ford picked up his plate and began shovelling small slices of fruit and a piece of pancake onto it. Ford didn’t want to admit it, but ever since coming back from the portal his strict ‘diet regimen’ has been firmly broken from the stark abundance of edible food he had access to again. Ford’s logic also told him that it was best he kept his strength up anyhow to aid in his escape when the time comes, so he sucked up his pride and dug in. 

“I’m not so bad, am I– Fordsy?” Bill was cut off by loud exaggerated coughing noises on the part of Stanford, who had taken a sip out of the interdimensional punch that looked like orange juice but actually tasted like stars burst, dust, and blackholes. “What the devil?” Ford choked out a curse, hitting a fist on his chest and coughing up a cloud of smoke.

“Whoops.” Bill awkwardly chuckled and vanished the glass and the pitcher it came from. This isn’t going as well as Bill thought it would. Sixer must think that Bill did that on purpose– and the worst part was that he didn’t even intend on pranking Fordsy this time around. He wanted Sixer to fall in love with him– not pop a vessel and overdose on liquids that no human mortal should consume.

“Sorry there, Sixer! I really should start keeping that stuff on a higher shelf. HA! Have this consumable appropriate breakfast drink instead.” Bill summoned a glass of actual orange juice into Ford’s hands this time. But the scientist placed the glass back on the table, and ignored the liquid entirely. 

“What are you trying to do, Bill?” Ford spat out, venom laced into the fundamental makeup of the sentence. 

“What are you trying to say, Fordsy?” Bill waved his hand, “Can’t a dream demon try to treat his old pal to a wine-and-dine without ulterior motives?”

Ford gritted his teeth and stabbed his fork through the soft spongy texture of the pancake, metal clanking against porcelain. “No.” He barked out, clipped and blunt. 

“Sheesh, Sixer, so paranoid. Is it really so hard to trust me?” The blasé tone Bill held only made Ford stiffen, brows furrowing, the corner of his lips twitching from all the insults rushing to his tongue. Did Cipher really think that after all he had done to make a fool out of Stanford, that he even had the right to ask Ford to trust him again? How dare that demon!? 

 “Trust you? TRUST YOU? You really think I’m going to trust you? What kind of naive fool do you take me for— Haven’t you heard of the phrase: ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—” 

“Shame on me.’ Yes, Sixer, I know what idioms are.” Bill rolled his eye, “I was here when you humans invented them! Who did you think inspired the phrase ‘it was raining cats and dogs’? Give some credit to the original artist here.”

“You tricked me!” Ford accused, voice barbed and thorned, “You nearly made me destroy all of humanity!”

“Except that didn’t happen, Stanford .” Bill huffed, and stared at his nonexistent nails, filing them down with a freshly summoned file. “You and your precious humanity are still here. Still on the fast track towards destruction, even without my help! All I did when I convinced you to make that portal is liberate your dimension and show Gravity Falls how to party.”

“You traumatised the entire town, Bill!” Ford retorted, working himself up to a true explosive rage, “Not to mention, even if you didn’t succeed, you still tortured me. Do you know how many sleepless nights I’ve had to endure because of you?”

Oh, of course, how could Bill forget? Those nights where Fordsy would do his damn best trying to keep Bill out of his head, the frustration, the begrudging sense of respect but also the delight that surged within Bill when Ford failed, and he temporarily held the wheel to Ford’s mind and body. “Ninety-one.” He answered matter-of-factly, and Ford slammed a fist on the table, pushing the chair out as he stood up and pointed at the isosceles demon. 

“You’re despicable, Bill. A no good horrible con-man, with empty flattery that anyone with even half a brain could’ve seen through in a millisecond. And I feel ashamed that I even trusted you in the first place.” Ford spat scornfully, then turned to leave, hastily making his exit before Cipher could react.

Bill’s eye widened, shocked, as he stared blankly at the empty seat, the one that Ford had vacated. 

Oh curse the Axolotl. Curse Gravity Falls. And most of all, curse Stanford Pines.

Ford ran, cutting through the corner, and ducking the tentacles that Cipher shot at him. He rushed down the endless halls, hissing as his arm was millimetres away from being seized and captured by Bill. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, as he opted to coast through the handrail once he reached the stairs.

“STANFORD PINES! WE’VE MADE A DEAL, COME BACK HERE!”

The exit was in sight and Ford did not look back, boots hitting the ground one at a time as he leaped towards the double oak door, hand reaching out, cursing as blue chains materialised wrapping around the door several times over, deadbolting it and preventing Ford from escaping. Footsteps were quickly growing, and the panic in Ford’s chest rose to a crescendo, thinking quickly he punched a hole through the nearby window, gritting his teeth as stray shards stuck to his fist, pushing through the biting pain, he jumped out, landing a duck and roll on the grassed grounds of Gravity Falls’ forests.

And when he got up, he immediately went into the woods. It was like a spiralling hedge maze in there. Surely, he’ll lose Bill as long as he kept moving, and taking random turns.

In the distance he could hear giant stomps which resonated and shook the very ground Ford stood on, Ford didn’t dare look back. He ran and ran until the breath in his lungs went ragged and his legs protestingly ached, warning him that if he kept on as such they would give out on him, he pushed further through the woods though, until arrived at a small clearing, and when he couldn’t hear Bill’s ominous presence– footsteps or yelling, he stopped. Gasping as he reached out to steady himself gripping the bark of a nearby tree.

He was just about to pick up his pace again, when soft growling reached his ears, causing his head to turn at record speed to the direction the sound came from. And there at the edge of the clearing, Stanford laid his eyes on a pack of timber wolves, predatory gazes staring back at him with glowing malicious intent. They snapped their jaws at him, and Ford quickly reached into his trench coat searching for the box of matches, frantic as they closed in on him. Backing away, he did not notice a stray root of a tree poking out from dirt and he tripped over, landing butt first on the unforgiving dirt, the box tumbling out of his coat from the momentum and quickly hidden under the paws of the pack of timber wolves that surrounded him.

Ford tried to get up, but as he did, a wolf lunged at him, going straight for his jugular, and all Ford could do was raise his arms in front of his face, bracing for impact. 

There he waited. 

And waited. But after a while, Ford noticed the lack of force or pain arriving upon his limbs and hesitantly he opened one eye, peeking through his makeshift protection to see–

Bill Cipher, terrifying eldritch form, duking it out with the timber wolves, his arms grabbing onto them, whenever they try to attack him, and his teeth gnashing their sticks into dust. Ford observed this bizarre view in front of him, mouth agape and shocked, as the timber wolves regenerated and regrouped, their sticks– each time they were ripped and shredded by Cipher –grew in size and merged with others of its pack until all the sticks that once made up the twelve timber wolves assimilated together to form one giant timber wolf, its height rivalling the angered Cipher’s.

It lurched forward and bit at Cipher’s leg. Bill who was a moment ago, just having an upper hand at this fight was losing horribly, his eldritch form glitched and was increasingly getting beaten down by the flurry of bites and claws. The more blows it landed the more defective Bill’s form seemed to hold up, its limbs discoordinated and the top and bottom half of Bill’s pyramid shape spun three hundred sixty degrees in opposite directions unable to line up with each other. 

Ford, looking at all of this from the sidelines, had the urge to do something. Something very, very foolish. He had no time to contemplate further on his actions, staring the way Bill was crumbling under the might of an enemy that should’ve by all means been child’s play for him to defeat, twisted something in his heart that Ford didn’t even know still existed. His hand reached for the matches which were still on the ground, he got up and yelled at top of his lungs.

“Over here, you overgrown mutt!” Ford waved freshly blown out matches, about a dozen of them clenched in his fist. The smell of smoke caught the attention of the timber wolf and it looked down at the man, tilting its head as it leaned down to sniff at the air. “You want these?” Ford shouted thunderously, “Come and get them!” With that he threw the bundle of matches as far as he could, the enormous timber wolf seeing this disassembled back into a dozen of its brethren, chasing where and going to where they landed.

Ford sighed, but then, he was picked up by a ginormous hand, kicking he yelped as he was brought face to eye towards a displeased Cipher. 

“We’re going back, Fordsy.” Bill stated plainly, tone dead cold, which was even more horrifying then if it was furious or loud and boisterous.

Ford looked away and nodded, knowing that there was nothing else to do in this situation, his escape attempt failed, and more humiliatingly he had been saved by Bill Cipher. At least, he returned the favour almost immediately. Meaning that Ford still didn’t owe anything to Bill, but it was the principle of it that annoyed Ford more than anything.

Either way, it doesn’t matter now. His attempt to escape was a bust, he might as well wait for plan B to work out. Hopefully sometime soon… Before he has to have any more breakfasts with Bill.

Chapter Text

After what felt like a century of walking back in awkward silence, though in reality it was fifteen minutes– Ford was just about to retire back to his designated room and set his sights on avoiding Cipher for the rest of the day. Carpe diem was not his priority, not when he had just committed what boiled down as an act which saved his enemy. By all measures, he should have let Bill get handed his butt by the pack of timber wolves— at the very least, it would’ve saved him a lot of trouble and worry. But something in his physiology would not allow him to do so, be it instincts or otherwise, Ford could not see Bill defeated, especially not when it was to… protect him. 

That was the other thing which messed with Ford’s thoughts, why had Bill protected him? He could have easily stepped in at the last second before the timber wolves killed him to collect Stanford. Not only would it have served the same purpose, it would have also punished his wayward prisoner, making Ford more weak and susceptible to imprisonment– yet Bill had not done so. So what was it Bill needed from Ford that he couldn’t get from one who was injured? The possibilities were almost frightening. 

That rumination made Ford’s knuckles white with lack of circulation from his grip tightening on the rails as he went up the stairs. Taking a last glance backwards to Cipher who was floating at the lobby with crossed arms and narrowed eye, he was just about to turn his attention back forward when he noticed from his peripheral vision multicoloured television static, twisting his neck, he now saw it drip down, a liquid-like substance leaking out of deep lacerations on Cipher’s leg. No doubt caused by the fight earlier in the day. 

“Shouldn’t that be healed by now?” Ford furrowed his brows and seeing Bill’s eye half raised in confusion, he gestured at the general place of Bill’s injury. And Bill quickly lifted up his leg, glancing at the wound that was gushing liquid static onto the carpet. 

“Ha! Right as ever, IQ.” Bill agreed, but something in his voice was wrong, Ford couldn’t quite place his finger on it, but it was as if he had come back to his lab one day and found everything slightly moved to the left. Then, Bill snapped his finger, once, twice.  No reality warping happened, the furniture did not come to life, and the ground Ford stood on did not turn into a thousand human faces. Ford was tempted to check behind his back, before he heard Bill’s snapping become more and more hysteric.

“Why isn’t this working!” He perturbedly shouted, his voice cracking in fear so palpable that it knocked over the guard in Stanford’s heart. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“What isn’t working, Bill— What are you doing?” 

“Why isn’t my flesh healing?” Bill sounded so small at that moment, Ford never realised how much Bill’s sheer confidence and magnitude occupied a room before this, and how stark the difference was once it was gone. And Bill was afraid, more than he ever was before, Ford had never seen Bill so scared. He was told by Stanley what happened when Bill was defeated, of course. How Bill bargained and begged, offering Stanley anything he wanted all for the last scrap of a chance for salvation.  But to see something like that, with his own eyes, was entirely different. Suddenly, it became much more real, he was no longer hearing someone’s jeerful account of success, but a slideshow of suffering from the one who once meant more to him than the stars above.

“Come down to me.” Ford requested, “Let me take a look at it.” 

Bill blinked at Ford with hesitation, it was a look that Ford had never seen Bill wear before, eye wide and hand desperately covering his wound. Like a caged animal cornered by a predator, which only solidified to Ford of how new being marred was to the great Bill Cipher. It must be hard— to feel so mortal after a millennia of infinite power and immortality, then Ford wondered why he felt so bad for Cipher of all beings. Perhaps the year of travelling with his brother has softened him up in some aspects. He has come to with more appreciation for giving out his gratitude. It was hard not to, after all, not showing it had nearly cost him the entire world. This was unfortunately, the worst time for this lesson to come into its fullest effect.

Bill floated down towards Ford, and Ford immediately took a look at the gash, fingers holding the leg up, and viewing the slow trickle of static. 

“You’re bleeding.” Ford’s tone was hushed, “I didn’t know you could do that.” He looked up and Bill stared back at the human, wide eyed, then quickly he masked it with a curled up lash.

“Oh, Fordsy. All things bleed.” Bill tried his best to keep his voice normal, steady, threatening even. Lacing a sinister edge within the last sentence, hoping beyond anything that Stanford did not detect a sign which could expose his true distraught. For as much as Bill knew how to read Sixer, Ford knew just as much about how to read Bill Cipher. 

“Not you. You’re not supposed to—” Ford cut himself off, swallowing down his remaining words. What did he want to say? That Bill wasn’t supposed to bleed? That Bill wasn’t supposed to bleed for him? Shaking away that thought, Ford quickly tugged at Bill’s hand, descending back into the main hall. He sat down at the fireplace, gesturing for Bill to follow. 

“I do not know much about dream demons.” Ford pointedly ignored Bill’s scoff, and reached into his pockets pulling out his emergency roll of gauze. “But I’m certain that it’s not in your best interests to lose so much blood. Let me patch you up.”

“I don’t need you to play nursemaid for me, Sixer.” Bill pulled away, floating out of Ford’s immediate reach, then after a moment he added, “Not unless you want to wear the whole uniform.” 

“Cipher.” Ford rolled his eyes, flustered cheeks betraying his frustrations, roughly grabbing Bill’s leg, feeling a spiteful glee as Bill yelped. He pulled it down so that he could see what he was working with. “Don’t be stubborn.” 

“Geez, just say you don’t want me stealing your job, Sixer.” Bill huffed as he crossed his arm, hovering at the level Ford adjusted him when Ford let go.

“I don’t suppose you need any antiseptic?” Ford asked, and Bill stared at Ford like he had grown an extra, extra set of fingers. “I don’t think your mortal bacteria can even handle me if they tried, Fordsy.”

Ford ducked his head down and began to wrap the gauze around Bill’s leg, making sure to tighten it to a degree that any human’s circulation would have been cut off by now. And as he worked, he couldn’t help but feel Bill’s eye bore into his skull, the back of his head tingling. 

“What is it, Bill?” Ford looked back up, brows twitching as he finally couldn’t stand the silent tension between the two of them. “Why are you staring at me so intently? Spit it out.”

His hands, so used to multitasking, was making quick work of the knot while his glare was firmly directed at Bill.

“You are cute when you’re focusing on something.” Bill blurted out, then for a moment the two just stared at the other, complete silence blanketing the room. Then, Bill seemed to have realized what he had done, and quickly a dark red appeared on the surface of his bricks, right under his eye. 

“Ha! I just meant that—” Bill’s eye darted away from Ford’s keen gaze, “You look cute— IN A DUMB WAY! LIKE A PUPPY CHASING ITS OWN TAIL!” 

Ford swiftly got up at that, sending a glare at Cipher’s way. “I don’t understand you, Cipher.” He muttered, “And I don’t care to. You should know that the only reason I helped you now is to repay you for what happened back in the forests.” Ford felt his nails dug into his palm, “We are not friends.” He asserted.

“I never said we were, Brainiac!” Bill’s shrilly countered, response almost defensively immediate, pointing at Ford in a gotcha motion. 

“No. You never did.” Ford acquiesced coldly, “Because an entity like you can never have any friends. All you do is exploit people like tools and discard them when you’re done.” 

“You don’t get it, do you Fordsy?” Bill chuckled, “Tools are useful! You try telling me how you feel about tools once I take away that pen of yours! Scrawl on the walls with blood like the rest of us HIGH CLASS creatures!” 

But Ford wasn’t listening, he was already moving away from Bill, going up the stairs, leaving Cipher behind. 

“Sure go on, Stanford. Run away like a coward! See if I care!” Ford heard Cipher shout after him. And he sighed, this was going to be a long day.

This was not going the way Bill had planned.

Bill hadn’t believed this would be easy, of course not, contrary to popular belief Bill’s preconceptions can somewhat be rooted in reality when he wants them to be. But, he didn’t think it would be this difficult either. Call him an optimist, but he had really thought that Fordsy would fall for him once he got some of that good ol’ nostalgia-champagne running through that system of his. Or at least, once he started reminding Sixer of the fun they used to have.

Yet none of Bill’s charms seemed to be working, the classic love cage technique barely even got a chuckle out of the man, and Sixer even bolted straight out of the door when they ate together. 

And then the disaster happened, and Bill, embarrassingly, nearly got himself killed by a minor anomaly. He didn’t even know how that happened! One moment he was as strong as ever, towering on top of the world in his pyramid form, tearing the gathering wolves from Sixer piece by piece. The next, his entire being glitched, and somehow his connection to the physical plane weakened. Causing his momentary slip, and if it wasn’t for Fordsy…

Whatever! Like Bill needed that human to save him, he was about to hand that oversized canine’s butt back to him anyways. Dice or no dice.

Still, it worried him that his wounds from the excursion hadn’t healed since then. He guessed that the Axolotl might have something to do with that, either way that frilly bastard was probably laughing his butt off at Bill’s misfortune right now. Why else would it not return Bill’s ability to heal, of all things? The worst part was Bill didn’t even realise he had lost the ability to regenerate until that incident happened. To think this entire time, he could have been risking his entire IMMORTAL existence to save Sixer from his own stupid mistakes. Sheesh, what a way to go! 

The only good thing which came out of that was Sixer trying to bandage Bill up, at least up until their argument. For a moment there, Bill had thought that he was actually getting somewhere with Fordsy. 

No matter. He just needed something more, something greater than just eating together or a silly piano ditty. Something to remind Ford of the good times they’ve had with one another. 

But what? Bill closed his eye, both hands clasped behind his back as he contemplated. Maybe some good old fashion brainstorming would do him some good. Bill snapped his fingers, and threw a finger gun, static electric shot out, the circuit coming together to materialise into one triangle, then it was duplicated into two, three and four.

Bill Cipher clapped his hands, “Alright, gang, I need an idea on how to charm ol’ Sixer back into being a good and adoring pet again! Any takers?” 

The Council of Bill Cipher’s all made a thinking pose. Then, one Bill wearing glasses chimed in, a finger raised in the air. “We can get him dead rats.” 

A cacophony of agreement followed from the other duplicates, but that suggestion only made the original Bill to roll his eye.

“That won’t work, I’ve already given rats to Fordsy as a gift before. He didn’t like them much and the last thing I want Sixer to think is that I’m getting uncreative!” Bill retorted then waved his hand. “Hit me with another one.”

“You can show him a new colour?” Sweater Bill counter offered. 

“That would melt his brain. Geez, you’re useless!” Bill snapped, then he literally snapped and incinerated the other Bill out of existence. “Any one of you want to make another stupid bid or can I get an intelligent conversation up and running in here?”

The other Bills cowered but nodded. Then a moment of silence stood as all the duplicate Bills put their minds together to come up with the best suggestion. All the while, original Bill stood with his arms crossed, periodically tapping his foot and staring at his left wrist.

“I’ve got it! We can sing karaoke with him!” Suit and tie Bill proposed, shaking some jazz hands while he was at it. “–Sing karaoke with him!” Bill laughed, “That’s genius, Bill! Good work.” 

“Why thank you, Bill!” Suit and tie Bill responded before yelling out in pain as his form was consumed by blue flames, the room filled with screams as the other duplicates followed suit.

Bill’s eye turned into a mouth for a moment as he blew out the ember of blue that still remained on the tip of his finger gun. Ha! The Council of Bill– works every time. He can always count on them to give him some good ideas. They were him after all, and how can he stir himself wrong? 

Bill pointedly ignored how their last ground plan played out the last time he utilised them. That whole drinking at O’Sadley thing was a fluke, and anyways, this was different. The last time he did Karaoke Night with Sixer was a night to remember for sure. Or at least it would have been if Bill didn't drink so much time punch and lost track of his memories halfway through. But he did recall a lot of dancing, and even summoning a buffalo for some reason. What was up with that?

Whatever. The point was that night he and Sixer had fun. Simple and uncomplicated fun, no Bill slamming Sixer towards doors or possessing his body to inflict terror on the Gravity Fall’s townies kind of fun. Just the way Sixer liked it, kind of fun. And he wasn’t opposed to repeating that occasion again. For PURELY manipulation purposes, of course.

Well, now that he has a plan, all he has to do is to ask Sixer. How hard can that possibly be?

Ford was staring up at the ceiling when his meditative trance was interrupted by a knock on the door. He was just about to ignore it, pretend he had never heard it, praying for it to be just a particularly strong gust of wind, before the knocking continued and eventually turned into banging.  And when Ford saw how the door shook as it was being slammed against, leaving a vague triangular shaped dent patroding from its middle, he finally got up from the bed. He opened the door, and with the tiredest expression he could muster, staring up at the demon who saw fit to disturb his peace for the umpteenth time. 

“What is it, Cipher?” He grunted out when Bill just remained staring at his sleep dishevelled appearance in silence.

“Hey Sixer. So, funny thing! Got a new karaoke machine up and running. And I thought, hmm, what in the universe could be better than to break it in with my old pal, Stanford Pines!” Bill tried to throw an arm around Ford’s shoulders but got firmly rebuffed when the man simply side stepped his advances. Not being the slightest bit deterred, Bill only went on to gesture with his hands. 

“So I was wondering if you’d join me for karaoke–”

Ford was just about to slam the door right on Cipher’s smug triangular face when Bill reached a hand into the crevasse of the rapidly shutting door, four fingers wrenching backwards and nearly knocking Ford right off of his feet if not for his quick reflexes. 

“I’ve even put in songs from all around the multiverse— The ones that’s stuck in your head and you’d never thought you’d hear again?” Bill spoke in an imploring tone, hand gesticulating every which way.

And Ford paused. Ford would admit that he was a sucker for a good, catchy rhythm, it wasn’t a coincidence that his first thoughts, among many, when he first returned to his home dimension was to discover what new chart toppers the Eurythmics had cooked up in the last thirty years he had been trapped in the portal. Record players and floppy disks have been a constant staple of his life. And during his time in university, more than one night had been spent studying in his dorm while listening to a mixtape of some kind.

During his travels behind the portal, there were nights, or days depending on which dimension he was in, where he found himself listening to the local music just out of curiosity. And he won’t lie, he had actually gotten one or two tunes stuck in his head. More than once.

And perhaps he wouldn’t do anything to listen to them again. But the list of the things he wouldn’t do doesn’t weigh as much as the list of things he would. And singing karaoke with Bill Cipher, was, to his shame, not among the things that are on the former. Not that it was something he particularly wanted to do, either. Though, who was he kidding? For what he remembered during the last time he and Bill sang karaoke together, which wasn’t a lot, mind you. He hadn’t that much fun since the twenty hours long ongoing Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons sessions he and Fiddleford had back in college. At that time, it had been just what he needed to blow off steam from working so much on the portal. 

Ford was drawn out of his thoughts by the loud, obnoxious noise of Bill Cipher clearing his throat. “So what do you say, Fordsy?” Bill leaned up against the doorframe, crowding Ford in, which caused the scientist to frown up at Cipher. Bill tensed at that, his eye twitching from nervousness, as his stare was uncomfortably focused on Ford’s face.

“I suppose it could be… fun.” Ford let out the last word sceptically, face scrunched up like he had just smelled something foul. Bill didn’t let that opening Fordsy gave him slip by though, hanging on to it like it was the last piece of tightrope separating him from impromptu fall through the Grand Canyon.

“You got it, I.Q.! Remember all that booze and laughs we shared together that night, Fordsy? It can be like the old times again– C’mon Sixer, don’t leave me here all high and dry.” Bill was laying it on thick, and even he knew it, but he couldn’t help but to put in all the stops when he saw Ford actually considering his offer. This could be his only chance to reconnect with Fordsy again. Just a bit more and–

Ford was furrowing his brows, fingers tapping a steady rhythm against his thigh, but then he let out a soft sigh. Simultaneously releasing all the tension and making up his conflicted mind with one breath. 

“Alright, yes.” Ford concurred, feeling as if he had just made a deal with the devil. Again. Bill, on the other hand, was elated, pumping a fist up into the air, then surging through the ceiling breaking through three layers of concrete, and off in the distance Ford could hear him saying something about taking an Axolotl? Not for long though, did Cipher gently float back down, letting out an awkward cough as he did so.

“So uh, I’ll see you at eight?” He asked, sheepishly twiddling his thumbs. “Yes.” Ford replied, still discoposed from the show of excitement on Cipher’s end.

“Oh, yeah?” Bill laughed, “Why don’t we shake on it then, Sixer?” 

“Don’t push your luck.” Ford snared, and barely felt guilty when Bill’s glow became more crestfallen.

Chapter Text

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses clenched in his free hand as he sighed, once more asking himself the question he had kept looping in his mind ever since he met Bill Cipher all those long years ago– Why had he read that incantation?

It was in bright red ink for Moses’ sake! Not to mention the warnings that were unmistakably written on the cave’s wall, clear for all to see, even to Ford’s poor eyesight. And he supposed, even poorer hindsight. What other warnings had he overlooked in his pursuit to achieve ‘greatness’, or were any courses of actions he could’ve taken destined by fate to be futile and ultimately would’ve still led him to this outcome? Ford didn’t know. And at one point, he had made his peace with that. The single moment of solidarity, sitting next to his family, laughing as the makeshift bonfire they had made burned brighter and hotter, taking with it an era of mistrust and paranoia, as it took all of the relics he had kept of Bill as its fuel. Both reminders of his past wretchedness, gone in one go. He had assumed that never in his life would he have to worry about Bill again. Until Bill once more barged into his life with all the grace of a stampede of elephants, leaving him disquieted and readjusting to the fact that he had to interact with the demon once more.

“Woah there, Sixer. What’s with the sour face? We are here to have some FUN. Not to watch you bust an axon, Brainiac.” Bill flicked Ford’s forehead, causing him to rub at the irritated spot with one hand. Bill took advantage of Ford’s distraction, swinging his other arm around the scientist’s neck. “C’mon, I.Q. Stop thinking so loud would yah’? You’re killing the party room vibe.” 

Ford leaned as far as he could manage without losing his balance, head tilting away, “Cipher, I fail to see how this–” Ford gestured at the empty room around them, “Could be considered a ‘party room’ in any dimension.” He ended the sentence with an incredulous glance towards Bill, who only looked back amused.

“That’s because you meatsacks LACK the INNOVATIVE SPIRIT,” Bill shrugged, finally removing himself from Ford’s personal space. Doing a small warm-up stretch, he cracked his knuckles, and did an exaggerated shoulder stretch, holding his left arm with his right across his chest, “You used to be way better than the rest of your kind, but since I’ve been gone, Fordsy? You’ve relapsed.” Bill sighed, and Ford gritted his teeth, “But I guess I can’t blame you. I mean you can’t expect a moth to keep flying once you cut it off from the sun.” 

“That’s nonsense, Cipher. You know for a fact that Lepidoptera are nocturnal insects.” Ford shot back, unable to stand Cipher’s blatantly misused metaphor. Yet, that only made Bill let out a cackle, “Geez, didn’t know you were so gungho about moths, Sixer. Maybe I should’ve planned something else for today, huh?”

Ford’s brows furrowed but before he had any time to retort, Bill snapped his fingers and the world went dark.

Then it lit up. In blue, purple and radiant star light, before his eyes the array of a solar system filled up the once empty space, furniture appeared suddenly in puffs of white clouds, floating in the air before dropping slowly downwards in their proper places. Couches, tables and a karaoke machine. Microphones, wine glasses filled with purple liquid and other assorted items strewed about said tables, decorated with silly string.

All around them were constellations, there was the Orion, Ursa Major, the Lynx and Willaim, along with all the others he had whispered to him among countless nights spent with Cipher. Galaxies condensed and served on a silver platter, swirling black holes and twinkling bright stars lining each and everywhere Ford’s eyes could land. A projection– no, an illusion so real that he could feel the heat radiating from the shooting star that had grazed his arm and swarmed past him, going off into the distant corner. It was a feast for the eyes.

“I did say I would give you your own galaxy one day. Didn’t I, Sixer?” Bill’s voice was unusually soft, it felt strange to hear, but Ford had always loved strange. Anomalies were safe– they understood what it was like to tuck into the shadows; To hide because they were too irregular for the norm to handle; To be hunted for something they could not control. They understood what it was like to live those early summers on Glass Shard Beach, the yelling of Crampellter and his goons, the label of ‘Freak’ chanted ad infinitum, echoing to whatever tightly squeezed crevasse Stanford hid himself in.

He figured that was what had drawn him to Cipher so much in the first place, from the moment he saw him he had thought Bill to be strange, a triangle with knowledge beyond any human’s comprehension, both past and modern science alike couldn’t compare to the sheer scale of immortality and the answers to Ford’s research in Gravity Falls, both of which Bill Cipher had claimed to have when they first met in the Dreamscape a lifetime ago. Cipher, even at first glance, had a humour that seemed so much in poor taste– one that despite itself managed to make Ford chuckle every time. He had thought naively then, that ‘Like begets like’. That Bill, too, must have been shunned for who he was– with a dimension destroyed by a monster and leaving one last survivor that had no one else like him. 

So despite all the warning signs that Bill’s soft voice should have raised in Ford’s mind, the strangeness that should’ve been anything but reassuring. Ford couldn’t help himself, for the first time in a while, he relaxed.

“Here, Sixer, have a drink.” Ford blinked, then in his hand one of the wine glasses was summoned. “I promise I took away all those pesky side effects they had on meatsacks this time.” Bill added, “It’s not even going to give you a hangover. Ha, an alcoholic’s dream, am I right?”

Bill noticed that Ford was still holding the glass in his hand, cupping it in a six-fingered palm, but making no move to bring it close to his lips.

“C’mon, Fordsy, just a sip? If I was gonna poison you, don’t you think I’d have done it already?”

Ford sighed, knowing that Cipher was right. If Bill truly wanted to slip something into his system, he didn’t have to go through all this trouble to do so. Setting up an entire solar system just to get Ford to drink poisonous liquid was in fact, too ‘extra’, even for Bill.

Or maybe it wasn’t. But even so, Ford shrugged, Bill wouldn’t have gone through what he had with the timber wolves to save him if that was truly the case. And besides, Cipher enjoyed doing things in a flamboyant and boastful manner, he’d not hesitate to harm you, sure. But Bill took pride in making his presence known, of making sure his victims knew who the culprit was to their suffering. It’s what Ford hated so much about Cipher, that insufferable urge to gloat, to belittle, to admit to wrongs that in his eyes weren’t wrongs at all but rather high accomplishments, damning all the others in his way to hell. 

Yet, it was the only thing about Bill that Ford can still trust. If Bill was to poison him, he would make sure to let Ford know. He would not lie about his deception outright in an attempt to clear up his fraught conscience, that is, if he ever had one in the first place.

So, Ford took a sip. The liquid was warm, and it tasted like thick viscous honey, it left a pleasant tangy aftertaste on his tongue. And– Ford realised too late that this was the same exact drink that Bill had served him last karaoke night. Quickly, Ford set down his drink, afraid that he would go in for a second sip, and lose track of himself. Of course, Bill had promised that he got rid of the strange effects the drink had on humans, but still Ford could not be too sure of Bill’s words. Afterall, Bill was a master con artist, it would be remiss of him to take Cipher’s words at face value. Especially after what happened between the two of them the last time he did.

“Which song do you want me to put on first?” Bill asked, adjusting the dials of the karaoke machine, although Ford was sure that action was mostly for show as Bill’s power virtually allowed him to alter reality to whatever he liked it to be with only a snap of his fingers. “Disco Girl? Sweet Dreams–”

“The Moon Will Sing.” Ford’s answer cut off Bill’s continued list of songs, which caused him to rapidly blink for a few moments, images of various phases of the moon flashing within his sclera. “From The Do-Over Dimension.” He added in elaboration, as Bill’s pause seemed to go on for a bit too long.

“Ha! I knew that, Fordsy.” Bill laughed, “I was only TESTING if YOU knew it as well.”

Ford narrowed his eyes, but he made the choice to ignore the brazen lie. If he got irritated by every little lie that Bill told, he would die of a heart attack, before he reached the age of 93. That would be a real shame after all the near death events he had gone through. He would never live it down, especially since he wouldn’t be alive enough to do so.

Bill fiddled with the touch screen on the karaoke machine, then all of a sudden, melodic guitar strings started up in the background, its clear chords striking a melody into the space. Gently, Bill floated down next to Ford, handing him a microphone. Accepting it with a nod, Ford began to recite the lyrics.

“Tell me once again, I could have been anyone, anyone else. Before you made the choice for me.” Ford’s voice was soft, the microphone picking it up and injecting it with an effect of static, yet as the song went on, Ford grew louder, more assured and confident, the song’s soft background instrumental in stark contrast to the accusatory tone that Ford held. 

He took a step forward towards Bill then another, and he glared up at the demon, a small spark of satisfaction filling his chest when Cipher backed up. There was something so liberating when you lose yourself within a song. To let out thirty years of built up rage within a breath of pointed sentence, to spit out feelings of betrayal and hopeless pathetic affection for the one that had ruined his life that he hadn't had the chance to dwell on before. 

At last, when the instrumental slowly came to a close, the last ring of guitar strings were followed with the soft panting of Ford’s breath. Ford picked up the wine glass from the table then took a large gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when a few purple drops escaped from the corner of his lips. Looking down he was surprised to see the glass empty. Had he really swallowed that much in one sitting? 

“Your vocals are as great as ever, Fordsy.” Bill opted to reply with, though there were a million things he wished to say instead, the implications of the song chosen did not escape him, yet Bill had the feeling that Stanford would not take it kindly if he pointed them out. “But I can’t let you have all the fun, now can I? Get ready for some REAL music from the multiverse, Sixer.” 

Ford’s eyes were glazed over when he stared back at Cipher, shaking his head, he let out a soft scoff, “You’re so full of yourself, Bill.” He couldn’t help but to pour himself another glass, taking another shot of the liquid, as he finished he felt a kind of drunk tipsiness invade the centre of his skull. 

“As if you’re not the same. C’mon Sixer,” Bill reached down to tug at Ford’s hand, “Dance with me.” He ordered, pulling the scientist over to the centre, “I thought we were doing karaoke.” Ford muttered, still he allowed Bill to manhandle him, adjusting the placement of his hands, putting one on top of Bill’s shoulder, and the other was laced with Bill’s. He was not sure why exactly he was indulging in Cipher’s antics, but the alcohol he had consumed must have muddled his thoughts because Ford couldn’t remember why this was such a bad idea at the moment despite the intrinsic understanding of how dangerous Cipher was. 

“We are, but I’m sure a brilliant mind like yours can multitask.” With that said, romantic piano keys replaced the white noise of the room with its volume. “If you know this song, Sixer. You’re free to sing along.” Bill flirtatiously winked, though the effect of it was dampened due to the fact Cipher only had one eye. 

As the piano keys continued, Bill began to move, bringing Ford with him as they spun to the rhythm of the music. All the while, Bill was humming under his breath, his voice a pleasant distraction to their current odd circumstance. However, as they went on, Ford began to slowly recognize what song Bill had chosen.  

It was some cheesy little love song from the 60’s that Ma liked to play on the radio a lot when he and Stanley were kids in New Jersey. They’d come back reeking of sweat and absolutely sunburnt after a hot summer adventure on Glass Shard Beach and Ma would wipe them both down with a wet towel, chiding them with fond exasperation and the gentle warmth that only a mother could pull off, while the song played softly in the background. 

“Fordsy, Fordsy. Give me your answer do—” Bill spun Ford around, causing Ford to tighten his grip on Bill’s hand. 

Unceremoniously, Bill dipped him without a single warning, Ford’s grip on Bill’s form tightened, almost primally aware of the demon’s hold on his lower back being the only thing preventing him from dropping down onto the ground below. “Cipher.” He grumbled, but Bill ignored him and continued on. “I’m half crazy, all for the love of you.” 

Ford couldn’t help but to roll his eyes, between the two of them it had always been hard to pick who was the most melodramatic, however this had confirmed that Cipher had finally won first place, seized the trophy and took the rest of medals with him as well. 

Finally, Bill pulled Ford back up, and the two continued their waltz, feet paralleling each other with each step and swing. 

“It can be a stylish marriage.” Ford felt very light on his feet all of a sudden when he realized that Cipher had probably done something to the room’s gravity for now they were both floating in the air. “I’ll even get you a carriage.” Bill’s hand came up to caress Ford’s cheek and something in Ford’s chest shuttered, the tips of his ears felt very hot all of a sudden. “Though, you’ll look sweet upon the seat of a throne that’s built for two.”

It must be the alcohol in his system. Ford thought. He rather believed that, because there was no other way to explain what happened next or what motivated him to do what he did. 

Distantly, Ford realized that Bill had probably meant this whole song as a joke, it would be exactly on brand for Bill to do such a thing as this. He wanted desperately to show Bill that he was done with being played like a puppet, that Cipher was not allowed to tug on his strings and get away with it scot free.

So when Bill’s thumb brushed across his cheek, tracing the contour of his bone structure and measuring the every flicker of Stanford Pines keen gaze. Said man surged forward— Spitefully, he pressed his lips against Bill’s surface, catching the triangular dream demon by complete surprise.

Yet slowly, something in Bill’s expression changed, as he went from wide eyed shock to absolute delight, he eagerly switched out his eye for a mouth. Accepting Ford’s advances with all the enthusiasm of a child in a candy store. Although Ford had been the one who initiated the first move, Bill had quickly taken charge, and was now in the process of backing Ford up against a wall. Ford, almost desperately, clung on to the back of Cipher, feeling the smooth surface of Bill’s bricks, letting his nails dig into the softness that he could finally touch, and feel, and explore. Without pain, or the barrier of a Dreamscape separating the two. This was reality, physical intimacy in the purest sense. 

Bill tasted like what one would imagine chaos would taste like if given the chance to sample a bite. Like dreams and nightmares of past regrets, like cotton candy and lemon flavoured mint, artificially sweetened, yet in between the aftertaste is bittersweet like green tea. Savouring it felt like tasting the experience of centuries of memories in one kiss. Bill insistently pressed on Ford’s chest, a hand keeping him pinned up against the wall, as he kept their lips locked, yet eventually all good things must end. As Ford pulled back, turning his head to the side to catch his breath, eyes glazed this time with more than just alcohol, hair askew from Bill’s hand gripping at it for more leverage. In short, he looked debouched. 

But Bill still wanted more. No he needed, he needed something more. Ford, he needed Ford to say something. He needed Ford to— 

Oh, who was he kidding? Bill was an agent of chaos and destruction, he had destroyed his own dimension for Axolotl sake, but when it came to Stanford Pines? He could never bring himself to destroy that human. No matter how many of his plans Ford had ruined, or how many times Ford dared to defy his will. He couldn’t let their dance go. 

Bill needed Ford. He also needed Ford to say that he loved him, but it wasn’t just because of that stupid frilly guppy’s challenge. This? This had always been his own prerogative. Bill was ready to admit that now. He wanted Ford to tell him he loved him not only as a method to regain infinite power over this dimension but also the words themselves alone would be a sweet reward.

“Tell me how you feel about me, Sixer.” Bill ordered, hoping against hope that it would work. Ford opened his mouth, his eyes half lidded, then he gurgled something intelligible, while pulling Cipher closer with a hand. Finally, he slumped forward, nearly falling before Bill caught him with his arms. 

Wait, what? Bill tried to replay Ford’s words inside his mind, but none of it made any sense still. Clearly, Cipher had not been as thorough in cleaning up the drinks effects on humans for human consumption as he thought it was. Or maybe the effects of the drink were stronger for humans than it was for immortals such as Bill. Last time, Ford seemed to have grown a lot more tipsier than Bill, despite the dream demon having three bottles of the thing first. 

Still, he had not expected Ford to pass out so quickly though. And here he had planned out such a great party, with the hopes that it would last them til midnight. No matter, there were still many more nights to go. And they have already made so much progress already. In no time Bill would be on top of the world again, he just needed to exercise some more patience. It was still quite annoying though, having Ford once again thwart his plans without even trying. Eventually though, Bill teleported them back into Fordsy’s quarters, with Sixer carried in his arms, head propped up in Bill’s left forearm and feet dangling off from his right, to prevent him from experiencing too much motion sickness. Yep, that was absolutely the only reason Bill held the scientist in his arms. Had to make sure Sixer didn’t vomit all over his carpet, that’s all. 

When they arrived in front of the queen sized bed, he hovered downwards, making sure to levitate the blanket away before placing the unconscious man under the sheets. 

“Good night, Sixer.” Bill breathed, hoping that the sentiment could carry out into the man’s dreams tonight, even without the intervention of his powers.

He brushed a final touch against Ford’s forehead, ruffling the head of fluffy grey hair for a moment before he took his leave. 

Chapter Text

Beams of morning light leaked in through a panelled window, lines of brightness appearing one after another as the sun rose, signalling to Stan that he had once again pulled in an all nighter trying to get his brother back from a stupid accident. The irony of the situation was not escaping him, no. He’d go so far to say that it was hitting him repeatedly in the face with a frying pan. All just to hammer home the point that Stan’s life was just one big freakin’ opera stage with actors who forgot their lines every twenty minutes and were doomed to repeat the same plot line til the eventual heat death of the universe. 

Needless to say, Stan was doing just fine. 

No really. He was doing great. He had been following Mabel’s advice on how to ‘stay positive’ in ‘situations that seemed hopelessly unfair’. He’s been taking deep breaths— which made him choked on air more often than not, and once, made him inhale a fly which had shown up in the most inopportune time just to make his life worse;  Doing the yoga stretches— which in hindsight was not exactly a great idea considering the fact that he was definitely pushing seventy, and didn’t have Sixer’s rigorous exercise routine to make his body not look and feel exactly like his age; He has even, and Moses was this hard to admit, read some self-help books. 

Ugh. That felt disgusting just to think about. 

The point was, Stan had tried to stay calm and ‘positive’ in the face of this situation. And it was not working.

Welp, when one door closes, just kick it down or bust it open with a baseball bat. That’s how the saying goes, right? 

Right?

It felt right anyways. Just like how it felt right to finally crack Sixer’s encrypted codes after seven hours of hunching over the dining table, painstakingly pouring over his brother’s past notes and journals, or what remained of them that were left scattered around the lab, pen in one hand and his most trusted and reliable friend— the calculator resting next to his other.

He had done it. Even if it took a while, and probably weren’t fully, accurately translated. But he had taken the general meaning of the code out, and gotten the rest through seer, pure, twin telepathy alone. 

That probably didn’t dilute what the poindexter was trying to say. Yeah, nope, Stan was pretty optimistic about where he and Ford’s relationship was at right now. Their twin telepathy powers were back up at a good ol’ reliable sixty percent. Plus, Stan could get Sixer’s facial talk most of the time now. So that’s probably a good sign. Okay, he lied, he got Ford maybe half of the time. But half was pretty good anyways, so there’s probably no mistakes in his translation.

Really. There wasn’t. Any. Mistakes. 

Which makes Stanley’s job even more difficult, apparently— because of course it did. When has the universe ever patted him on the back for doing something right?

The plan that Sixer came up with was simple. It had been so simple in fact, it was written in only three words after the code was fully decrypted— ‘Get The Zodiac.’ 

That had, Stan will admit, initially made as much sense as taping a goat and fish together, then calling it a mer-goat. It was a great scam on paper, until you realise that the fish can’t breathe on land, and will die within the first minute, leaving the smell of decay to stink up the entire shack. However, once he re-read Ford’s notes on Cipher, he stumbled across an early drawing of an inscribed circle with Cipher in its middle, with different shapes separated into its own sector, surrounding Bill in an outer circle. 

Yelling, screaming, holding each other hand in hand, were the people that Stan knew, people that were in Gravity Falls that fateful year of Weirdmageddon, forming into a circle. Here at the end of the line, his brother’s rough facade broke, for just a brief moment, and his voice beckoned him to join. Stubbornness, frustration, anger and resentment bubbling to a boiling point with one snide remark, like a powder keg, and he flew right off the handle. 

Moses, how could he have forgotten? …Oh right, the memory gun. Saving the world and all that, well, at least he remembered now. And sheesh, what a memory! He could see why his brain was so eager to leave it into the ‘to be continued’ pile of remembrance, even if what happened between him and Ford was now water under the bridge. Bad memories still left a bitter taste.

That’s what the nerd’s big plan was? Gather up all the needed people in the zodiac like they did during that split second in Weirdmageddon, bring them to wherever Bill had him kept, and banish him once and for all. Fine, alright, easy enough. A good heist didn’t necessarily call for complicated steps. 

Easy enough, was the belief. Difficult as hell, was the truth. Turns out, a lot can change in a year. Especially if you’ve disappeared in said year, travelling out in the international seas and only receiving semi quarterly updates from Soos about the Mystery Shack’s business and weekly updates from two teenage kids, who don’t even live in the same town as you during their regular school year. 

Changes such as, Gleeful not being in Gravity Falls and Wendy no longer being an employee in the Mystery Shack, and studying abroad, in Canada. 

Oh, knuckle sandwiches! How was he going to tell the kids that they’re gonna need to go on a scavenger hunt for Gideon Gleeful of all people? And how long did a flight from Canada to butt ass nowhere roadkill county California Oregon Gravity Falls take anyways? 

It might as well be all the way from one minute to thirty years for all Stan cared. That triangle— Bill Cipher could be torturing his brother right now and here he was sitting in his pyjamas and doing nothing about it but solving his brother’s nerdy riddles and trusting in this dodgy zodiac thingamajig that might not even work. It certainly didn’t do jack last time.

Maybe Corduroy had already planned a trip back to Gravity Falls this summer, to visit family. But that still begged the question of where Stan would even get a lead on finding that Gleeful kid.

“Woah, what happened to you?” Dipper yelped when he saw Stan hunched over the table, eyebags prominent, and hands stained with black ink, papers, post-its and books scattered from here, all the way to the living room, where Dipper saw Gompers chewing its fill of the insanity, burping and beeping with each swallow.

“Mathematics, kid.” Stan responded with a grunt, slumping forward finally onto the table with a huff, head buried into one elbow, and the other was propped up against the wooden surface, with the hand holding out the piece of paper with all his equations on it towards the kid. 

“Here ya’ go. All in a night’s work.” Dipper carefully took the suspiciously crumpled up piece of paper with a hand, observing the scrawls of numbers that grew larger in size the more it descended upon the page. “Read 'em and weep.” 

“Grunkle Stan! This is amazing!” Dipper excitedly gushed, he also noticed upon scanning— a lot of mathematics’ symbols on the page, many of which he didn’t recognise the meaning of, but some he had seen before like the summation, the intersection and the lemniscate.

“–Uh, sorry, what is this exactly?” Dipper coughed and handed the paper back to the older man, who squinted at it, then Stan widened his eyes. “Ha, right. Forgot you haven’t learnt basic physics yet.” 

Then, he pointed at the bottom of the paper, where the answer was written, “That doesn’t matter.” He waved off, “Basically, my nerd of a brother’s saying that we need to get the gang back together and storm wherever that triangle is keepin’ him, draw a circle, hold hands together and sing the exorcist’s rendition of Kumbaya.”

“You mean like the zodiac Grunkle Ford tried to use to defeat Bill?” Dipper followed up with a question, clicking the tip of his fountain pen.

“Yeah, one and the same.” Stan nodded, grunting as Dipper admitted a low hum of energetic nervous thinking beside him.

“But that’s going to take too long, and Wendy isn’t even in the state’s right now. She won’t be here til midsummer!” Dipper exclaimed, causing Stan to let out a (kid friendly of course, Stan was irresponsible but not that irresponsible) curse.

“Damn it– wait a minute, why do you even know Corduroy’s schedule?” Yeah, he had known that Wendy was studying overseas but he had hoped beyond hope that she had returned for the summer or at least planned on doing so soon. But to wait til mid August? That’s going to be too late. A whole four weeks of solid purgatory. Who knew what that trianglaur dapperly dressed prick would’ve done by then? That only further solidified Stan’s resolution to do this rescue Ford thing on his own terms.

“That isn’t the point, Grunkle Stan!” Dipper’s voice cracked embarrassingly, causing him to flail his arms in an attempt to distract Stan from his slip up. “It’s going to take too long, require us to find people that aren’t in Gravity Falls right now and we don’t know if it even works!”

“Ya’ read my mind, kid. Which is why we're not doing it.” Stan stood up, gathering the piles of paper back up in a tidy stack. 

“We’re not?” Dipper asked, as he observed Stan beginning to clean up, “Umm, what are we doing then? It’s not like we can just gather up the town’s folks and get them to mob an abandoned castle with Bill Cipher in it.”

A stiff silence fell upon the conversation as Stan tried his best to avoid Dipper’s gaze. Slowly, Dipper stared at the increasingly guilty look on his Grunkle’s face, and a look of realisation struck upon his own.

“Oh god, we are gathering up the town’s folks and getting them to mob an abandoned castle with Bill Cipher in it?!” He gasped, his overactive sweat glands suddenly felt very eager to start their morning shift. 

“Calm down. It’s not like we’re going there unprepared and fighting the demon with our bare fists or anything.” Stan tried, but Dipper was already starting to pace the room in a frenzy, frazzled manner.“We’ll have weapons.” He added, scratching his chin. Never buy a razor from a second-hand garage sale, he thought, when he heard a stifled yell from Dipper burying his head in his hands.

“That’s the craziest plan you ever had, Stan, and I once saw you smuggle pugs across the border.” He mumbled, and damn, did the kid look downtrodden. Stan felt a twinge of guilt sting his heart as he held up a hand in a gesture of surrender. 

“Okay, okay. I get yer point. But look, I don’t see you comin’ up with any bright ideas either.”

“Well, clearly, you’re not thinking straight as well. So, why don’t we eat some breakfast first?” Dipper sighed, “I’m going to get Mabel, alright? She’d want to hear about this too. Just between you and me, this might cheer her up, knowing that we’ve got a plan to get Great Uncle Ford back. I think she’s been moping in sweater town all night. And honestly? I don’t blame her.” 

“Sure, kid.” Stan agreed with a reluctant grumble. Stan watched as Dipper nodded and turned, making his way back up the stairs. 

Once he was sure, he made haste to tidy up Ford’s notes and most of his papers that were left strewn across the dining table, straightening them out in a stack before putting them into a folder.

He felt bad that he wasn’t following Sixer’s plan. Really, he did. Just not bad enough to stop though. And honestly, that poindexter should’ve seen that coming from a mile away. How could Ford ask him to keep on waiting around like this, when Stan can potentially lose him again to the same exact force that had taken him away so long ago? No way that’s gonna happen! He had to go save his brother.

Ford didn’t want to be saved right now. In fact, he wished he could throw himself into a coffin, then tell Stan to throw that coffin into the Bottomless Pit and at last, when all that is over, disintegrate the aforementioned Bottomless Pit with the Laws Of Physics. 

He’d probably figure out how to do that, might as well finally put his twelve P.H.Ds to use in something truly worthwhile— about four decades too late into meeting Bill Cipher. 

Oh Moses. Bill. It was not a good idea to think about Bill Cipher right now. Granted, it was never a good idea to think about Bill Cipher. It had not been a good idea to think about Bill Cipher ever since the 1980’s. But it was especially not so now. Because— of all the stupid decisions he could’ve made while he was looped up on interdimensional liquor, it had to have been the worst of all of them combined. He, Stanford Pines, had kissed Bill. Bill Cipher. On the lips. Eye? Thing?

Alright, he was definitely going off track here. Maybe after his current destructive spiral, Ford can come up with a scientific label for that particular orifice. However, at this moment, all Ford was feeling up to was curling up into a tight ball and never seeing Cipher ever again.

Why? Why had he done that! Of all beings? Why Cipher? He knew logically that Bill was the only other sentient being in the room, and reasoned that probably played a major factor in why drunk Stanford Pines had thought it wise to engage in an intimate act with Cipher, rather than, say, a brick wall. 

He would’ve preferred the brick wall now, honestly. Bill hadn’t lied when he said that there wouldn’t be a hangover (or side effects, like alcohol induced amnesia) to Ford’s night of escapades. Unfortunately, he had picked the worst of days to decide to change his ways, because Ford very much wished to forget what he had done right about now. 

Too bad the multiverse had never once cared about what he wished, and was not about to start now. At least if he had chosen the brick wall, all that would’ve been bruised was his body and not his pride, alongside everything else he stood for. 

It hadn’t help when Ford knew that a part of him enjoyed it. By all that is good and holy within this dimension and the next, there was a part of him that actually enjoyed kissing Bill Cipher. ‘It’ was the same part of him who whispered insidious words in the darkest of nights, when the bite of the multiverse became too hard to bear, and for a brief moment, he considered what it would’ve been like— to give up. To give in to Cipher and surrender his mind, to have opened the portal when Bill had told him to. The hardest part would have been the giving up, but after that, it would have been painless. Merciful, even. Or as merciful as Bill could’ve been towards a human. The destruction of humanity would be on his hands, but he would’ve been too blinded by ego and pride to see so— doped up by Bill’s flattery and praise. They would’ve been partners again. But no, they were never truly that were they? It had always been: Ford, the pet too blind to see his leash, the loyal devotee, the fool who thought he’d change the world; And Cipher, the one eyed beast, the God, his ‘perfect’ Muse. 

That part of him should’ve died decades ago, crushed under his boot like some much dry leaves that were no longer of use to photosynthesise come next spring. But by god, did it refuse to be cut out despite being long past its welcome or use.

So here stood Ford, in the middle of what must have been night, or day, or somewhere in between. Given the circumstances, he really couldn’t tell, time was blurry and beyond his grasp, as he clambered down the spiralling hallways of Cipher’s castle. Unsure of where he was heading, but knowing that he for sure didn’t wish to be alone in the confinement of his room, awaiting for another one of Bill’s requests to ‘spend time together’. 

He walked past doors which seemed to repeat themselves in an almost eerily disarming manner the further he stepped. And finally when he decided it to be far enough, Ford stopped to open one.

And slamming it shut again, when he saw Cipher. Sitting in a bathtub, sans his usual attire of top hat, gloves and bow tie, scrubbing himself on the back with a comically large back scrubber. 

“Cipher.” Ford gritted out through clenched teeth, “I am not playing this game with you. Once I open the door to this room again, I better not see your face anywhere near it. Or prepared to be greeted with the business end of my new and improved Quantum Disablisor. It may not kill you, Bill, but as Stanley would say, it can definitely pack a pretty punch.”

Then, Ford reached for the silver handle again, six fingered palm lingering on the metal rough coldness for a second or two, giving Cipher enough time to teleport out or disappear, before pushing down, and waiting for the door to give. 

There was no Bill Cipher to be seen. 

Huh, that’s odd. It seemed as if Bill didn’t plan on calling his bluff.  Ford didn't think that it would actually work. But the space that Ford stepped in didn’t have a single indicator of Cipher’s presence at all, there wasn’t even a single glass prism placed within. Instead there were bookshelves, walls of them in fact, tombs of different size and stature filled up a lot of the columns, many of which were painstakingly bound in hardcover. And curiously, Ford scanned his gaze across each spine, trying to see if he gleaned anything from their title about what secrets lie within. 

He was greeted with the familiar scrawl of ancient Egyptian, he pried one of the bigger tombs out from its placement in the lineup of books with one hand, using the other to press against the top of the shelve for leverage as the compact way the books were stuffed together in each column left very little room for leeway when trying to get them out of said confinement.

When Ford had successfully completed the task, he was greeted with the elegant and sleek dark moss green cover, the spine embroidered with intricate swirling lines, the words ‘The Odyssey’ boldly scrawled on top. 

It took a second but when Ford blinked a stick note appeared at the top of the dark moss green cover, the yellow of the post-it a bright contrast as the words above were penned in black ink, the sharp lines and jagged edges of Cipher’s handwriting greeted him. 

He took off his glasses and rub the corner of his eyes with a hand, then put his glasses back on, once he was assured that, no, he was in fact, not seeing things. 

‘FOR MY SIXER’ was still written in Cipher’s characteristic handwriting, a tiny triangle was drawn at the bottom, as if Ford wouldn’t have known who the sender was even without it. And Moses, did that throw Ford in for a loop. Since, when was Cipher in the business of giving out Homer’s poems, or associating himself with Greek Legends for that matter.

“What game are you playing, Cipher?” Ford hissed out loud, knowing full well that Bill could probably hear him right now. “Am I going to get cursed if I open this book?”

Another note appeared this time on his forehead, and Ford let out a soft grumble of insult as he tore it off and looked down at it on the palm of his hand. 

‘HA! YOU WISH! I DON'T WASTE MY CURSES ON NERDY POEMS YOU MEATSACKS READ TO MAKE YOURSELF LOOK SMARTER!’

“Very funny Cipher.” He huffed, and barely dodged the next post-it that was hurled at him in a crumpled piece through mid air. He grabbed it off the floor once it landed, unfurling it to find—

‘I THINK SO TOO.’

Ford rolled his eyes, “If this isn’t a curse, then what is this? You know I don’t like running in circles with you.”

‘ITS A GIFT, SMART GUY. THIS IS THE GREAT LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA.’ The words suddenly appeared on the same note, letter by letter as it was written by an invisible hand in real time.

“Wait, really?” Ford’s eyes widened, he couldn’t help the curious awe which was surging in his voice, it was practically second nature at this point, to be astounded by what the universe could bring still, after all this time he had spent researching the seemingly scientifically impossible. “The Ancient Egyptians’ Library of Alexandria, I thought all records were burnt and gone to the winds of time! Every archaeologist said that it was practically a fool’s errand to find even a scroll from that place.”

Another note appeared now stuck to the wall at his side, he ripped it off to glance at Bill’s response. ‘WHO DO YOU THINK KILLED TIME BABY, FORDSY? I HAVE CONTROL OVER TIME SPACE AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN 9 TIL INFINITY, SIXER!’

That reminder hit him like a ton of bricks, and his tone quickly returned to suspicion. He couldn’t believe how fast Bill was able to make him drop his caution just by showing him a few ancient artefacts from humanity’s collective past. “And you’re gifting this to me, why?”

‘CUZ I LIKE YOU.’ The last two words were quickly crossed out, and the note crumpled in on itself and combusted in blue flames. Quickly the smoky remnants came together in a bright white glow before it faded materialising a new post-it. 

‘I WANT TO SEE YOU BURN OUT FROM HAVING EVERY FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE AT YOUR FINGERTIPS.’

Ford narrowed his eyes down at the note. What trick was Cipher playing on him, he couldn't honestly have thought that this gift and the old trick of letting compliments slip out the mouth ‘accidentally’ would be all he needed to win Ford over, could he? But then, as if sensing his racing thoughts, another post-it slapped across the one in Ford’s hand, covering the previous sentence.

‘C’MON ICARUS. SHOW ME WHAT YOU’VE GOT!’

Ford clenched his fists. Oh, it was on.

Chapter Text

How much can one person change within a week? Stanford Pines was unsure, but he had to admit that even after all the things he had gone through, the myriad of dimensions he had visited, the constellations of different galaxies he had witnessed and the various cultures of the multiverse he had found himself a part of. He could still find himself shocked by a simple fact of life— the ever enduring presence of change. Of pre-existing fondness buried in his soul being dug up by the seemingly monotonous domestic routines he and Bill had been settled into. 

He didn’t know when the realisation of this found him, whether it was in a blast of brilliance, or just a simple conclusion after much deliberation. But he had been sitting near a window, back comfortably rested against a pile of pillows Bill had summoned him, in his hands the Egyptian’s collection of one of Homer’s poems from a Library which very existence disproved the linearity of time, Cipher perched on his left shoulder casually peering over to observe his progress, feet swung back and forth, thumping a steady beat against his chest. Warmth from the sunlight shone in and Ford adjusted his sitting position so he was closer to the beam, jostling the shrunk down demon in the process, and when Bill let out a soft yelp, Ford was struck all too suddenly by the absurdity of his situation. How had they blended in so easily to this false sense of domesticity? How could Ford allow this to happen? To be played so easily by Bill Cipher again as if he hadn’t learnt his lesson the first time he had let his guard down around Bill. He had lost half his life to the demon and the other half to a senseless chase of cat and mouse around interdimensional territory. And was that still not enough for Stanford’s mind to forever guard him against this possibility? Apparently not, because once again, he had gone and let himself fall for Bill Cipher’s tricks.

Deep down, Ford knew exactly how they had both gotten to this point in time. Could pinpoint when they made the shift from admirable animosity to playing house with each other as if they didn’t have four decades worth of baggage trailing behind them like dead weight in a body bag. It had started as all things do with Bill Cipher, when Ford Pines sank himself into a whirlpool of discovery– for him disappearing into the unknown has always been just like coming home.

The days with Bill usually started with Ford waking up. Naturally rising after approximately two hours after the break of dawn, and surprisingly without a single account of a nightmare ever since the first night he had spent in Cipher’s domain. That is to say, Ford hated to admit it but the bed he had slept on in his current quarters was perhaps one of the most comfortable sleep he has had in decades. Then, he would stumble out of his rooms, after dressing in the clothes he had found in the larger than necessary mahogany drawers– the account of its discovery was embarrassingly late into the second day of his confinement. To be fair, showering hasn't exactly been his first priority after making a deal with Bill Cipher which essentially entailed him being trapped together with the demon. He was understandably too busy with emotional turmoil to make room for that in his schedule.

So, he would pick up something that was half-way presentable, (which in this case meant anything that wasn’t like something his old man would have worn to a meeting for the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel),  and throw it on himself with a grumbling huff along with his trench coat. And barrelled down the fancy corridor, because by this point he would have wasted half his day on said dresser filled with some poor overenthusiastic Ciphertology occult follower’s garb. 

He knew he must have memorised this path by heart by now, travelling down it day after day, as it was the only form of entertainment Stanford Pines would ever accept from Bill Cipher. (Despite all the demon’s requests for them to do more.) Two corridors down, to the left and stopping at the third door to the right, he would grasp the silver handle and push down. Greeted by the sight of Cipher who was already standing there, porcelain cup in hand, the scent of cinnamon spiced tea mixing with the scent of old scrolls and books in the air. By the third day Ford already knew that the tea was not for Cipher but for himself. And begrudgingly, Ford would take the offered cup every time, and even found himself drinking it almost always when he was two hours into his research.

Speaking of his research, Ford couldn’t help but get used to Bill’s company when he was in the throes of another ancient tomb. Heck, he’d go so far to say that he enjoyed it. Completely involuntarily to be sure, but when he seemed to be stuck in a certain passage, rereading the page over and over again, trying to decipher a proper translation to basic English, or at that point even Galactic Basic as Ford wasn’t picky. Cipher, then, would reach over his shoulder and scrawl out a translation in bold, plain letters. And Ford, unable to ignore the blatant knowledge goldmine presented in front of him, would read it, before moving onto another page. If asked, Ford couldn’t have counted how many scrolls he had went over by now, the notable mentions however–

“Bill, what is this?” Ford couldn’t help but let the question slip out of his mouth, really he didn’t think he could be blamed, for in front of him was the one to one rendition of some ancient Egyptian scholar’s inscription of Bill Cipher and a basic description of his encounter with the demon. “Aw, Fordsy.” Bill floated closer to the piece of unrolled scroll held between his hands, poking at the faded ink that was millions of years old by now, as if tracing a fond memory. “That’s just some of the poor schmucks I tried to con into building me a portal.” He spun around his form perfectly blocking the drawn version of himself away from Ford’s view. “No need to throw a fit about it, Sixer. You know you always have been and will be my number one mark.” The demon’s eye crinkled up by the corners and he reached out one hand to tickle Ford’s chin. Though, Ford saw it coming immediately and dodged the touch like he would catch the plague if he did so.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Ford huffed, he meant to say that he wasn’t jealous, not of Bill 'inspiring’ other ‘genius minds’ before him anyways, or that Bill had been trying to trick fools into doing his dirty work long before Stanford Pines was even bleep in the universe’s radar. Hell, it hadn’t even crossed his mind to be jealous, not before Bill had oh-so-generously opened up this line of conversation. It was just that Ford was very confused. On why Bill had kept this in the version of the Library he ‘gifted’ to Ford, there must have been a reason, some motive hidden, but Ford just couldn’t parse out why. 

“I can practically see your neurons self-combusting as we SPEAK! C’mon, Fordsy, care to tell your old pal and overlord what you got cookin’ in that big brain of yours, IQ?” Bill elbowed the man companionably, only to be greeted by a scoff. “I’m surprised you kept this in, that's all.” Ford muttered, “I know what you’ve been trying to do, and this doesn’t exactly line up well with your plans.”

Bill clasped his hands behind his back immediately after hearing that, and let out a shrill, overly loud and faux buoyant laugh. “Sure, I do, Sixer. Listen, Fordsy, don’t mind tellin’ you a secret. I DON’T ACTUALLY HAVE A PLAN, BRAINIAC.” 

“Mmhm,” Ford nodded, rubbing his ears out, trying to stop the ringing which were directly caused after facing the direct auditory abuse of Bill’s yelling. Moses, he really hoped he didn't have to get hearing aids like the ones Stanley has after he was done here with Cipher. It would cut the doctor appointments scheduling in half for both the Pines’ for sure, but he’d prefer that at least one of them can hear without aid so that whenever they decided to go out at sea again, it’d at least be less hazardous in cases like storms or tidal waves. “Don’t treat me like a pansy, Bill. I know you haven’t been trying to charm me for no reason. Your games are as clear as pure quartz.”

“ CHARM? YOU? ” Bill repeated with an incredulous yell, and yeah, to say that Cipher had any charm left in him was debatable, Ford would be the first to admit. But he still didn’t enjoy hearing Bill using a ludicrous tone when talking about the possibility of the demon trying to ‘charm’ Stanford. Since, it was, as the previous encounters with Bill all pointed to, entirely possible. 

“HA! I THINK YOU MIGHT HAVE A MISUNDERSTANDING ON YOUR SIX-FINGERED HANDS HERE, SMART GUY.” Bill grew larger in size in a blink of Stanford’s eyes, looming over him with a pointed finger. “I’M NOT TRYING TO CHARM YOU, SIXER. I CAN CARE LESS IF YOUR MORTAL BUTT LIKES ME OR WANT TO YEET ME OFF THE COSMIC SCALE OF LIFE.”

Ford clenched his fists, and stumbled back from Bill’s finger, “Calm yourself, Cipher.” He hissed, not expecting it to have any effect, yet saying so anyways, because hell, what did Stanford Pines had to lose in this day and age. Yet, surprisingly, Cipher complied, shrinking himself back down to a normal size, and floating down to meet Ford, face to eye. 

Emboldened by this, Ford continued on, trying to get back to his original point, hoping to clarify himself before Bill blew up on him for the second time. “You’ve made it hard not to notice what you’re trying to do here. Alright? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what this all is.” Ford gestured at his surroundings, at the Library of Alexandria, brought back and made into reality because Bill Cipher had willed it so, all as a gift for him. 

But more than that, Ford’s gesture was a call for Cipher to address what was happening between them, at the time they were spending and what exactly this all meant. If Bill was going to play this game, the least he could do was to admit it. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, Bill.” Ford muttered and wrapped his arms around himself. “Quite frankly, I don’t believe you’ll stop even if I ask you to.” Ford tried his best to ignore the way Bill winced at the last pointed sentence or the way that in his attempt to do so, his gaze was expeditiously drawn to the still bandaged up wound of Cipher’s leg, enveloped in gauze that Ford himself apportioned. He reminded himself that after everything Bill had done, and was still doing even now, that demon didn’t deserve any of his sympathy. 

Even if he did save Ford from a gathering of timber wolves, and what happened between the two of them during the Karaoke Night: Two, the sequel that Ford actually remembered.  

“But if,” and Ford paused for a small cough, the words like burning coals lumped at the base of his oesophagus, refusing to let themselves out. But Ford had never been one to back out, he was a true Icuras through and through, and in this, as with anything else in his life. He would follow through, despite all the possibilities leading to his destruction. “By some very, very, very, very off chance,” Ford could feel the sweat clammer to his hands now, and tried to rub them on his pants, “That what you are doing is genuine. Bill, I want you to know that it’s not too late to turn back.”

And Ford meant it, he didn’t know when this sentiment crept up on him, or why it had invaded his head like a persistent bug refusing to vacate the premises despite all the bug spray, traps and electric lamps Ford had set up to guard against it. But he did, even if Bill had been the worst thing that ever happened to Ford. He had also been the thing that made Ford… Ford, for better or worse. His life could be separated by category of before Bill, and after Bill. And strange as it might be, if there was a possibility for Bill Cipher of all beings to make that leap for a greater change, there was hope. Hope that his life wasn’t wasted, that thirty years behind the portal could have accumulated into something that was worth a damn. 

Ford was still a prideful man at heart, and perhaps he will always be. With the help of his family, he had suppressed that horrible nagging voice of that pride which ultimately did nothing for him but led him to bad decision after bad decision, which drove him to prove himself, again and again. Because he was never good enough, he could never be good enough. Not until he discovered his Unified Theory of Weirdness, not until he could publish the secrets of what he had discovered in Gravity Falls– Not until he could return home, not just a freak but a hero. That had been the chip on his shoulder, so to speak, and though it was no longer there, the echoes of it still haunted him. Telling him of how he wasted his life on a meaningless pursuit, decades stolen away by a force he couldn’t have possibly comprehend the full extent of until it was too late. So, if he could get that same force to show remorse, to change, to bend the hurricane to his will, even for just a moment. Perhaps, there was still hope after all.

And perhaps there was a small part of him that still wished to believe the good moments he and Bill shared could have been something genuine, despite all the hurt and grief that has passed between the two of them. Something to show that he had been more than just a toy to Bill, that he was worth winning over in Bill’s eye, not because of what he could do for Bill, but because of the time they shared. Because, some part of Bill, also cared for Stanford too.

But that was even more foolish of a daydream than an interdimensional portal had been. Though, staring at Bill’s bemused, pondering gaze, and the silent hum he had gotten in response to his sentence. Ford rather believed, for a flickering second, when lucid thoughts blurred with the subscious mind, that it could have the possibility of becoming true.

And that thought only seemed to solidify that night when Ford returned to his quarters, a cup of jelly beans, deformed and oddly shaped, sat at the edge of his bedside table, with a sticky note on the side of the white cup. No doubt written by Cipher.

He pulled it off of the cup, hand already reaching in for one jelly bean and popping it in his mouth as he skimmed the note. 

‘SORRY.’ 

He sighed, maybe there wasn’t just a small part of him that could be won over by the demon after all. 

Stan stared at the puffy red eyes of his great grandniece and once again wondered if it was possible to kill an immortal dream demon twice, this time preferably with a baseball bat, since his brass knuckles might have been a little bit too merciful the first go he had with that little prick, and made the demon come back again for another taste of messing with Stan’s goddamn family. “Mabel,” Stan rolled his tongue, unused to searching for words of comfort, after years spent on the streets where soft words had been a luxury Stan could not afford to give out and trying to find the best way of not making the situation worse with whatever he said. “What do you want for breakfast today, pumpkin?” He asked instead, silently cursing himself for his cowardness, though he was relieved when Mabel perked up when hearing the question. “Oh, umm, I was thinking if we could go and eat at the Greasy’s Diner today? I’ve been really craving their donuts.” 

There was once a time when Stan would’ve cringed in pain at the hit that would take to his wallet, but to comfort his grandniece? He would take a bullet front and back again if that’s what it took, a dollar bill or two was nothing compared to that.

“Sure thing, sweetie.” Stan agreed, and Mabel cracked a smile, and quickly called out for her brother to tell him the great news. 

When they rolled up to the diner, drove there by the Stanmobile, Dipper and Mabel quickly got out the car, slamming the car door behind them, and said something about racing each other to the diner. Stan smirked to himself fondly at the sight, and also made motion to follow them in. Once he got in, Dipper and Mabel were already situated in one of the booth seats, fighting over the menu like the couple of rowdy kids they are. 

“Alright, alright, give it here.” Stan plucked the menu out of the grappling hands of Dipper, and gently gave the kid a shove, causing him to tumble back into the inside of the booth. “Why don’t you let your meal ticket order first before you two get us all kicked out?”

Dipper crossed his arms and adjusted the brim of his hat which fell obstructing his gaze during he and Mabel’s play fight. “Yeah whatever, man. You probably just wanted the chance to talk to Lazy Susan, first.”

“Don’t you even joke about that, kid.” Stan grumbled flipping the menu open with a small huff, his mood brightened though when he heard Mabel let out a soft giggle. Gradually, the menu was all passed over by the people at the table, and the order was made. When the food arrived at the table, Mabel’s donuts generously dosed in sprinkles, Dipper’s beacon and eggs and Stan’s pancakes, they all dug into the meal. By this point, Stan’s guard had been fully let down, so he didn’t expect it when suddenly, Dipper pulled his head out of his meal and gently nudged Stan with an elbow and a loud pointed cough.

Stan furrowed his brow, “What is it, kid?” Which caused Dipper to pointedly clear his throat while darting his gaze between Stan and Mabel. Oh, right, the plan. Stan was supposed to tell Mabel about the plan, that was the entire point of today’s breakfast, beside the fact that Stan really needed to refill his stomach after a whole night of using the thinking side of his brain. 

“Hey, uh, sweetie?” Stan rubbed his fingers together awkwardly, suddenly all too aware of how dangerous the plan sounded both on paper and in execution. “Hmm, what is it, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked a mouthful of donuts muffling her words. 

“I’ve got something to tell you, but don’t freak out, okay? It’s about Ford.” Stan steepled his hands together on the table, “I cracked the code last night.”

Mabel quickly swallowed her mouthful, and patted a fist on her chest when it didn't go down right, causing her to splatter out a few coughs; Dipper reached across the table and attempted to pat his sister’s back concernedly. “Say what now?”

“Grunkle Ford said we should gather the zodiac together to defeat Bill but we're not doing it.” Dipper let out quickly in one breath, rushing to explain to his sister, trying to rip off the bandage as soon as possible.

“What?!” Mabel scrunched up her nose and shot Dipper an incredulous gaze, then she gripped him by the shoulders and shook him back and forth. “Don’t leave it at that! We can’t just leave Grunkle Ford there with that evil triangle, we’ve got to go save him!”

“We are!” Dipper defended, voice cracking as his hand came up to extract Mabel’s strong grip on his vest. “Look, it’s just that gathering up all the people from the Cipher Zodiac is impossible right now, so uh–” Dipper cut off his sentence and made a face at Stan, shooting him a pleading stare. Stan, seeing this, quickly joined in to calm Mabel down, “We’re going to mob the castle and recruit the people of Gravity Falls to take down that Cipher demon once and for all."

Mabel blinked and slowly loosened her grip on Dipper’s vest, giving Dipper an apologetic gaze as she did so, though Dipper had already forgiven her. He knew that Mabel had been understandably stressed by this situation, with Grunkle Ford being trapped by Bill Cipher (again), she must have had horrible memories brought up from what happened during Weirdmaggedon. Even though it was not her fault, Dipper knew Mabel still blamed herself for handing over the Rift to the possessed Blendin Blandin and subsequently when she found out what happened to Grunkle Ford, captured by Bill Cipher and tortured in the Fearamid, that had only exasperated her guilt. Mabel didn’t say so in so many words, but Dipper being her twin, knew very well without the need for it.

“Okay.” Mabel cleared her throat and nodded, then out of nowhere, she pulled out a list, placing the long piece of paper onto the table so that they could see what was written on it– names, many of which Dipper recognised, Toby Determined, Tyler Cutebiker, Deputy Durland and all the other people that lived in Gravity Falls along with names of some of the supernatural creatures that they’ve discovered over the course of their summer here. “If we’re going on a recruiting mission then I’m the number one girl on your team.” Mabel said as she gestured with flourish to her list of names, and yes, Dipper will admit that dedication it took to comprise that list all on your own was pretty impressive. Not to mention, Dipper was sure that the list Mabel had on her hands must have been even more accurate than the registration of Gravity Fall’s governmental files.

“That’s amazing, Mabel.” Dipper smiled as he picked up the list and skimmed down all the names within it, “With this thing, we’ll be able to recruit people from all over the town!” 

“Yeah, great job, sweetheart.” Stan reached over to ruffle Mabel’s hair with a small, proud smile. “Got any idea on which person we should go to first?”

Mabel tapped her chin then quickly something from the window caught her eye, the old Northwest mansion on the top of the hill.

“Yeah, I think I might have a hunch or two.”

Chapter Text

Stanley grunted as the rickety steps and steep terrain of the mountain forced him to abandon the Stanmobile at the foot of it, in favour of climbing it on foot with the twins. In fear of the Stanmobile’s old motor engines and even older tires breaking down on him midway through the trip. All the way, Stan grumbled and complained, while Mabel, and Dipper especially, chuckled and made jokes at his expense further ahead of him.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, why don’t yah?” But secretly, he smiled, at least the kids were having fun. He had been afraid that something like this happening would have ruined their entire mood all summer. However, it seemed that the twins were even more resilient than he gave them credit for. “C’mon, old man. It’s just a couple piles of dirt to walk through, don’t tell me you’re getting tired already?” Dipper taunted playfully, earning a soft grunt from Stanley. 

“Bodies change, kid. Bodies change.” He grumbled, and crossed his arms together, stomping reluctantly behind them. Damn it all, wasn’t Old Man McGucket supposed to be a renowned engineer now with enough money to flood an indoor stadium? Can’t he have at least made a better way for people to visit his house? Like some kind of elevator device?

“Oh look. Ha.” Dipper chuckled as he pointed at the distance, the top of the mountain which was about two miles away from their current position. “There’s the elevator, I was wondering where that thing went.” He thought out loud, the words were only himself to hear but when Stan heard that he cussed, and kicked a nearby pile of leaves with fever. 

“Moses damned—”

“Hogwash.” Ford stated, closed off to what Bill had proposed they’d do for the afternoon. 

“What! Why not, Fordsy? You’ve been cooped up in this Library for days now! Can’t you spare some time to spend with me?” Bill asked, clasping his hands together and fluttered his lashes up at Ford, which did nothing but make Ford look even more stern and stubborn.

“We do spend time together.” Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, “You sit on my shoulder while I read, and semi-tolerate your presence. I don’t get why you’re trying to do more?”

Bill rolled his eye, “But that’s nerd stuff, IQ. And besides, I’m the All-Seeing Eye, you think I can’t memorise those books twice over by now even without having to take a look at them? C’mon, Sixer, let’s do something fun together!”

“No.” Ford ducked his head down and went back to stare at the passage he’s been reading before Bill rudely interrupted him. Firmly ignoring the demon’s presence. 

“Fordsy.” The equilateral demon, honest to god, whined. As he floated down and traced a finger on Ford’s current reading material, a book, right on the part where the closed pages came together to form a dense mass a white rectangle above. Ford silently hoped that Cipher would get a paper cut. 

“Sixer!” The demon called out again, this time with more force, eye turning red for a millisecond before switching gears. Coming up from behind the book, Bill teleported next to Stanford and began poking at his shoulder insistently.

“What is it?” Ford sighed.

“Is there really nothing you’d want to do together?” Bill asked, almost pleaded, though Ford didn’t budge, only turning his head to the side to avoid Cipher’s gaze. “Oh real mature, Fordsy. What can't you handle spending some time with yours truly without getting something out of it?”

“Of course not.” Ford replied simply, already dropping his gaze back down at the book. He tried to ignore the way Bill attempted to use the puppy eyed trick on him. It wasn’t going to work, he stubbornly thought. Bill wasn’t going to manipulate him with his cheap dramatic theatrics, all he had to do was focus on the book, and maybe, if he ignored Bill hard enough, the demon would grow bored and leave the man in peace. This was his biggest mistake, because as Ford should’ve known after all these years of knowing Cipher, was that when there was something the dream demon wanted, he would stop at nothing to get it. It was the same with the portal, Weridmaggedon, the equation and there was no reason for Ford’s company to be any different. 

Bill crossed his arms silently as he floated next to Ford. Ford almost thought that the demonic polygon had given up, but he cursed when he turned back to his book, the words began to jumble up on the page, and drawings of Bill Cipher were covered the previously decidedly normal book, with little doodles of hearts all over. At the end, there was a question–

‘Will you go out with me?'

⃞  Yes
⃞  Definitely 
⃞  Absolutely

“Bill!” Ford exclaimed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Are you kidding me?” He asked hopelessly, but Bill only leaned over his shoulder and handed Ford a red sharpie. “Not at all, Stanford! Have I ever been known to kid people?” 

“Always.” Ford stated blankly, but then sighed, did it really hurt to spend some ‘time’ with Bill? It wasn’t like he had anything else to do, after all. And truth be told, he has been doing too much research, he doubts he’d ever get the smell of dust and old books out of his trench coat. 

“Do you promise not to pester me about this if I agree?” Ford sighed, and Bill’s eye lit up in excitement from Stanford seemingly giving in.

“Yes! Cross my heart, Fordsy!” Bill made an ‘X’ over the left side of his bricks, and threw Ford a quick wink which he ignored. 

“I guess a breath of fresh air would be nice.” Ford muttered, glancing out of the window, the view of the sun, the scenic forests and mountains of Gravity Falls greeted him, sending a pang down his chest.

“Is that an agreement, I hear?” Bill cupped a hand over his non-existent ear, and Ford let out a soft grumble. “I suppose one can see it as so,” Ford shrugged.

“That’s the spirit, Fordsy!” Bill yelled out before swinging an arm around him, “You won’t regret it! I promise.”

“Somehow, I really doubt that.” Ford sighed. 

Stan let out a slow whistle when he entered the manor, all the technological thingamajigs that Fiddleford had lying all around the grand entrance would make him a fortune just by him swiping one of them on his way out. “Wow, who would have thought eh?” He smiled, patting a nearby shiny white panel of a machine with one hand, “This place is deluxe! McGucket really did a number on this place, huh?”

“Pretty much, yeah. It’s totally different from the way I remembered it.” Dipper shrugged as he pointed up at the shiny chandelier, “I swear that thing had candles before.”

“Yeah, everything here looks so sci-fi now.” Mabel giggled, “Kind of like one of Dipper’s cyberpunk novels.” Dipper quickly hushed Mabel with one hand, “Mabel! You promised me you wouldn’t talk about those. Ew– Did you just lick my hand?”

Mabel let out a soft giggle as Dipper swiftly pulled his hand away, “C’mon Dipper lighten up.”

“Oh why good golly gee! Do my eyes deceive me? The Pines Family!” Exclaimed a voice thick with a southern country accent. There Fiddleford Hadron McGucket stood, a smile on his face as he came down to greet his sudden visitors. Over the past year, Fiddleford had been slowly recovering his mind little by little– it wasn’t an easy journey to get to where he was now, memory wise. There were days when Fiddleford’s mental capabilities existed in a state of blurry confusion and static chaos. However, with a little help from Ford, who did his best to recount to him everything which happened in his life before, he was able to, piece by piece, stitch his memories back together like a piece of worn out jacket, who had been torn to shreds before, but was lovingly mended back together again by hand. “Howdy, what brings you to my this here doorsteps today? You know you Pines’ folk are always welcome, but I’d still enjoy a warnin’ or two before you decided to drop by my humble abode. Don’t wanna seem like an unprepared host and all.”

“Yeah, well, this was kind of time sensitive.” Dipper rubbed the back of his neck with a hand and Mabel who was standing next to him began rubbing her arm.

“Well darn, don’t just stand there! Come in, come in.” Fiddleford beckoned with a hand and all of them stepped into the foyer. Then suddenly he stopped, taking a cursory glance at all the Pines that were standing at his door, and he realised something very strange. “Oh golly. Hope yah don’t mind me askin’ but why didn’t Ford come here with you all today?” He asked, and an uncomfortable feeling rose in his chest when all of them simply avoided his gaze.

“That’s kind of what we wanted to talk to you about actually.” Dipper muttered, fiddling with his thumbs, “Grunkle Ford, he’s been–”

“Been kidnapped by Bill Cipher and trapped in a castle with him.” Mabel finished her twin’s sentence with a carefully steady tone. 

“What?” Fiddleford interrupted with a quick gasp, “When was this?”

“A week ago.” Stanley grumbled out, crossing his arms together, “My brother went out to hunt down a meteor with these two pipsqueaks, and he never came back.” 

“And we’d really appreciate it if you’d help us, McGucket. With the thing you built with the Shack, turning it into a robot and all, would it be possible if you did something like that again, but in a more– bulldozer a castle way?” Mabel finished, gesturing her hands about as she articulated her sentence.

“W-Why, why I do reckon it’s feasible.” Fiddleford’s voice was more shaky than before, he couldn’t believe his ears. Bill Cipher alive? And he’s done what to Stanford? This was the most horrible news he has heard this summer. He knew full well what Stanford had suffered in the hands of that demonic triangle, perhaps better than any other person. He had, after all, witnessed the whole thing first hand, the slow descent of madness which affected both of them in different yet equally soul destroying manners. “Oh, this is bad.”

“Quite.” Stanley grunted, “My brother really knows how to get himself into these helpless situations, huh?”

“You have no idea.” Fiddleford rubbed his face, “So, you’re willing to help us?” Mabel asked in a hopeful tone, clenching nervously at the hem of her sweater as she did so. 

“Why, of course!” Fiddleford exclaimed, “I’ve done a lotta’ running in my times, especially from that Cipher fella. But I’ve been tryin’ change that. No more running away– Imma build yah’ that gosh darn machine, and I’ll get started on it right away I tell yah’.”

“Yes!” Mabel pumped her fist and high fived Dipper, “Don’t worry bro-bro, like I said I’ve got this in the bag.”

“I never doubted you for a sec, kid.” Stan chuckled proudly as he ruffled Mabel’s hair and pulled them all in for a group hug. “Now, who’s next on the list?”

“You know, when you said that we’d be spending time together, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.” Ford said as he shook a handful of peas, offering an outstretched hand up at the eyebats that Bill had summoned for them in the hidden part of the castle that Ford didn’t even know existed– the Greenhouse. 

“Why not, isn’t this fun, Fordsy?” Cipher chuckled as he tossed a pea directly at the back of one of the eyebats, laughing even harder when it gave him a disgruntled glance as it was knocked over and lost some of its balance. “I remember you used to love chasing these inferior eyebags around all the time!” He perched an elbow up on a nearby creature, letting it take the brunt of his weight. Ford narrowed his eyes which only caused Cipher to huff out a small, “What?”

“Nothing,” Ford denied, and turned back to face forward, where an eyebat had flown down and began slowly chewing out of Ford’s hand. He looked down fascinatedly at the way these creatures ate– by swallowing the peas under its eyelid, and melting them into some kind of liquid. His reverie was broken though, with a more persistent noise from Bill.

“No, no really. What? I wanna know what Doctor Stanford Pines has to say.” Bill floated down to meet Ford’s eyes, glaring at them through the cracked lens. “What’s so funny, huh? HUH!”

“Really, Bill. Don’t worry about it. It’s just that— You know, for an immortal dream demon who’s spent trillions of years observing this dimension, you sure suck at feeding the local creatures.” Ford placed a fist near his lips to stifle a small chuckle when he saw Bill’s eye and form slowly turning red from indignation.

“Nuh uh, I’m great with these FREAKS OF NATURE, look!” Bill quickly launched himself up, so that he could face the many eyebats who had gathered near the glass ceiling of the greenhouse, thinking that there wasn’t any barrier between them and their rightful habitat— outside in Gravity Falls’ many caverns and forests. Bill snapped his fingers, and suddenly, a tower of peas appeared on Bill’s hand, and he shoved it all down the nearest eyebat, swelling up its under eyelid. 

“See this? Eating out of the palm of my hand.” Bill swiped his hands together, as if getting off the excess dust was the hardest part of this challenge. Despite the fact Bill did not, prove anything.

“Nothing, it’s just that, they must really like those peas, huh?” Ford pointed at the eyebat who was currently coughing out the surplus of peas that was essentially shoved down its version of an oesophagus.

“What can I say? Growing eyebats need their veggies, isn’t that right?” Bill cooed, “Who’s a good boy? Oh you are! Yes, you are!” He gently patted the eyebat on the back, while its gaze seemed dazed, it did surprisingly lean into Bill’s touch. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Stanford laughed, a deep barrelling laughter which rocked Bill’s foundation with how genuine it sounded. It has been a while since Bill had heard Fordsy laugh like he was actually having fun around him. And oh, Axolotl, that frilly guppy better not have done something to Cipher’s core… brick— thing because it felt like the organ inside his exoskeleton which would constitute a heart in comparison to human anatomy was currently being squeezed and play with like mutt’s chew toy.

“Only for you, Sixer.”

A while past where there was only silence which existed between the two of them before Ford broke it with a question. “Surely you don’t think that’s the proper way to treat the poor creature?” He asked even though he knew full well the answer. 

“Ha, c’mon, Sixer, don’t be like that! I’m the All-Seeing-Eye, an immortal dream demon, you can’t expect to tie down a god with your silly human morality! That’s just not how I roll, IQ.” Bill summoned his cane with one hand, and began swinging it around in a circle with a finger. “I mean have you ever looked down when you walked just to avoid stepping on an ant? No! They get out of the way or get crushed, that’s just the way the multiverse works!”

Ford bit his lip, he could, unfortunately, see Bill’s point. But that just made him even more frustrated at Cipher, because, why, why was Cipher like this? So, unsympathetic to the hurt that he caused to all the living creatures around him? Stanford never asked himself this question before, but now more than ever, he found himself with the burning urge to know. To understand. To comprehend the riddle before him and form a theory or an hypothesis. Because, Bill, like it or not, was a roll of contradiction wrapped into a cosmic equilateral form.

“It shouldn’t be.” Ford said softly, “You shouldn’t have to prove yourself strong just to survive in this world. I’ve learnt that much in my travels. Oftentimes, it’s not survival of the fittest, but a matter of who’s good enough. Take the tribe of wild pigs for instance, they might not have been the most well evolved biologically. However, they have been able to survive in their harshly climated realm centuries before me, and will surely continue to do so.” 

Bill blinked, and went silent for a moment as if considering his point before letting out a soft scoff, “Oh yeah, whatever, Fordsy. Big deal! I’m sure there are plenty of other timelines where those little piglets never even made it to their third semester of evolution.”

“And many more where they’ve exceeded so and some.” Ford crossed his arms, “The multiverse is vast and unpredictable, and if we are adding in alternative timelines to our equation, the variables would be even more complex.”

“I thought you liked complicated, Fordsy.” Bill leaned closer, “That’s what drew your big brain to me in the first place, poindexter. Admit it, you liked having me as your… hmm what did you call it again– Just kidding I totally remember, ‘Muse’.”

“You were the one who brought it up in the first place.” Ford tried to hide the red flush that was surely appearing on his face with a cough into his fist. “I didn’t come up with it out of thin air.”

“Sure, I’ll give that to you, Sixer. Still doesn’t explain why you’d add a possessive term before the title though.” Bill teased, “You liked being the one and only genius mind who I inspired once in a century, it made you feel special.”

Ford felt the conversation quickly spiral out of his grip, and quickly he realised what Cipher was doing, he was trying to pull a fast one on him. To change the subject. “Yes, it did.” Ford admitted honestly, he had spent enough time beating himself up for his ego to last him the rest of his lifetime, and now more than ever, was not the time for self-flagellation. “Yet, in the end, you treated me like I was no more than your puppet. And you used me like a tool. So answer me honestly, Cipher. Was I really nothing but an ant to you?”

“...” Bill stared at Stanford with a stricken expression, hestating for a brief moment before letting out a long sigh, “You really do know how to ask questions. Huh, IQ?”

“I’ve been told that once or twice. Besides, you don’t get through surviving dimension after dimension like I have without asking a couple of questions.”

Bill clasped his hands behind his back, “Look, Stanford. I’ve got to admit that at first you were like an ant to me. A cute and funny one, to be sure–”

‘You can call me anything except late for dinner.’

“–But an ant nonetheless. I thought I only wanted you for one thing only, to build the portal.”

“What changed?” Ford asked, tone soft trying not to break the unusually honest mood that the demon seemed to be in.

‘I think I’m starting to like you, Bill!’

“You did. Sixer, look, I’ve never actually had that intimate of a relationship with any of the chumps that tried to build a portal before you.” Bill’s eye was looking to the side now, observing the tree which grew in the greenhouse like it was the most fascinating plant to ever graze the multiverse. “Spending so much time with a bunch of dumb meatsacks? That was always the most tiring part of getting one of your kind to start building the portal. You don’t know how much of Pyronica’s whining I’ve gotta get through before I even start manipulating a fleshbag.

“Bill, I–”

“Let me finish, Stanford.” Bill’s voice was serious, yet the sentence did not come off as a demand, but a request, a request for Ford to allow Bill to speak his peace. “But it was different with you. You got further than any of those dumb meatsacks in the past trillion years combined. Pushed through the possibility of this world’s arbitrary laws of physics more than anyone else. And you weren’t afraid of me and never doubted my intentions. Not even my henchmaniacs can say that.”

“The more time I spent with you,” Bill wringed his hands together, “The more I fell– liked you– I meant your style. Our chess games together, that dumb karaoke night, hell, even strumming up dumb equations together was a blast. You were just so sincere, Sixer. It was sickening.”

‘How was your dimension destroyed?’

Ford scoffed, “I appreciate the compliment. You really know how to make a person feel special.”

“You are special, alright?” Bill cut off with a grumble, “You’re special even without that sixth finger on your hand, or that freakish smarts of yours. Because you’ve always seen something in me that no one else has seen before.” 

‘My muse.’

Bill rubbed his hands together, and though he didn’t need it, he still let out a small breath to steel himself, “A muse. Not the one-eyed beast of the Nightmare Realm. And I’m sorry for ruining that, for the both of us.”

Ford swallowed, “Yeah well, you should be. You think you’d make me feel sorry for you just because you lost your favourite plaything?”

“No.” Bill stated firmly, “I don’t, Fordsy. You’re smarter than that. I know you are. But I am, for some Axolotl damned reason, telling the truth for the first time in a millennia. So you better take it or leave it, cause it’s not going anywhere now that it’s in the air.” 

“I think– I need some time to…”

“Decide? Maul it over? Sleep on it?” Bill offered, growing more intense with each word. 

“I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight.” Ford replied honestly, massaging the bridge of his nose, “Look, Bill I–”

“You don’t have to say it, Sixer.” Bill sighed, mirroring Ford’s gesture before turning so his back was facing him. “At least let me walk you back to your room?”

Ford’s brows furrowed, and his mouth went into a tight frown, yet he nodded, the silence made him realise that Bill probably didn’t see that, so he made a quick awkward cough and a soft agreeing hum. 

It was a long walk back. Ford’s hands were in his pockets, as he kept clenching and unclenching them inside. His mind was somewhere else entirely, and he didn’t even notice when they arrived at the designated door when he was stopped in his tracks by a hand on his shoulder. 

“I took out all the eyes in there.” Bill said completely unprompted, “Figured you didn’t enjoy 'em watching your every move as much as I thought you would.”

“No, I–” To be honest, Stanford hadn’t thought about that as much as he probably should. The presence of Bill had always been a given to Ford, and because of that, he was used to having sprinkles of triangular references in interior design and even eyes shaped imprinted everywhere. “Didn’t. Thank you.” He muttered, already reaching out for the knob and turning it over with a hand. 

“It’s the least I can do.” Bill looked away as if trying to avoid Stanford’s gratitude and gaze. A moment passed before he reached up for his hat and tipped it, “Evening, Sixer. Try not to stay up too late. Heard you fleshbags need at least eight hours of sleep a day to stay functional.”

“I’ll consider it.” Ford offered back as a reply, foot already over the threshold of the room before he turned back to face Bill. “And… you too, I suppose. Not the sleep thing but– You should get some rest. It’s probably best to take it easy on that leg of yours for now.” He gestured at the bandage up wound, which was taking its sweet time to heal, “Doctor’s orders.” He smiled lightheartedly despite himself. Oh damn it, he was really spending too much time with Cipher, wasn’t he?

Bill puffed out a breath of frustrated air, “Yeah, yeah. Alright, worry pants. Don’t get your pretty head all wrapped up around this measly little flesh wound, alright? I’m not gonna keel over cuz’ of a tiny bite, Fordsy.”

“You’re correct. But it’s better safe than sorry with these things, no chance of risking an infection with you, but it’s still quite inconvenient if you wish to shift your weight around, I’d imagine.” And Ford knew better than anyone what it was like to experience a leg injury, it was practically a death sentence when he was on the run during his time in the portal, where staying on his feet and keeping pace to jump around dimensions was the only thing which kept him alive and out of Bill’s grasp. Funny now, he was giving out advice on how to deal with them to the same being which made him learn it in the first place. 

Though with a final glance at Bill before he shut the door, he wondered if this was truly the same being he was dealing with, or if Bill, too, could experience indecipherable change. 

Chapter Text

Bill, for once, was lounging up in his quarters. It was the first time in a while since Sixer had entered his castle. What a quaint little thing this room was. He had found it somewhere in the east wing of the castle, just that tucked away room at the edge of a corridor. He doubted Sixer even knew of its existence, since, well Fordsy had been moping in his room for the first few days, and only went out whenever Bill was pestering him or brought him to somewhere specifically. And Bill hadn’t brought Fordsy back here before. Which was all too well since this place was designed right after the penthouse suite back in the Fearamid during Weirdmageddon and Sixer didn’t seem the type who’d like a reminder of something like that. So Fordsy doesn’t have any good taste, whatever, Bill could let sleeping dogs lie where they may, just this once. 

He stared into the mirror at the corner, and he saw the view of his bottom lid crinkled up greeting him on the reflective surface. So filled with excitement and barely contained giddy anticipation. This was the expression of a dream demon who was getting closer and closer to his ultimate goal, and he couldn’t be happier about it.

Sixer had said he’d ‘think about it’! Bill almost squealed when he thought that, but managed to hold it back to a kick of his feet instead. That brainiac was probably in his bed right now, reminiscing back on all the good times they had together. He had never played this nice before with a human, hell, he even apologised, but he had to admit… it was somewhat worth it if this was what it got him. Soon enough, Ford would be back. 

Bill sighed, eye drifting up to stare at the ceiling as thoughts of Fordsy filled his mind. What would Ford be like when he finally realised they were meant for each other? 

‘Oh, my muse, how could I have been so blind!’ 

Bill closed his eye, imagining the words flowing out of Fordsy’s characteristically deep yet warm voice, like honey mixed in a cup of caramel tea. And the way he’d say ‘my muse’ would be reverent and sweet, a mix of love and worship wrapped in a tight bundle of praise, like Bill was the only thing in the world worth paying attention to. The centre of his universe, the sun in his galaxy. 

‘Why don’t I make it up to you?’

Bill felt the sides of his bricks grow hot, red but not with rage, but something else. He thought about all the ways Fordsy could ‘make it up to him’. Maybe he could get that tattoo Bill told him to get decades ago, it’d definitely look nice somewhere on his neck or chest, but preferably very visible in areas where everyone could see; Or maybe he could start covering his private study with Bill’s tapestries, golden statues and glass prisms again, it’d definitely be nice for keeping an eye on Ford, and it’d be better since he’d be doing it out of his only free will!

Or maybe he could kiss him again… 

Bill touched the corner of his eye, and quickly got up at that thought, pacing around the room with both arms tucked behind his back. It’s been a while since that memory invaded his mind, yet still every time it returned, its influence on Bill seemed to grow larger and larger– filling him with a sense of yearning and loss. He knew for a fact that Ford wouldn’t have done something like that if he was remotely in his right mind, but still, it didn’t stop those stupid feelings from rising up in him like a tsunami wave. He thought those flesh bags were all supposed to be obsessed with romance and junk, yet Axolotl knows how many ways he’s been trying to ‘charm’ Fordsy! It has gotten so obvious that the Brainiac himself was beginning to suss it out like a wild wolf with the last piece of jerky hidden in the woods. And everyone knew that Sixer’s notoriously dense when it came to flirting and otherwise related meatsack courtship rituals! Bill would know, he had been in IQ’s mind before, Sixer wouldn’t know romance if it hitted him in his face with a thirty pound baseball bat with nails embedded at the top. 

Yet somehow, Bill couldn’t erase any of Ford’s wariness towards him and only narrowly missed him finding out the truth.

Who knows how the IQ would take it if he ever did, he’d probably never use the word, ‘love’ again if he could help it. Paranoid as he is. Or replace them with some other word in Latin, something nerdy like ‘amor’ or ‘amplexus’. It would be just like him, that big code and language obsessed nerd.

Despite the progress they had made, Bill was not blind to the fact that Fordsy would sooner toss away all his precious lab equipment before ever letting Bill have a taste of true power again. Which… fair enough, Bill did try to take over Sixer’s dimension and cause an apocalypse, but he’d do better this time, he swore. For one thing, he’d make sure not to turn Fordsy into a golden statue this time if he said no to the idea. And maybe give him and his family a peaceful galaxy or two away from his destruction if that’s what Fordsy really wanted, he heard that a vacation to the Pinwheel and Triangulum hemisphere was pretty nice this time of year.

Adjusting his tie in front of the mirror, Bill slowly hummed to himself, glow unusually subdued, yet warmer, his yellow tinged with a small mix of orange. When the melodic rhythm reached his ears, his movement stopped and he realised what song he was humming— ‘The Moon Will Sing.’ 

“Oh for Cipher’s sake, you are pathetic.” His reflection moved away from him, floating to somewhere that was not remotely the same area as its axis. 

Bill blinked away from his thoughts when he heard what the clone just said. “Hey! Watch your eye there, buddy. I can call someone to steal it, you know? Especially since you’re already in his territory.”

The reflection just crossed his arm and mirrored back Bill’s expression— pun fully intended. “You should watch your exoskeleton, pal! Cause, I think your sixty degree angles are growing a bit too soft!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bill scowled at the mirror, sclera turning red. 

“It means that you’ve been growing too close to that miserable little ant and you need to stop before you play a trick on yourself and actually start to believe that you’re in ‘love’ with him.” His reflection let out a laugh and waved a hand at the absurd idea.

“...” There was a brief silence, one which stretched thick between them until you could cut it up like a hot knife through a piece of butter. Suddenly, the eye of the reflection widened impossibly and he floated upwards to point an accusing finger down at Bill. “Ew, ew, ew. You’re such a freak! Isn’t it bad enough that you’re already given him two apologies? You gotta give him your nonexistent ‘heart’ as well?”

Bill huffed and threw his hands up, “Woah, Woah, Woah! Who said anything about giving out hearts? Fordsy’s a doctor but he’s not that kind of doctor.”

“Oh, you have fallen far.” The Bill in the mirror pinched his closed eye, “What happened to not tying your happiness to a rotting piece of meatbag who's going to eventually drop off the face of the planet in a couple of decades– at most if he’s lucky. What happened to dignity, to self-respect, huh? HUH?”

“Sixer’s different.” Bill asserted confidently. “The moment he says those three little words, it’s gonna be our ticket out of here. And I’ll make him immortal if I’ve got to— he’s got the moxie to handle it.”

The clone gave Bill a blank stare, before letting out a disgusted sound, “Really?”

“What?” Bill asked defensively, he was beginning to not like the tone of his reflection and was powering up his hand to try and destroy it with a burst of fire.

“Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious?” Mirror Bill came up closer to the surface and pointed his finger down at Bill’s leg, “Since you saved that meatsack from certain death, that wound hasn’t been healing?”

“Yeesh, someone’s being as paranoid as Sixer after his twelfth cup of coffee.” Bill rolled his eyes and poked at the mirror, “NEWS FLASH– It's the Axolotl's fault! That frilly guppy probably took my power to regenerate just to be an annoying pretentious jerk about this whole thing, like he always is.”

“Or maybe it’s because you jumped in to save a mortal who can’t even stay alive pass two lifespans of a minor demigod. THINK ABOUT IT.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” Bill grumbled, the fire in his hands turning into a glowing blaze.

“YOU KNOW I’M RIGHT, I’M YOU. THAT FLESHBAG IS MAKING YOU WEAK AND SOFT, QUIT WHILE YOU’RE AHEAD IF YOU DON’T WANNA GET HURT OBJBJYBO TEXQ EXMMBKBA FK BRZEVAFX BRX RQOB EXUQ WKH RQHV BRX ORYH

YOU’RE A MONSTER–”

Bill finally disintegrated the mirror, melting it into its essential essence before snapping said molecules out of existence. Not many beings in the Galaxy had the privilege of being able to snap the voice of doubt/reason out of their heads. And boy was Bill glad he was one of them. He did his best to ignore the screaming that was still fading out in the background, gaze pointedly not turning towards the puddle on the floor. 

The soft melodic chords of a piano broke him out of the silent one-sided coldshoulder was giving himself, and he shot a glance at the door, confused. There was no one here, besides him and… OH! This! This was really too good to miss. He closed his eye and reached into his reservoir of power, trying to gleam through every vague shape of triangle he had meticulously placed in every corner of this castle (Barring Sixer’s room, of course.) And there at the edge of his vision, second corner to the left, just a hallway away, was Sixer, at the same piano he had used to serenade him with the screelish love song he could think of ages ago, when Bill had the world figuratively and literally at the tips of his four gloved fingers. 

The figure of him was edged poorly into the wooden surface of a nearby shelf. The angle might not have been as great as he thought it would be when he had placed it there weeks ago, still, Bill would admit that it was not the worse view he had gotten of Sixer. Not even close. Sixer was sitting, back hunched forward on a piano bench, testing out the keys of the instrument carefully like he was examining the mouth of a particularly fascinating supernatural creature in Gravity Falls, his fingers fleeting through C minor, expression hyperfocus with the sharp narrow of his eyes and lowering tilt of his chin. 

Fordsy played the piano the way he would do an experiment, giving his entire focus and attention towards it, staring down the instrument like it was a particularly difficult equation– as if each minute mistake can spell ‘life or death’ to Stanford Pines. Or, Bill supposed, success or failure. Though to the man before him, perhaps it has always seemed one and the same. Life had always conspired to bring ol’ Fordsy down, and Bill was not ashamed to admit that he had, until now, been a part of the category of things which attempted to drag Sixer down further into the mud of despair, even if he did have his reasons at the time to do so. But despite it all, the man had stood his ground, had grown resilient against life’s tides and bit back with fervour that shocked even Bill Cipher in its strength and spite. 

That moment when he saw Sixer that day, decked out in black, carrying a gun almost the size of the man’s entire body, slinging it over his shoulders as if it weighed nothing to him and aiming it directly at the completely shellshocked Dream Demon, who was caught unawares, a hunter going in straight for the kill with a shotgun, right then Bill had sat, frozen still in his throne like a deer in headlights and thought, ‘Huh, this might actually be the end of me.’ It had been commendable that Sixer was able to spend only thirty years of his life to construct a weapon with enough firepower to destroy him, an immortal demon who had seen galaxies be born and evaporated away like so much wasted star fuel, even more so when considering the circumstance he went through in those tumultuous times jumping between dimensions.

In the end, Sixer had shown himself to be more than just a simple pawn, but a Queen, capable of hitting Cipher just where it would hurt the most, flexible and ever so willing to adapt to the worst.

“Mind if I join?” Bill’s voice startled him, and he jolted upwards in his position, straightening upwards to turn his gaze towards the glowing triangle.

In truth, he had not expected to see Cipher again so soon after their heartfelt conversation, he had believed that Bill had perhaps been scared off or had an epiphany of some sort once he had returned to whichever hole he had chosen to squat in for the moment, most likely coming to a realization which would signal the phrase ‘one step forward, two steps back.’ Or whatever emotional equivalent of it might be. 

He, himself, was uncertain about how to feel towards the entire situation. For one, no matter how ‘kind’ Bill had been or how many ‘redeeming’ moments he had shown, Cipher was ultimately still keeping him trapped away in this castle. Confined into a limited space with him and forcing frequent interaction between the two. Away from everyone from the Shack, Soos, Stanley and the… And the twins. A pang of regret shot through his heart when he thought about Dipper and Mabel. He hoped that they were doing okay, that they were still able to enjoy their summer here in Gravity Falls with Stanley, even if he had most certainly put a heavy damper on it. 

They’re going to be okay, Ford tried to convince himself, they had a completely fantastical adventurous summer without him last year, when he was still a speck of burning star shooting through dimension after dimension, not knowing if he’d ever return to his home dimension, much less get to meet with his grandniece and nephew. Though deep down even he knew that it would not be a fair comparison. They had not known of his existence then, and now that they have had an entire year of getting to know him through video chats and voice calls, they would be concerned of his well being as much as he has been of theirs. Moses, and he had promised Dipper that he would spend more time with him this summer, actually explain some of his cryptic notes in the Journals and even take him, maybe if Stanley agreed, to meet the Mothman, an old acquaintance of Ford that had still owed him twenty. He missed them both fiercely, with a burning ache that he never realized could exist within him before. He hated that he had lost another summer of being able to meet the twins face to face, but most of all he hated that once again he had made promises he could not keep because of circumstances that he was too naive to foresee. 

None of those promises will be fulfilled now. All because Ford could never control his need to know more, to dig deeper.

“Bill? Oh, I-” Ford took a moment to pause and replay Bill’s question in his head, “No, I suppose.”

Bill leaned his weight against the top of the grand piano, elbow propping his tilted form up and his feet kicked at the air. “I knew you had some musical talent in yah, smart guy. But I didn’t realize you were THIS good! Where did you learn to play the ol’ Betsy?”

“Betsy?” Ford questioned, blinking down at the instrument as if he expected the ivory keys to suddenly grow a pair of sharp shark teeth and strike at him like a rapid beast.

“That’s just what I call her.” Bill shrugged, “Ol’ girl here’s practically an honorary henchmaniac! She's been with me through thick and thin. Got her back in the 1830s. Ah, good times! Believe you me, Sixer, all that human agony made for some excellent portal business.”

“Right…” Ford trailed off, trying his best to ignore Bill’s comment about the portal, it was a simple truth of the past. Bill had tried throughout humanity’s history to get his damn portal built up, no matter who he had to use or make a deal with. There was really no use in getting mad over it. “I never really… had official lessons, Pa said it was a waste of time.” Ford thought of the sunlit coast and the seasalt taste of the air in New Jersey but grimaced when it also brought to mind Pa’s stern stare and unimpressed glare, “And money.” He added, belatedly.

“Damn, Sixer, save some talent for the rest of us, will you?” Bill laughed, shifting closer towards Ford, his eye then narrowed at him in focus, “But now that you’ve mentioned it, I can kind of see it.”

“See it?” Ford tried to suppress the offended tone in his voice, it was irrational, completely illogical to feel that way, considering it is, on a factual extent, entirely uncontestable. 

“Yep, your form, your stance, it's all wrong.” Bill elaborated, a hand gesturing at Ford, a swiping gesture, top to bottom. 

“Wrong?” Yep, the offense in his tone was no longer concealed, there was really no stopping it once Ford had fully gotten into it. Bill had a way of getting under skin that was truly unparalleled. Bill, himself, perhaps sensing the offense in Ford’s tone, backoffed a bit, holding his hands up into the air like a sign of surrender. “Now, no need to get a complex about it there, Fordsy.” Bill laughed awkwardly, almost placating in its anxiety. “I can give you a lesson or two if you’d like.”

“What? Why?” Ford’s frown was immediate, the lines in his mouth deepening. It was not the first time Bill had offered to teach him something, and Ford suspected, if things continued on the way it was between them, that it was most certainly not going to be the last. Still, any offer from the polygon demon would forever be suspect in the eyes of Stanford Pines, no matter how small or innocuous it may be. 

“Hey hey,” Bill circled Ford with a look, almost as if realizing what the human had been worrying about in his mind, and attempting to distract him with his usual theatrics. “It’ll be on the house. Let’s just say I hate seeing so much talent go to waste, especially on limited lifespan meatsacks such as yourself.”

“Right.” Ford muttered, looking away from Cipher, though he was tempted to believe him.

“Hey no need to sound so sceptical there, IQ. It’s not like you’ll open a gate to the nightmare realm with a mortal instrument, no matter how well you may play it.” Bill paused and turned, his back pointing towards Ford, flat yellow bricks facing him. “You’d need to stuff at least ten pixie teeth in the keys first.” Bill muttered under his breath with a contemplative zeel. 

“What?” Ford asked, pretending that he didn’t hear what Bill said as it really would have taken too long to unpack all that. 

“Nothing! So what do you say?” Bill exclaimed with gusto, flying down to meet Ford face to face again, ruffling his hair.

“Well, I suppose a song or two wouldn’t hurt.” Ford shrugged. Perhaps, this could even take his mind off the melancholy he felt of his family. The useless sadness that gripped his chest of which he could do nothing about, not until Stanley brought the zodiac up here and sealed up Cipher with the enchantment. Though, somehow, even the thought of that failed to comfort him as much as it should. 

“Ah, that’s the Fordsy I know. Always rushing for some new knowledge! Well, don’t worry, your old pal Billy has got you covered. Now scooch to the side, Sixer, and let me work my magic.” Ford sighed and moved to the corner of the bench, leaving out more space for Cipher to move in and sit. And sit he did, and despite his small form and the large amount of space left on the bench, Bill still sat uncomfortably close to Ford, their thighs touching side by side.

Bill suddenly took Ford by the hand, four fingers, black gloves grip velvety soft against the scientist’s palm. Gently, with the delicate care that one would afford to a piece of expensive lab equipment or a precious ancient relic, he guided Ford’s hands into their proper place, adjusting each finger to fall appropriately onto the keys, paying extra attention to where the extra digit of Ford’s hands would land.

“C’mon, Sixer. Straighten up that posture, you’re playing an instrument, not writing your college thesis paper, no reason to coil your human spine like a snake.” Bill placed a hand on Ford’s lower back, putting light pressure atop of it until Ford straightened up from his slooching form. Ford could feel something burning up in his cheeks. How odd, he considered, do I have a fever?

Bill snapped his fingers and suddenly in front of the both of them was a musical sheet that was not there before, “This is an easy one, Sixer.” Bill hummed and snapped his fingers again and the ivory keys were all labeled with letters for their respective keys now. 

“Just follow the score, IQ. Music is just like science, it follows a set of boring rules. And luckily for you, Sixer, I’m the expert here on how to change them.” Bill bragged as he demonstrated with a flourish, dancing his hands with a fluid motion over the keys, switching between them seamlessly. Ford furrowed his brows, as Bill finished and nudged at him to repeat the previously shown motion. He took a quick note of the score sheet, memorising the gist of it, before staring at the keys. His finger pressed down on F, then another on D, then A and back. Slowly, he gathered a steady rhythm, mind working overtime to coordinate hand and eye. 

Bill was right in his assertion, in a way, playing an instrument was very much similar to a sort of science, to be more specific— it held similar principles as mixing up chemical reactions. Each key must be perfectly spaced out, and the duration must align exactly to form or you’d risk getting an entirely different result. That is to say, if there was one thing Stanford Pines was good at, it would be science. 

“You know, Sixer…” Bill trailed off, fingers pausing from the keys and pulling them off the piano entirely once Ford had seemed to get the hang of it. “What’s your verdict?”

“Hmm?” Ford gave an inquisitive hum, eyes still firmly plastered on the black and whites, the silence between them filled with the sharp tones of melodious instrumentals. Bill took a small glance over to stare at him, “About us?” He asked. “You said you’d think about it. And I know for a fact, your meatsack brain isn’t ever going to grow senile, so what is it?” 

Ford did not answer for a moment, yet the music still continued, too loud, too distracting. “I… Bill. I can’t.” Ford sighed.

“Can’t what?” Bill asked. “What can’t you do, Sixer?” 

“I can’t forgive you.” Ford muttered, and something in Bill cracked as he clenched his fists, “Why not!” Bill asked, though he knew that even by his standards he had no right to. Forgiveness was for weaklings and the Axolotl fanatics, of which Fordsy was neither. “What do I have to do, Fordsy? Huh? To say? What will it take to get you to realize that I only ever wanted to—”

“Bill!” Ford yelled, pausing Bill in his rampage. “Surely, you can see why? I am not free. I can’t make that decision in good faith and stand by it truely.”

Bill stared at him, something unreadable in his gaze, and Ford shuddered when he realized that was the same expression he had when he talked about how he ‘liberated’ his dimension. “I can’t let you go.” Bill stated, leaving no room for argument as he floated up. 

“Cipher.” Ford stated, matching Bill tone by tone. “I need you to listen to me.” And Bill froze at the request, pausing in his tracks.

“I can’t forgive you. Yet.” Ford admitted, though the words tried to choke him, “And I’m not tempted to because you haven’t done anything of true substance which makes you worth the years of torment which you inflicted.” Ford looked away, “And even if you did, that still wouldn’t make up for the fact that you’ve betrayed my trust. Use me so completely even as you lied to me.”

“So what?” Bill asked spinning around to stare down at Ford. “What can I do then? Give me one thing, Stanford Pines. One thing I can do to make it up to you.” 

“Let me see my family again.”

Chapter Text

“In your dreams, Sixer.” Bill responded, causing Ford to tense up like a taunt coil, ready to storm out at a moment’s notice. Bill, perhaps realizing the precarious situation he was in, quickly scrambled to elaborate, getting to the point at record speed. 

“I mean I can’t let my FAVOURITE pawn go running around in Gravity Falls, who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get in?” Bill did not say that he feared that once he let Fordsy go, the man would leave and not turn back. And why would he? All throughout his trillions of years making deals with humans, none of them were able to fulfill their deals without a little persuasion from him, bailing the moment they found out about his true nature. Why would this deal be any different? Bill never got anything he ever wanted without a little force. He was a being of chaos, forcing the fabric of the multiverse to bend to his will, because it never would have otherwise. But still, he wanted Fordsy to forgive him. As irrational and sentimental as that may be. Forgiveness was an idea that human therapists and the Axolotl peddled to sell solutions to a problem that never needed fixing. Revenge was hilarious and Bill could get his kicks off of humans ripping onto each other over scraps of misdeeds and miscommunication any time of the day. In fact, he often did. But somehow, the thought of Fordsy never forgiving him sent a pit dropping in his middle. The thought that he would never get back what they once were to one another, never bask in the warmth of Fordsy’s worship, hear his voice as he rambled openly about some new cryptid he discovered while Bill rested his form on his lap and picked up minutely on the sound of the genius’s heartbeat was somehow more horrific than anything else in the entire multiverse. Bill Cipher could take the Nightmare Realm collapsing, could take that his Weirdmaggedon was thwarted by two old men and their dumb nephew and niece. But this was the place he drew the line? Sweet Axolotl, He was so weak over Sixer, it would be hilarious if it wasn’t so paralysing.

“–but I’ll show you a spell that can link the dreams of the caster and their intended target together. That way it will be like your TRENDY phones, but without the poor connection and awful radio signals.”

“You… can do that?” Ford frowned, his brow furrowed, still expressing his uncertainty and Bill gave him a tiny finger gun, “Yeh bet yah, smart guy!”

“But why?” Ford questioned, “You’re going to let me see them? Just like that?” He crossed his arms together, “What’s your game here, Cipher?”

“Sheesh, so distrustful… C’mon Fordsy, I thought you wanted to make up,” Bill swung an arm around Ford’s shoulders, jostling him slightly off of the cushion, ‘And makeout.’

“Give me a chance to prove myself to you, Sixer? Please.” Bill slid a hand up to Ford’s hair then, gently ruffling it, and despite himself, Ford found that he was softening at that gesture and giving a slight sigh. He was really no damn better than those eyebats. How was he, after all this time, still falling for Cipher’s tricks. Sweet Moses, he hoped that he wasn’t growing soft on Bill Cipher of all beings, that would spell a level of humiliation for Ford which would have beaten the mortification he received when he discovered that Bill tattooed the words ‘Flirty Gal’ permanently in ink upon his lower back. He had burnt that polaroid promptly after, and never looked back, literally, ever again. Still, if there was the tiniest chance of Cipher being sincere, was Ford really willing to risk it? To give up on his chance of checking in on the twins? Between his love for Dipper and Mabel or his paranoia for everything Cipher, the option seemed obvious. Yet, there was another part of him, deep down, which knew that he was putting his trust in Bill to keep his word, to not trick him, not only because of his worry. He had promised that he would give Bill a chance, all those days ago. And that wish had been genuine, he wanted, Moses did he want it to be true– that Bill was capable of change, of reforment, that his life and his overall pursuits, however futile, was able to bring about one good thing to human kind. The possibility of stabilising and rehabilitating a threat, to have the monster care for him, to touch fire and not get burnt. It was the most addictive thrill in Stanford’s life. It was also, Stanford Pines thought, what kept him making these illogically ignoramus’ decisions over and over again. He took a deep breath, “Alright. Just show me what to do.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear that.” And with a snap of Bill’s fingers and a bright glow, a heavy black book lined with golden details appeared in the demon’s hands. 

“You’re not going to make me shake on it?” Ford asked, confusion laced within his tone as he stood up from his seat.

Flipping the book open, Bill ran his hand over the pages, “HA! No. I’m not going to make you shake on it, Sixer. Who do you think I am? A manipulative demonic creature hellbent on making every favor tilt into my favour?…Don’t answer that.” An ‘AHA’ was let out to indicate that he had found his desired page. “Here we are, now hold still, IQ. This might hurt a bit.”

“What?” Ford blanched back from Bill’s oncoming hand then, “I apologise, but I could have sworn you said the word-”

“Hurt.” Bill completed, cutting the scientist off before he could overthink and work himself up into a frenzy. “You’re going to be okay, brainiac. But I guess I should have phrased it better, huh?” He sighed and snapped the book shut. “It’ll be like getting poked with a needle, humans like needles right?”

Ford made a wry expression at that, “Not exactly.” After forty years, Bill Cipher’s grasp on human customs were still quite imprecise. At this point, he was beginning to think that the equilateral demon was acting like this on purpose rather than on any actual misconceptions on his part.  

“You’re going to be fine, Poindexter.” Bill stated, not unsympathetically. He placed a hand on Ford’s, another swerving from the demon’s sides to ruffle Ford’s hair again before tucking itself on the scientist’s shoulders, tenderly massaging it. “I promise, it won’t be anything your weak meatbag mortal body can’t handle.”

Ford sighed and slanted into the touch, hyperily aware that at that very moment, he was really no better than those eyebats. “Don’t you trust me, Stanford?” Bill asked softly, velvety fingertips rubbing circles into the knots of Ford’s tense shoulders. For a moment, Ford stared into Cipher’s intense gaze, at the expression, the shape of Bill’s eye which greeted him. All the moments of their shared past flooded him like a tidal wave, the laughs, the worship, the betrayal, and the pain. So much pain. Unending amounts of hurt, of ‘how could you' and ‘why was I ever such a fool to trust you’. He lowered his head, a barely noticeable jerk which could be interpreted as a nod, no words were given then, simply allowing Bill to see what he wanted to see. Bill’s light went dimmer for a moment, eye flickering all over Ford, trying to gauge the human’s thoughts before he finally floated away for a moment, cracking his knuckles and stretching.

“Good enough. Let's get this show on the road.” Bill picked up the book which was still levitating in mid-air and began to chant. Although there were only a few syllables which Stanford could make out, the powerful magic within was unmistakable, the ground shook beneath his boots, and the floor panels cracked, giving way to pure darkness. A blast of light shot out from Bill’s outstretched hand towards Ford’s head and he gasped as an invading sensation breached his mind, he could feel tiny tendrils swarm over his metal plate, condensing and diving within, suffocating in the way it filled up every crevice, plundering for entrance. 

“Hey, come on, IQ. I need you to work with me here.” Bill’s sharp piercing voice cut through the heavy fog which was, bit by bit, making Ford’s mind more groggy. The spell was not as painful as Ford envisioned, yet still, it felt unusual. So unlike the way Bill’s presence used to carve a space out in his mind, a warmth that lingered in the back of his head. No. The spell’s hold was cold, impersonal– as if someone was poking around in his skull with a metal scalpel and scraping up bloody residue from within. “Don’t fall asleep on me yet, Fordsy.” Bill gently propped up Ford’s falling head with one of his hands, summoning another to wrap around his waist, one more on his torso and another more to rub his back. “Or you’ll miss the show. Come on, stay with me, brainiac. It won’t work if you’re not awake.”

Ford’s leg grew weaker as he felt the tendrils snake around further in his mind, tugging at a weak spot which connected the metal plate to the far too mortal flesh of his brain, as if it was trying to pry it open, for a moment there was an unbearable pressure of force, but finally the tendrils backed off, as if realising they would not be able to break the defense, retreating within other parts instead. It took everything he had to not buckle his knees and fall onto the floor, and perhaps Bill, in all his foresight, realised that and he gently lifted Stanford up, placing him down on his back, laying on the nearby couch which was positioned in between two mahogany bookcases. Distantly, Ford’s glazed eyes lolled up, taking notice of the little triangles littering the side of the shelf, huffing his gaze moved back to observe Cipher.

“Knew it.” He muttered, causing Cipher’s side to be dusted a faint blue. “Yeah, yeah, shut it, smart guy.” He brushed a fallen strand of dark hair out of Ford’s face, “So what if I got a habit of voyeurism? Hmm? You should be used to that by now, Sixer. Not my fault you’re so fascinating to watch.” 

After a short moment of silence, apart from Ford’s periodic gasping filling the room, the tendrils finally slipped out of Ford’s mind, taking with it a bright blob of light. The blob was bolstered into Bill’s hand, the tendrils absorbed back into his form. Bill stared at the bright blob, holding it with a contemplative edge, tracing the circular perimeter. He cradled it gently with both hands then, conjuring a small bubble, and letting the bubble slowly float over and merge along with the blob. 

“See, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” Bill said, almost conversationally as he sized up the bubble with the spread of his hands. “Knew you could handle it, Sixer. You did so well, Fordsy.”

The praise, the soft tone, the confidence in Ford’s abilities struck a core within his heart, right in between the left and right ventricle, an arrow penetrating the weak chamber, in between the unprotected crevice of his armor, taking away his breath. It knocked him completely off balance, and it took all his willpower to stop the heat that was crawling up his face from manifesting into a deep flush of red. “What’s that?” Ford asked, a desperate attempt to distract himself from the growing realisation of how much he could still be affected by Bill’s words and actions, his praise and affection. 

“That’s a tiny pocket dream dimension, courtesy of me, brainiac.” Bill spun the bubble, revealing the symbols of the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel on Stanley’s Fez, the shooting star on Mabel’s sweater and the telltale symbol of a pine tree that hat Dipper used to own. “I took a filament of each of your memories with that precious family of yours, and reverse traced em’ back to their minds, forming a bridge that’ll take you directly into their unguarded fleshbag membranes.”

“All you gotta do is to step into this bubble.” Bill pushed the bubble gently towards Ford’s direction, “And I’m guessing you won’t need a reminder to not consume anything strange inside?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Cipher.” Ford murmured, his hand dipping into the bubble, six digits wiggling to feel the vacant space on the other side. “Anything else?”

Bill stared back at Ford, a tentative wariness behind his gaze, “Stay safe, Sixer.”

“You’re not coming with me?” Ford’s eyes jolted up in bewilderment, pulling out his hand like it had been scalded.

“Oh, please, Fordsy. Don’t look at me like I’ve stolen the last slice of infinite empanadas. We both know you don’t want me ruining this reunion for you, IQ.” Bill waved a hand and made a shoeing motion, looking away, his light dimming into a soft glow. “C’mon, go. Before I change my mind.”

Ford took a deep breath, as if preparing for a dive, he held it close to his chest, and made his first steps into the unknown.

In the attic of the Mystery Shack, a dim stream of moonlight spilled through the triangular window, crickets and the shifting of sheets were all that could be heard in the quiet night when all the world should be at peace. Normally, that, too, would be the case for the Pine twins, however today had not been any ordinary summer day, if there even could be one of those in Gravity Falls. 

Mabel had spent the entire day doing her best to recruit all the townsfolk and supernatural creatures in Gravity Falls to gather a raid on the newly summoned castle in the middle of the woods. Most of the forest creatures were indifferent to her pitch, see it as not part of their problem as Cipher’s return did not much in disrupting their lives, the gnomes as usual, wanted a queen in return for their services which was an immediate no go in her books and after what happened with those unicorns last summer, Mabel didn’t even bother trying them. The townsfolk might have been more receptive to the idea of storming the castle of the evil triangle that once took over and turned the place topsy-turvy, but it was more than once that Mabel had to chase a guy or two down the streets because before she even asked the question, they just spun heels and screamed, ‘Never mind all that!’ At least she has gotten half of the people in her list checked off already, though Mabel wasn’t sure how many people would constitute a successful raid against Bill Cipher of all demons. Last time, they had the entire town backing them up, eager and willing to give Bill an epic beatdown with a giant layer robot. This time, there was barely half of that, and they didn’t even know what Bill’s tricks were. And again, they had to work against incredible odds to try and save Grunkle Ford from Bill. Mabel should definitely start knitting a sweater for these kinds of situations if it was really going to turn into a habit or something.

What do people even bring to a demonic raid? Holy water? All they had was Dipper’s gatorade, which probably had the same effect on demons right? Well, she had packed some glitter in the bag to make sure, and a couple strands of unicorn hair which was left over in the second left drawer of Grunkle Ford’s desk were hastily pasted over her pink baseball bat with duct tape if only for insurance purposes, along with a few of her special batches of glitter stickers. Tomorrow, at dawn, will be when they’ll conduct the raid, Grunkle Stan said he’d be the one to provide the "Pitchforks & Torches™”. Mabel couldn’t help but wonder if he was just using that as an excuse to finally clear that junk out of the Shack’s storage, which admittedly worried her a little. Well, not a little. A whole hecking lot actually, but Mabel was trying to be diplomatic here, or whatever else kind of word Dipper would use to describe it. Yeah, she knew that Bill wasn’t something she should be afraid of, and that with Dipper by her side, they could beat against any odds with the power of teenage wisdom, glitter and all that childhood innocence that can push through any difficulty, big and small. But still, a part of her worried. The same nagging part of her that worried about high school popularity, the end of summer and whether or not she’ll be able to make new friends at her new school. The irrational part. The part that kept her up late, at nights like these, wondering if she made the right choice. If what she did was right. If it really was a good idea to pull Dipper away that night and not take Grunkle Ford with them when they had the chance and made a run for it, together. 

“Hey Dipper?” Mabel’s soft voice broke through the silent dark, causing Dipper to shift his prone position laying facing the wall in the bed and turn to the side facing his twin, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“You don’t think Bill is torturing Great Uncle Ford right now, is he?” Mabel muttered worriedly, and even without having to see her face, Dipper could tell that she was gnawing at her lip and twirling a strand of her hair with her left index finger. 

“I don’t know, man. We don’t really know what his motivations are, do we? Bill is just a total mystery. Who knows what that insane demon is thinking sometimes?” Dipper responded, staring up at the ceiling, “But I’m sure whatever that evil triangle is doing, the Author can definitely handle it.”

“Has Grunkle Ford ever told you what his past with Bill was?” Mabel asked, fidgeting with the hem of her scratchy sweater, “There just seemed to be a lot of bad blood between the two,” She looked up then, her brown eyes meeting Dipper’s. For a brief second, she seemed hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she should say what was stuck on her mind, then she added in a quick murmur, “and drama.”

“Mabel, come on, you can’t seriously think Bill took our Great Uncle captive because of their unresolved issues, right?” Dipper huffed, staring back at his sister, and watching the way she shifted in the other side of the room, tossing over the sheets and pacing around their shared bedroom. “This isn’t one of your fanfiction stories, Mabel.” 

“I know that, Dipper! But don’t you think it’s weird that Bill only took Grunkle Ford away with him and not us? If he really wanted to take over the town and rule over Gravity Falls again, wouldn’t neutralising as many great threats be the first best step towards that?” She finally sat back down onto the bed again, gathering a deep breath before letting out a sigh, “I just don’t get it.”

“You really think we’re one of his great threats?” Dipper asked, trying to lighten the mood, and Mabel shook her head with a smile flopping back down onto the mattress. “Yeah, I’d say we are, I mean we managed to give him such a hard time when we were only technically teens. We made him chase us around like a headless chicken, didn’t we?”

“We are pretty amazing.” Dipper laughed, “So don’t worry about it and go to bed, dummy. You’ll need all your strength saved up for the big day tomorrow. Can’t expect me to do all the punching with my weird nerd arms now, can you, Mabel?”

“Yeah, no, you're right, bro bro.” Mabel sighed and threw the covers over her form again. “Guess I’m just overthinking again. Sorry.”

“Hey, no worries man, that’s why I’m here.” Dipper shrugged then threw a pillow at Mabel, “Now go to sleep, will you?”

Mabel laughed and caught the pillow with one hand, throwing it back at Dipper, “Yeah okay. Goodnight, dummy.”

Dipper smiled, dodging the throw and letting the pillow fall anticlimactically with a thump back onto his bed, “Goodnight, dummy.”

When Ford next exhaled, he took in his foreign surroundings, observing the strange hue of pink, blue and red which swirled like smoky clouds, making the sky a disorienting sight. It was like the dream of his family had all been mixed matched together with no consideration for aesthetic, the worlds blending together with only a little gradient where the lands met. In front of him were three paths, each stretching into their respective worlds. A path of gold, on his right which went into a fancy and slick dark building, an obnoxiously large neon sign declaring it to be a casino, on par with one he would’ve seen on Lottocron Nine during his interdimensional travels; in the middle was a path of stone, the path fading out to dark dirt, leading to the tall pine trees and birches of the forest and mountains in Gravity Falls; Finally, there were steps of clouds, each one meticulously placed higher than the previous one, leading ultimately to a castle in the clouds. It did not take a genius to know which path corresponded to whom. Honestly, it was very much on the nose. Terrifyingly so. He moved forward then, considering his options. He wondered then how Stan was fairing in his absence, if it had dredged up memories of their shared past. Thirty years , Stanley spent to bring him back, and the significance of that had hit him like a freight train when he had finally got over old wounds and allowed himself some reflection. Three decades of life that neither of them would ever get back. And one decade of prior memories they never got to make with each other, all because of Ford’s hurt and a simple stupid accident which drove the crack which had already existed between the two brothers to become a cataclysmic chasm, only made worse by Pa’s decision to kick Stanley out. He wished deeply that he had not been so hurt that day– that he had said something, did something, to plead with Pa not to kick Stanley, seventeen with barely a dime to his name, out on the streets. The memory of Stanley’s hopeful face, looking up at him with one hand raised in the air, before the bitter betrayal and hurt willed him to shut the curtains, will forever be burnt into his memory. Stanford shook his head, attempting to shake away the deep ache of regret which rose in his chest, threatening to constrict around his heart and grip onto it like a vice. He was here to check on the state of his family, not dwell on past regrets, though mostly because there were too many of those to count if he were to be pedantic. 

His boots tentatively stepped onto the golden pathway, and when he reached the tall building, a six-fingered hand shot out, gripping the stainless steel handle and pushing through the revolving doorway. Entering the casino, fully expecting to be greeted with carpeted floors and neon slot machines. The first thing he registered in his senses was the noise, panting and loud shouting. That in and of itself was not surprising, what was surprising however, was the source of the noise: a giant, no humongous roulette wheel placed at the center of the room. It was emitting a rhythmic clicking noise, presumably the noise of a ping pong ball falling and bouncing over several compartments while the wheel was in motion. Ford had not yet peered into the contents inside, and already he felt uneasy. It was not completely out of left field that his twin would have a dream about gambling in a casino– 85% of adults in America have gambled at least once in their lives, and 26% of that statistic were simply Stanley under a different alias. Point is, Stan had a habit of placing bets and playing with strong odds that was infamously clear ever since their childhoods. However, the way that this dream presented this habit was… strange, to say the least. Further analysis was needed, and so, Ford stepped closer to the wheel and peered over the edge.

“Stanley?” He gasped, hands grasping on the ledge to pull him up top, trying for a better look as he saw his twin running for his life trapped at the edges of the whirling wheel, trying to avoid getting crashed by the ball and holding in his arms the Perpetual Motion Machine he had built all those long decades ago. “Pointdexter! Is that you?” Stanley’s head shot up at the sound of his name being called, his gaze landing upon him, Ford noted then how horrible he looked, ragged and desperate, out of breath as he nearly avoided being crushed by the huge white ball. 

“Yes, Stanley.” Ford raised his voice, trying to make sure he would be heard over the loud noise of the circling wheel, “Come over here so I can pull you out.” He offered, his hand outstretched towards Stanley as he balanced himself better on the wheel’s rim, boots centered in the middle as he crouched and leaned over, ensuring that his arm could be gripped onto by Stan if he would only reach out. Stanley stared at his arm for a moment, he nudged the machine into one arm, his free hand darting over to grab on to Ford’s, but unable to keep a good grip as he could only use one hand to maintain perches. “Forget the machine.” Ford yelled, frantic now, as the ball grew closer towards Stan, his other hand coming to pull at Stanley, and trying to lift him up and over with all the strength his upper body would allow. 

“No, I can’t.” Stanley shook his head, his eyes wide, as he looked down conflicted at that stupid science fair project Ford had poured his heart and soul into once. But Ford had poured his heart and soul into many of his projects in the past, and if there was one thing he had realised after all these years spent recklessly pouring his heart out, project after project. None of them should be worth hurting his family over, especially not Stanley. Even in his dreams. “You’ll leave me.” Stanley choked out, voice strained.

“I won’t.” Ford promised, “There’s nothing in the world that would make me leave you again, Stanley. Please, trust me on this. Let the machine go.”

Stanley swallowed, lessening his grip on the science fair project, and finally he dropped it down to the ground and used his newly freed hand to gain a better grip on Ford’s arms and Ford immediately used the newly found strength to his advantage, pulling Stanley out with all his might, gaze pointedly avoiding the machine which was disassembling its parts before him with each spin and bounce. The momentum pulled both brothers over however, when Stanford pulled Stanley upwards, and the two of them crashed into the, thankfully carpeted, ground with a loud thud. Stanley let out a small groan, rubbing his back with a palm as he glanced over at Ford in a small confused expression, “Sixer?”

“Yes, Stanley?” Ford muttered, nursing his own bruise with a grunt, trying to soothe his side, which he had landed on with a massaging hand.

Stanley went silent, then shook his head, “Nothing.”

“I’m sorry.” Ford blurted out, suddenly, unprompted. “I should have said something that day Pa kicked you out. I’m so sorry, Stanley.”

“Geez, now I know I’ve got to be dreaming.” Stanley muttered, causing Ford to frown. Did his brother truly think that he was incapable of admitting to his own faults? “Stanford, there’s nothing to apologise for, yah were a kid. We both know Pa wouldn’t have listened to yah, even if yah promised him a million bucks.”

Ford’s eyes widened at that, his hand shooting up to adjust his frames, “What?”

“I said, there’s no need to apologise–”

“No, no, Stanley. I got that part.” Ford swallowed, the words stuck as an insurmountable amount of gratitude flooded his chest. “It’s just that… I should have still tried.” 

“Sure. And I should have told you that I accidentally messed up something in your project the night before instead of covering it up and pretending nothing was wrong.” Stanley got up, brushing off the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “But we were both dumb teens back then, weren’t we?”

“Yes. Yes, we were.” Ford laughed, taking Stanley’s proffered hand up to brace himself up. “Fools.”

“Yeah, yeah, absolute ignoramuses, the both of us. Guess we’re still two peas in the same damn stubborn pod.” Stanley sighed, “When did we become old men, Sixer?”

Ford didn’t have an answer, he had come here in hopes of checking in on his family, instead, he was greeted with wounds that had not yet been healed and a conversation he had never thought he’d had with the person he had hurt and loved most deeply in equal measures. No amount of apologising would bring back the years that they had both lost. But they still had the present, didn't they? Well, mostly, they had the present, barring the fact that Cipher was keeping Ford semi-hostage in–

His thoughts came to a halt when he felt Stanley wrap him up in a quick hug.

“We’re going to bring you back, Ford.” Stanley declared determinedly, “Wait for me.” 

Ford blinked down at Stanley, then awkwardly, he placed an arm around his brother’s shoulder. It was not often that he was hugged and even less so by Stanley. For a moment, he let himself enjoy the warmth, closing his eyes, and letting out a small breath, “I will.”

The world around them faded to white, and when Ford fluttered his eyes back open, he saw the crossing pathways again, teleported back to where he started, but this time the path leading towards Stanley’s dream was no longer there. 

He supposed that this realm must have deemed his reunion with Stanley to be fulfilled and sent him back here so that he could continue on his journey. He moved to his left, climbing the steps of clouds, and entering the castle in the sky, pushing open the massive ornate door with considerable strength. Instead of the fancy interior he expected to see, there was a hedge maze and an open sky. He frowned, “Mabel?” He called out, hoping that his voice would be able to reach her, though he normally loved puzzles, he had a feeling that a maze made by his grandniece would make as much sense as a swiss cheese with no holes, and he preferred to be able to check if she was okay as soon as possible.

“Mabel?” He called again, waiting for a moment for an answer.

No luck. He sighed and he finally began to move into the maze. No worries, he could always just– Ford spun around and he was greeted by a three headed unicorn beast like creature, charging at him with all the force of a bull in a fighting ring. He ducked out of the way and once again asked himself why he thought trusting Bill in this manner would be a good idea.

At the very least he would see his niece very soon, that is if he could find her in this labyrinth-like constructed dream, of course.

Ford searched his hip, the place where he holstered his gun, pulling it out to shoot at the terrifying, anatomically impossible creature. However, he gave up when he realised that each shot seemed to serve to aggravate the creature further, increasing its speed. Moving deeper into the maze as the monster gave chase, seeing a bright light on his left, he took a swift turn and was greeted with a clearing which seemed to be ripped straight out of Gravity Fall’s forests, in the middle, sat the familiar figure of his nephew, back leaning against a log and gaze shooting up when he was interrupted to meet Ford’s.

“Grunkle Ford!” Dipper stood up, placing his book down onto the forest grounds and darted up to stare at Ford. “You’re here!”

“Yes, I am. It’s very nice to see you too, my boy.” Ford smiled softly, patting the boy gently on his head, when he rushed over to hug him. He was still unsure whether or not this was the real Dipper or not, but perhaps his guess of whose dream path was who was incorrect. “I’m so sorry for leaving you there with Bill.” Dipper muttered, causing Ford’s gestures to falter slightly.

“It’s not your fault, Dipper.” Ford sighed, realising the true extent of how his decision to stay with Cipher was affecting the ones around him. “None of it was. I overestimated my abilities, and was the one to put all of us in danger. Cipher is a cunning beast and he forced all of our hands then. I was simply doing my duty, as you and your sister’s guardian, to protect you. There’s no need to feel guilty for the decisions I made.”

“That doesn’t matter, Great Uncle Ford.” Dipper pulled away to stare at Ford, “We’re going to bring you back, alright? We’re going to bring you back, and we’re going to kill that demon once and for all.”

“It’s a nice thought, my boy, but I don’t see how–”

Dipper interrupted Ford before he could finish his sentence, something that he rarely did. “The town, we’re going to raid that castle together and get you out of there. And we’ll kill Bill too.” 

Ford kept quiet, letting his brain have time to process the information which was given to him. “There’s no need for that…” He swallowed, “We could simply seal him off, like I told Stanley–”

“No! No, Grunkle Ford, we can’t. As long as that demon is alive, he’ll be a threat to all of us. We can’t let him trick any other person, remember? You promised!”

“I did.” Ford nodded, adjusting the strap on his chest, “But perhaps I was too hasty in my judgement. Cipher… he is not as irredeemable as I once thought.”

Dipper’s jaw dropped and he gave Ford a disbelieving expression, he began to pace, “This is all wrong, do you even hear yourself right now! Are we talking about the same Cipher here? He’s a triangle, wears a top hat, you know? THAT Cipher.”

“I do believe we are on the same page about which Bill we are speaking of.” Ford fidgeted awkwardly with the collar of his red turtleneck, “It’s just that… perhaps that Bill should be given…”

He paused, his eyes widening when he realised what he was about to say.

“A second chance?!” Dipper finished for him, his voice cracking. “Why on earth would you want to give Bill Cipher, of all beings, a second chance?”

Ford thought of Stanley then, of the way he so easily forgave him despite all the hurt that he had caused his brother, that they had caused each other. Stan had given him a second chance. Though he arguably did not deserve it, and he had returned the favour also. Because he wanted to. There was no being in the multiverse which would argue that Bill deserved a second chance, no being at all, who would plead with Ford to consider offering Cipher one. But he found himself wanting to anyway. Bill Cipher of all creatures in the multiverse did not deserve to have a second chance. Yet, if all the beings of the multiverse got what they deserved: He would never have returned home; would never have met Dipper or Mabel; would never have lived to see Cipher again, crushed under the dangers of his travels. 

He found himself wanting to extend the same good will to Cipher now, however undeserving. He did not want to see Bill harmed or most likely killed in the raid that was coming tomorrow. He was not a fool, he had noticed how Bill’s powers were dwindling, or at least how he could no longer heal his flesh. One lucky shot, and Cipher would be gone. Alone, he was no match for Cipher, he had once, early on, contemplated shooting Bill with the concentrated blast of his gun, however he knew that Bill most likely would dodge it with a careful teleportation and punish Stanford after. However, with Gravity Fall’s townsfolk joining hands, the odds have significantly risen. Bill did not seem to hold a wish to go out of the confines of the castle, perhaps his powers were even more weak outside. That would mean Cipher would be trapped, forced to battle it out in tight quarters, and easily defeated when surrounded and without places to hide.

And Ford found that he really didn’t want that to happen. Not after all the progress they’ve made.

“You know what! You’re not Grunkle Ford are you? You’re just my dumb insecure teenage mind playing a stupid trick on me.” Dipper huffed and went back to his original spot to sit down, Ford wanted to walk over, but his movements halted when he figured he should give the boy some space. 

“Like or not,” Dipper crossed his arms, yelling to the sky, “You’re not winning me over with the Author, Subconscious! I’m not going to back out of this raid like a chicken!”

Those final words echoed in Stanford’s ears as the world around them faded to white.

Chapter Text

“Wait, Dipper, listen to me I–” The white in Ford’s vision faded out and the only thing left in his view was the crossroads again, the two other pathways have long disappeared, leaving the forest in the middle of the road, appearing darker and more ominous than before. Ford looked ahead, shaking away the blots that appeared behind his lids. “Sh– Science damn it.” Ford stifled a curse, a habit from being around the kids, and a dogged refusal to break the self-imposed challenge of being the first one between Stanley and him to accidentally slip up in front of them. Not that it matters here, but he didn’t know exactly how this realm worked. Perhaps his mind was still linked with Dipper and Mabel, or just Mabel now, considering... Ford kicked the ground with a boot, the pressure dug into the dirt and pressed a new groove into the floor. Unsurprisingly, that did not make him feel better, mindless violence never did, it only seemed to remind him of Pa. Nonetheless, that didn’t exactly fix the predicament he was in, and he was at a loss in how to proceed. His mind was still reeling from the declaration from Dipper, and he was unable to concentrate on a single thing, despite trying his best to think of a proper solution. Focus, focus– Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium… Ford’s breath bit by bit began to calm down, his mind yanked from its racing thoughts, sinking into a semi-meditation, as he paced through the open space, the tail of his trench coat trailing behind him. 

What were his options? He could warn Bill of the impending attack, though the action of telling on his family rankled his sensibilities like nails against a chalkboard. Come on– Or, Ford’s movements paused in the next step, and he circled back, his hands from his back held less tightly against his body as his shoulders slumped back into its natural position. He could go and see if Mabel would listen to him, try to convince her the best he could with the remaining cards he had left in his disposal and pray to everything good and holy that exists within the vast multiverse that Mabel, sweet girl that she was, would listen and call off the raid on his behalf. He took a step forward towards the dark forest and paused, now or never, he urged himself, he had to see this through. Bill couldn’t have his second chance if his triangular body was pierced on some random Gravity Fall town folk’s pitchfork, no matter how much the demon may deserve it. That would be humiliating, for both Bill and him, considering how much time he spent trying to defeat that dream demon. 

‘And now look at you,’ His mind retorted in a suspiciously Stanley sounding voice, ‘Playing devil’s advocate for the guy who took a joyride with your sorry a–’

“That’s enough.” Ford groaned with a sonorant acclamation into the empty air, and felt decidedly foolish when the words left his mouth. Reflexes, he supposed, from spending so much time with only voices he could hear: Case in point, Bill, who went in and out of his mind as he pleased during the latter years of his research in Gravity Falls. Even now, he sometimes had a hard time differentiating between his internal dialogue and Cipher’s antics when his mind was too distracted or stuck in a whirlwind of crazed thoughts. He pressed forward into the pathway, carefully ducking beneath low hanging branches and using a hand to brush away any foliage that came into his path.

At first glance, the forest did resemble the Gravity Falls he knew quite a lot. However, years of exploring these exact forests has left him the innate sense of when the details of it were wrong or misplaced. The fungi here was sparse and the size of them were shrunk down from the length of his index to one of his pinkie, when normally there would be an abundance of them growing in all shapes and sizes around the roots of pine trees that poked out from the ground along with moss and other microorganisms that could be seen with the naked eye. However, this rendition of Gravity Fall’s was more clean, Ford opted for as it was the only way to describe it, it was more sanitised and palatable as if seen through the lens of childhood, which Ford supposed he was doing so right now. Moses knows if his own dreams could be entered by someone other than Bill, his version of 50’s Glass Shard Beach would certainly seem a whole lot different than the sunburnt, polluted mess that everyone else described it as. Sunlit days along the coasted shore, the warmth of the sun caught between his teeth as the sound of laughter trailed behind him like a birdsong. Ford sighed and shook his head, focus, he reminded himself again. He was finding himself more and more getting into the habit of reminiscing about the past, Cipher, his brother and now this? What’s next? Actually looking inwards and sorting out his deep seated trust issues that still lingered because of the decades of paranoia that fueled him to push forward and avoid the danger of getting caught by Bill during the years he spent hopping through dimension after dimension in the portal? ‘Seek Therapy’ as that student counsellor suggested in Backupsmore? Please, if there was one thing Bill Cipher ever got right, it would be how laughable that idea would have been. He was fine– he had his family to support him, his relationship with Stanley was on the right track and he was slowly making it up to Fiddleford for the Portal Project. His relationship with Cipher… Well, that was a work in progress, but nobody said it would be easy to do whatever it was he thinks he’s doing by making the attempt to protect Cipher from getting what he deserved. Maybe there was something to be said about how eager he was to give Bill a second chance the moment the demon showed a modicum of good will, but Ford was choosing not to analyse that part of him right now.

Ford stopped when he finally reached an enchanted looking clearing, ducking beneath the overgrown vines which curled around tree branches, hung low enough to block a clear path ahead, carefully he avoided stepping on any of the white flowers as they were in abundance around him. “Mabel?” He called out, more hesitant this time than he had done before, certainly if there was a place he thought his grandniece would be, an enchanted clearing would be a great start. All of a sudden, he felt something crashing into him from behind, and he stumbled forward, one boot planted in front of him from the force, and a loud scream invaded his ears.

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel’s familiar cheerful voice exclaimed in his ears as Ford blinked down, caught completely by surprise. “Mabel. It’s you.”

“Of course, it’s me! Who else would it be?” Mabel laughed, and the world around them seemed to grow brighter, as if her emotions were able to shift the landscape which surrounded them, which Ford would hazard a guess that would be feasible considering the dream they were in. “Mabel, listen to me very carefully.” He knelt down in front of her so that they were on eye level, putting one hand on her shoulder, ignoring the confusion which spread on her face when she heard his serious tone. “I’ve come to visit you in this dream.”

“Woah, you can do that now?” Mabel giggled, “I could have sworn I didn’t take any Smile Dip before I went to bed.”

“No, no, Mabel, it’s actually me.” Ford reassured, “Bill-”

“Ugh,” Mabel let out a soft groan, running a hand over her face, “We are sooo not talking about Bill right now! That demon is literally the worst thing to exist after unicorns! He took you away, like– ‘Girl, get a grip’!”

Ford frowned, his eyes blinking rapidly at the last expression, and the aura of annoyance that Mabel showed at the slightest mention of the dream demon’s name, which was fair enough. Ford would be a hypocrite if he said he himself did not feel a bubbling sense of annoyance everytime Bill Cipher was around, though the feeling was dissipating more and more lately, in spite of himself. 

“If you are Grunkle Ford, and not something my mind made up because of stress or Bill trying to mess with my head,” Mabel tapped her chin, her eyes narrowing in slight suspicion, as she took a step back, “Tell me something only he would know.”

Ford smiled at that. Smart girl, he thought, as a soft sense of pride rose up in his chest, if only he had her instincts when he was younger, “The ocean produces most of the oxygen on Earth, roughly half–”

“Alright, alright! You’ve convinced me with your nerd talk, Professor.” Mabel covered her ears, reminding him very much of Stanley at that moment, as she lowered her hands and gave Ford a small beam, “Grunkle Ford? How did you do this? Did you get away from Bill?”

“I’m afraid it’s quite the opposite.” Ford sighed, and Mabel tilted her head at him, prompting him to elaborate further on his meaning, “Bill has granted me a brief moment of visit, so that I could see for myself if everyone was okay. Technically, my physical body must be still asleep right now, somewhere near Cipher.”

“...Are you okay?” Mabel asked, fidgeting with the hem of her pink sweater, the shooting star centerpiece creasing slightly from the action, “That horrible demon isn’t doing anything awful to you is he– what am I saying, of course he is! Don’t worry, Great Uncle Ford, Dipper and I, we’ve–”

“Founded a rescue team for me which will conduct a raid tomorrow. Yes, I’ve heard about that.” Ford let out a soft cough in his fist as he steeled himself for the coming statement he was going to make, “While I am grateful for your aid, Mabel. I must request you to…” Ford made a spinning gesture with his hand as he attempted to think of the proper term to not make Mabel think he had lost his mind and or was tortured by Bill to the point of insanity, “Temporarily hold it off for now. Put it on pause, as one would say.” 

Mabel went silent for a moment and narrowed her eyes at him again. “Bill?” She called out suddenly and it took Ford a couple of seconds to get what she meant. She thought that he was Bill Cipher, thought that Bill had invaded her dreams, sent a vision of himself warning her not to proceed with the raid tomorrow. Indeed, that would certainly make more sense than him actually telling her that, especially after what they were all put through at the hands of Cipher. 

“No–” Ford attempted, trying to stir the conversation back on track only to be greeted by Mabel’s scrutinising glare, sending a pang straight through his heart. 

“Save it, you demon! I know what game you’re playing and I’m not falling for it, bucko.” Mabel huffed and a crossbow appeared in her hands, she was holding it the wrong way, but Ford had no doubt she knew how to use it. Possibly. Children in this universe knew how to handle weapons, right? Ford shook his head at the irrelevant line of thought. The sight before him was causing Ford to feel a strange mix of pride and chagrin, it was like having Dipper pointing the memory gun at him again, he didn’t like that his niece thought that she was in danger against him, of course. But he was still proud that she was taking the proper precautions to protect herself in the case that it was really Cipher and not him. 

Yet, before he could say another word in edgewise, the world around them flashed to white again, and Ford knew he had run out of time.

“So, is everybody ready? Got your pitchforks and everything?” Dipper walked around the front yard of the Mystery Shack, clipboard in hand and checking off the list of the names of the people walked by– Candy and Grenda, check. Tad Strange, check. Fiddleford McGucket– a huge stomp shook the ground around them, making everyone stumble on their feet for a moment as they all had to grip onto something for perches or risk falling to the ground. A gargantuan robot the size of a skyscraper burst forth from the forest, and once it stopped in front of Dipper, McGucket scurried from the dome like top and climbed with an impressively smooth motion to the ground, leaping down from the robot’s knees, landing in front of Dipper.

“Guess that means I can mark you down for ‘present’ then.” Dipper joked, pointing his pen at the Engineer, then at the robot behind him, “Impressive work.”

“Eh, it ain’t nothing.” Fiddleford laughed, pressing a hand against the sleek surface of the metal foot of the robot. Reinforced steel, if Dipper were to take a guess. “How are you supposed to store this thing once it’s all over?” He thought out loud, thumb clicking repeatedly at the top of his pen when Mabel burst out the front door of the Mystery Shack, “Dipper, what happened do we have an earthquake? Is the world ending?”

“Nope.” Dipper popped the ‘P’ with emphasis, smiling at his sister being awake, “You finally woke up from your sleep huh? Could have sworn you were stuck in a coma back there.” He teased, as Mabel rubbed the crust from her eyes with a hand and straightened out her crumpled up sweater. “Oh, you wish!” She laughed, “I wouldn’t have just left you with all the action, totally not my style.”

“Right… well, while you were having your beauty sleep. I’ve taken the liberty of checking attendance,” Dipper handed over the clipboard to Mabel, as a small yawn was let out from his lips. 

“Didn’t sleep well?” Mabel frowned, “It’s not those nightmares about…” She stared at him intently, shooting a note of concern across their twin telepathy link. Dipper shook his head and sighed, “Nope, I just had this really strange dream, is all.”

“What kind of strange dream?” Mabel asked, voice curious, but there was also a hint of something else in her tone, something that Dipper couldn’t quite place. Inquisitiveness, maybe. God knows his sister could be nosy at the best of times. “It’s nothing to worry about.” Dipper reassured, gesturing with the pen again as he attempted to find an explanation that would satisfy Mabel and not have to let her in about that stupid dream he had about their Grunkle forgiving Bill Cipher of all things. “It was just the normal kind of weird that’s all, like meeting the gnomes level kind of weird.” 

Mabel frowned for a moment at the vagueness of Dipper’s statement, then she shrugged and let out a soft sigh, “If you say so, bro bro.” Dipper stared at his sister’s dejected expression for a moment and a soft grimace raised to his lips, as he looked around, trying to figure out something that would get him out of this situation. 

“Look, I’m going in to grab something to eat. Do you guys want anything?” Dipper gestured towards his back at the Mystery Shack, where Stan was probably still sleeping. That would probably work, right? Now that he thought about it, neither he or his sister has had their breakfast yet, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day after all. And the promise of good food always cheered Mabel up. 

Mabel smiled, “Get me a chocolate bar.” Dipper rolled his eyes, “Mabel, you know mom said you’re not allowed to have chocolate for breakfast–”

“Chocolate.” Mabel surged forward to grab Dipper by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth, “I need my sugar!”

“Alright, alright, geez.” Dipper extracted himself, carefully ascending the steps on the porch as one of the panels fell through after the ground shook, “Do you want anything, Fiddleford?”

“Why I reckon I’d like a chocolate bar as well.” Fiddleford replied, causing Dipper to groan, “Don’t encourage her.” Only making Mabel’s victorious trail of laughter grow louder, and he could hear it muffled through the door despite already being inside.

Ford woke up in a cold sweat, perspiration beading at his brows as he stared up at the dimly lit ceiling above him, feeling decidedly caged in by the mix of dark red bricks that reminded him of dried blood, the flames creating a dizzying pattern on the edges of the square which haggarded his already strained vision. Bill popped in next to him, staring at him with concern etched in his eye, brow furrowed low, he reached a hand out and placed it on Ford’s shoulder, the heat of it almost scaldingly seeping through his layers, “Fordsy? Are you–”

“I’ve got to go.” He managed to rasp out, his throat strained with a mix of dryness and built up bile which burnt at the base of it, threatening to rise if the scientist even breathed in air in slightly the wrong way.

“Don’t give me that, Ford.” Bill’s hands shot up, gripping Ford’s cheeks and squeezing them together with surprising strength. “Tell me what happened. Are those fleshbags in danger?”

“No, Bill.” Ford’s protesting words came out muffled because of his squished cheeks, and he squirmed, his eyes narrowing in an annoyed glare that held no real heat in it, mostly, he just felt irritated and frantic, like his nerves had been flayed into a million different pieces from his trip to the dreamscape. “But they are coming.”

“Coming? Where?” Bill’s echoey voice held a note of confusion within, the glow which illuminated the sides of his body was blinking like a broken lightbulb, Ford sighed.

“They’re going to raid the castle, Bill. I’ve got to go and stop them.” Ford stated resolutely, placing one foot on to the ground despite every aching muscle in his body warning him that he must stay put, he ignored them the best he could, focused single mindedly on his mission. But when he placed his other foot forward, he felt the ground give in before him and he stumbled, almost hitting the carpeted floor face first if it wasn’t for the demon’s arms shooting forward, wrapping themselves around his body like sinewy rope and pulling him back onto the couch. “Hey, calm down, Sixer. What are you saying?” Bill entered back into his vision again, blocking him from making another rash decision like standing up while he still had a headache the size of Jupiter mounting at the back of his skull. “They’re gathering a crowd outside, Bill. To kill you.”

“What?” Bill’s eye widened and his arms drew back into himself, with him wiggling his fingers slightly as if to test his ability to still use them after the show of flexibility, “Kill me?” He scoffed, “Oh, please, as if those fleshbag mortals even stand a chance against me! Don’t get that pretty brain into a silly straw, Fordsy. The most they can do is give me a light tickle.”

“Your leg, it’s still not healed.” Ford reminded, voice softer now with a hint of worry laced in the tone, “How long has that bandage been on you now?”

“I dunno’ a couple of weeks tops?” Bill rolled his eye, tracing a light circle in the air with his injured foot, “It’s not like I have to use them, I float around all the time.” He tried to keep a nonchalant attitude, but deep down he knew that he held the same fears that Fordsy was suggesting about his powers right now. The truth was, he didn’t know how long he would hold out, if he was still immortal or if the deal with the Axolotl had taken more from him than he had originally suspected. Each day he spent with the gash on his leg was a gnawing reminder of his own ability to hurt, to bleed, to Axolotl-Forbid die . And this time there will be no reset button, no reversal spell to make it all okay, and no Sixer at the end of the tunnel greeting him for another round of their dance. He would be dead, another spec of stardust in the infinite spiraling, meaningless, cosmos that dumb meatbags and mortals like Stanford called a Galaxy, turning into the very thing he had once burnt his entire home dimension to show the beauty of. Don’t think about it. He warned himself, though he knew there was nothing to think about. Ha, literally! He had burnt them all, disassembled their molecules until none of them ever had truly existed, liberated them from their meaningless lives, even as… even as– His spiralling thoughts were cut off by Stanford’s voice.

“That’s not the point, Bill.” Ford glared, hands clenching into the give of the cushions below him, forming white knuckled fists. “You know as well as I do that,” He pointed at the injury on Bill’s leg, the wound that still remained despite the time that had passed since it was inflicted. Ford had known Bill Cipher for a very long time, for most of his life in fact, and for all the time spent with the demon, both as his puppet and as the demon’s sworn enemy, he had never seen an injury last this long on the other’s form before. “That is not normal.”

“Right, so what? Since when did you care about the natural order of things so much? Huh, Six-Fingers?” Bill crossed his arms petulantly over his bowtie, eye turning a faint shade of red as he attempted to suppress his defensiveness. However, he was not doing as good of a job as he would hope because Ford still pursed his lips at him, blinking incredulously at his hovering figure. He tried to calm himself down, to recall the methods he had observed these one lifespan meatsuits used to enact to calm their piling brain down. It was always easy to calm Sixer down, his mind offered uselessly, pull on his dopamine receptors, clamp down the signals sent from the amygdala in the medial temporal lobe, lower the cortisol and adrenaline which coursed through Stanford like sweet nectar. Dream demons had no use for that kind of information, and it was even more useless to him now than it was back then ever since Ford stuck a metal plate in his head, denying Bill access to his mind as well as his heart. But Bill had it kept tucked neatly into his exoskeleton anyways, for some incomprehensible reason. 

“Bill, you’re being purposefully obtuse.” Ford accused, causing Bill to bark out a sharp laugh in response, “Big words from a genius who–”

“Don’t.” Ford warned, interjecting before Bill said something they would both regret, he was tired of dancing around the subject, tired of letting Bill throw out insults like daggers whenever he felt even slightly threatened by an interaction between them. “I’m trying to protect you. Even if you’re too blind to see it.”

“I’m the all seeing eye, Ford. I see everything, it’s in the job description. I’m on the backs of dollar bills all around America, kid. I’ve seen you fleshbags’ civilisation rise and fall. Saying I’m blind would be like telling Elvis Presley he doesn’t know how to sing!” Bill retorted, words sharp and biting, as he grew three times his current size, twisting monstrously into a deep red eldritch being with all too many limbs, his form looming over Stanford as he slammed one hand onto the ground next to Ford, cracks forming and spreading underneath it because of the force. “What I don’t know is why you’re so insistent on leaving me now, Fordsy! We’ve made a deal and this whole trying to ‘save’ me thing is starting to look more and more like an excuse to escape and get away from me.”

“It’s not!” Ford yelled back, raising his voice so he could be heard over the show of Bill’s dominance. “I’m not trying to escape, Bill. I’m telling the truth, can’t you see that? You have to let me leave.” He paused, swallowing though it pained his throat to do so, something, anything. What would convince Bill to let him go? Was there anything he could do to prevent Bill from inching closer and closer to his ultimate defeat before it was too late? Never before has he ever felt so helpless, at least there was a plan back then when he was trapped between dimensions, always something to work towards, no matter what happened; like there was something to look forward to despite those weeks spent underneath Bill’s thumb, sleep deprived and trying to prevent him from opening the portal to the world’s destruction. It seemed to him that all his life, in his darkest moments, at least, there was some kind of light ahead, a north star showing him where to go. Not now. Softly, Ford looked away, trying to find the words which all seemed to stuck in his throat, refusing to be voiced, “Please.” He let out finally.

“What?” Bill paused, blinking at Ford. “Please.” Ford repeated, louder now, “Let me leave, Bill. Please.” 

“I–” Bill seemed to be lost for words for a moment, his form deflating and returning back to its normal size, “Don’t do that, Fordsy.” He pleaded, “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Ford breathed, “We have a deal, I’m not going to go back on it.”

“It’s not that.” Bill denied, though even he knew how fake that sounded. It was, admittedly, partly because of that. But there was something more also, he was scared. Scared that Fordsy would leave, yes, but also scared that Fordsy would finally come to his senses once he stepped out of this small bubble of domesticity he had created for them. That Ford, too, would see that Bill was fundamentally incapable of change, that he would still be the monster he knew he was, that Ford thought he was. But what was the alternative option here? To keep Ford here? Against his will? He didn’t care about that before, didn’t even give it a second thought, as he basically twisted Ford’s hand into a deal with him. He had thought at that time that it would be the most obvious solution to the Axolotl’s challenge, that regaining his powers would be a breeze. But he had miscalculated, his foresight was useless in the face of his greatest enemy– his own emotions. Something in him rebelled against the idea of keeping Sixer here against his own will now, now that Ford was pleading with him so desperately to leave. Never had he heard Stanford Pines beg anything from him before, not once since their relationship became… tenuous has he heard the human direct a word of plea towards him. He had heard the human’s screams before, had heard him cry out in pain, but this was different. More desperate. And even everything that happened between them, Bill can’t bring himself to cross this one last line. It went against his entire nature, yes, but what was nature if not something to be broken?

“Then let me leave.” Ford said, one last time, gauging Bill’s reaction closely with an intent gaze.

Bill stared down at Ford with a blank expression, he thought about Euclydia, of burning fires and the torment that seemed never ending. He thought about static, of the multiverse of choices he never made. He could stand his ground, tie Sixer up, refuse him access to the door, a snap of his fingers. Barely using a morsel from his reservoir of power. But what would be the point? It wouldn’t help him accomplish his challenge, nor would it make him feel any better when Sixer inevitably writhed and spat vitriol at him. It would do nothing but split the chasm between them even further, push Sixer further away from him than he already had before. 

“...Alright.” Bill breathed out, “Go.”

Chapter Text

“What?” Ford let out hoarsely, the single syllable word falling from his lips, leaking of confusion and poorly disguised hope. Hope that was born from desperation, hope in the absence of all hope. Yet here Bill stood, willing to let him go, and Ford didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, never have, but after everything that he has gone through– It was difficult enough to trust his family these days, much less Bill Cipher. But Bill remained still, not letting out another word even as Ford made a step back, then another glancing at the door. His gaze wavering back to Bill Cipher’s trembling polygon form. 

“You’re letting me go?” He wheedled again, because Stanford Pines has always been too curious for his own damn good. And because some part of him still can’t believe it. Can never believe it. Even if he knew on a deeper level that Bill had changed. He had witnessed it for himself, again and again. He hadn’t ruled out the possibility that it had all been a ruse to gain something from him, but if it was, Bill has grown inordinately patient since his hiatus. Besides, Ford would like to believe that despite whatever Bill wanted from him, the Dream Demon hadn’t been lying when he showed him all those moments of vulnerability. Because Ford, himself, can still remember their shared past, the moments where Bill would pull down his mask. Little hints and gestures that in hindsight should have clued Stanford in sooner to what kind of demon Bill truly was. As if subsciously, Bill too, was trying to warn him of the inevitable. 

This wasn’t a warning, at least Ford doesn’t think it is. Bill had really truly meant those words, that he was sorry. He apologized. And it shouldn’t mean anything, but it does. Somehow, it does. Back then, thirty years ago, he had thought himself foolish for wanting to give Bill Cipher the world. Would have given him the world. If it wasn’t for the hurt, the pain and the shame. And what a shame it was! 

–Shame for letting himself get tricked, shame that all his work would go to waste because of his childish wish to have someone, anyone acknowledge him, for daring to believe for a single second that he could be special in the right way for once, shame for wanting to escape that shame. Ford never thought himself to be a wise man. He was smart, sure, a genius by any measure of the word that he could think of, but he wasn’t wise. Not in the way Stanley was, not in the ways that mattered. He went through life, always, always with the nagging sensation that he had missed something crucial. Through every social interaction that he had, every missed opportunity, every unsaid word, he had always thought– if only. 

‘If only I wasn’t like this, if only I was better, if only I wasn’t so much of a freak .’

Bill for all his flaws, schemes and lies, never made him feel out of place. He knew deep down, in some crevice of him he refused to admit exists, that that’s exactly what drew Ford to him in the first place. And, now he realized, foolish as it may be, after all these years, that instinct that had driven him towards Bill Cipher was rearing up again, like wilted flowers in the Spring. The thing watering them was Bill’s show of change. Changed, and wasn’t that an odd thought in itself, that Bill Cipher, the entity that had tormented him in every one of his nightmares, tortured him like no other, was capable of this kind of change? In face of that, wasn’t letting him go the next logical step to take?

But there was no logic in this, no logic beyond the surface. No logic besides, Bill cared. Or rather, Bill cared that Stanford cared. And Ford knew, because Bill told him, because Bill trusted him, for as much as that was worth. For all the bravado that Bill projected towards the outside world, all the endless emphasis to ‘Trust No One’, he still trusted Stanford enough to show him the soft underbelly of the Beast-with-One-Eye. That alone was enough to send a pang through his heart, re-bolstering his determination to go through with this. Despite the illogicality behind it. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said, smart guy. Go.” Bill rasped, he was turning away from him now, arms tight around his form as the halo around his form grew dim, soft yellow fading in opacity. “Go.” He repeated, as if he was trying to convince himself of it as much as he was Ford. “Stanford.” He tacked on, and it echoed like a farewell. For once, it was as though Bill was trying to savour Ford’s name as much as he could before a final goodbye.

“Why?” Ford asked, wanting desperately now, to understand. If it was only for his own safety, then maybe, maybe Ford still stood a chance of not falling. Because right now, he felt as though he was standing at the edge of a precipice, with strong winds edging him forward towards a free fall that he did not fully want to avoid. 

“Why?” Bill straightened himself up, attempting to inject false brovoto into his stance, like a caged animal trying to make itself seem bigger. “Ha. C’mon, Sixer, you’re not getting cold feet, are you? You said you wanted to leave, so I’m letting you go. Isn’t this what you meatbags crave the most? Self-actualization: The ability to make your own decisions as futile as they are?”

“If they’re as futile as you claim they are, then why even give me the chance, Bill? What about what you were trying to do all this time– keeping me here?” Ford was pacing the length of the room, hands tucked behind his back, but once his lips arrived at that question, he suddenly halted. “What were you… what were you trying to do by keeping me here?” Ford asked, keeping Bill’s gaze stubbornly, willing the other to not look away, to not turn away from him now. Not after how much progress they have made.

“Does it matter?” Bill shot back, before he realized just how it sounded and made an expression which Ford could only describe as a grimace, “Stanford, trust me, this isn’t some kind of trick. As much as I wish it was. Dumb as it is, I actually…” 

Bill trailed off, and for a moment Ford thought that was the end, that Bill Cipher would never utter his next words, that they could just leave the end of the sentence alone, pretend that it had never even begun in the first place. Just like how he originally hoped to leave their relationship, an unfinished note in an imperfect song. 

“Care about you.” Bill finished, letting it out like it took him an arm and a leg to say so, he paused, clenched his fists, then tried again, his form glitching slightly, “Sixer, I just–”

In the end, Ford didn’t let him answer.

“This isn’t goodbye.” Ford punctuated with each step he took closer to Bill, his hand shooting up to grasp Bill’s four-fingered one, entangling their fingers to form a perfect ten. Ford had a frenzied thought pop up in his head the moment he felt the velvety gloved texture slide against his skin, that like this, they were almost… normal. “Tell me it isn’t.”

“Don’t be dumb, IQ.” Bill muttered, “Sure, it isn’t.” That voice that seemed larger than life was softer than ever was before, a whisper against Ford’s ear, the air between them cracking with intimacy as he could have sworn that Bill was tilting ever so closer to his face. He could count the individual lashes on the Dream Demon’s eye, can feel every twitch and flutter– 

It was difficult to say who was the one who closed the distance between them. One moment to the next, like lightning striking behind Ford’s lids, and he could feel those velvety soft hands cupping his jaw as it was tilted upwards, the strangely new sensation of having his lips pressed against something warm. 

‘I love you.’ The thought burrowed in his mind reluctantly, passionately and it was filled with bittersweet longing like a wayward ship returning to its harbour. ‘I have always loved you.’

Bill coaxed him forward with wiry arms wrapped around his torso, like rope molding tight against him, though Ford felt everything but restraint. There it was, Ford noticed almost offhandedly: The taste of static, the same as last time, which buzzed against his lips, tingling. Chaos and destruction foretold with one single breath. Bill pushed insistently up against him, he almost felt dizzy with relief when he was pinned against the wall. Decades ago, he had shared a kiss with someone in his AP math class, he could barely remember their face now, but he still remembered how immeasurably awkward it had been. With him not knowing where to put his hands, afraid to ruin the moment with his ‘freakishness’. It hadn’t helped when he found out it was just some stupid bet later as well. But this was… nice, nice that he didn’t have to think about where he should put his hands, of course, because Bill seemed hellbent on keeping him tightly in his arms literally . But nice, in the way, that a warm cup of tea was nice as well. Indulgent perhaps, and not as quick to the job as a dose of pure caffeine, but there was something to be said of the process of it, the sweetness in letting it settle over you like a weighted blanket.

“Fordsy.” Bill breathed against him, demanding, “Stop thinking so loud.” Tugging at Ford’s fluffy grey locks, as he dove back in for another kiss, starving for more. Had Bill been this ravenous the last time they kissed? When Ford felt Bill try to stick his whole tongue inside his throat, he finally came to his senses, reluctantly, and pulled away. Wiping his mouth of static saliva, in his peripheral vision, Ford saw Bill begrudgingly retract his limbs back into his body with a small woosh. 

“Seriously?” Ford grumbled, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be truly angered, not now. Bill just gave him a smug quirk of his lids, flicking his hand of a sticky liquid substance originating from his eye that Ford chose not to think much about. Gross. “What? Can’t a demon have some fun before being sent to the gallows?”

“Always with the theatrics, Bill.” Ford huffed, glancing reluctantly back at the door, yet he knew, if he didn’t go now he may never want to again. “...I should go now.” He remarked after a brief moment of silence, making his way towards the exit. “Wait, Sixer, I just wanted to ask, would you–” Ford turned back, and Bill was fidgeting with his hands, just as Ford thought Bill had nothing to say, Bill’s voice piped up again, hesitant and halted, like a request that he believed would land on deaf ears. “We’ll meet again, right?”

A complicated look flitted across Ford’s expression as finally he let out a soft reply, “Right.”

The finality of it stung worse than a goodbye. Yet, the hurt was good, for it lingered like a scar. A reminder that, no matter what, they’ll always return to each other.

The wooden beams shook with a sick crunch, and a booming noise reverberated in her ear drums. Mabel nearly tumbled out of the bed as she jolted awake, feeling like she had been drowning in a pool of water and only now was able to claw to the surface and take that sweet, sweet gasp of air. Her heartbeat thumped loud within her ears, racing two miles per second as she, confused and disoriented, the remnants of her dream yet to be forgotten even as there was a more imminent danger that was at hand, quickly threw the too warm sheets off. 

Waddles oinked as he trailed behind her, sensing her anxiousness and nudging against her ankles with visible concern. Rushing downstairs, a million thoughts raced through her mind as worry filled her chest. Oh god, something must have gone wrong. Was there an earthquake? Was it Bill? Did Bill send an earthquake to the shack because he was too much of a chicken to fight them? Finally, she pushed open the door leading to the front porch, only to be greeted with a robot that must at least be four hundred feet tall, its shadow looming over the Mystery Shack with imposing ferocity. Then it hit her. McGucket had actually delivered! That’s great! Amazing even! And the start of the morning which ensued seemed to follow the same pattern, so much so that it was almost suspicious at how little she had to worry about now that the day was actually here. Especially after last night, where she had practically been shaking in her worry that something would go wrong today. 

But now that her mind has settled and she was munching on a chocolate bar, Mabel couldn’t stop thinking about that dream. It sounded ridiculous– probably the work of her overactive imagination, she knew. If not that, it was most likely just Bill Cipher playing a dumb trick on her mind again. (Yes, she still held a grudge over the Blendin Blandin incident.) But there was something there in Grunkle Ford’s face, the way he acted, it felt like him. Too much like him, that for a moment she was actually fooled into thinking that thing was her great uncle. But that was impossible, right? It had to be. Her Grunkle Ford couldn’t get into other people’s minds, that was something she knew even in the throws of her deepest subconscious, indisputable fact like how narwhals were the coolest animals after kittens and puppies with glitter sprinkles–

She was getting off track here. But the point is. She shouldn’t be spending so much of her time thinking about it. There was no reason to, and honestly it was getting kind of dumb. Which is probably exactly what Bill wanted.

Grunkle Ford would never actually want to stay with Bill, would he? Mabel would be the first to admit that there were things that she didn’t fully know about Ford, on that front, Dipper had always seemed to be the expert. Or as much as an expert Dipper can be when it comes to social interactions with other people. That was not to say that Grunkle Ford didn’t spend any time with her, he did, but there were some things he just never opened up to her about. And honestly she got it, anyone who had that amount of trust issues would have a hard time getting used to being able to show vulnerability, much less talk about them. 

Yet there was one moment with him that stuck fully out in her mind when she thought of him. It had been days after Grunkle Stan had defeated Bill, everything had finally gone back to normal. To drag Grunkle Ford out of the house, sensing the tension in his shoulders after so many hours he had stayed awake recounting to Stan their childhood memories in Glass Shore Beach, and having to explain back to him the Incident that split them apart: Mabel had suggested that Grunkle Ford and her could go exploring the forests together and investigate the recent rumors of a ‘Bill Statue’ in the middle of the forests. Grunkle Ford had happily complied, suggesting that in the event of them being true, he could bring along some spells, curses and unicorn hair to make sure Bill never rises from his ‘grave’. The closer they got to the statue, the more silent the land around them became, the birdsong of woodpeckers abruptly cut off, and barging into a clearing after they followed the loud beeps of Ford’s anomalies tracker, they saw it– Bill’s form immortalised in stone, a hand outstretched, his final act which spelled his doom forever displayed in sun bleached concrete. Ford was the one who approached the statue first, though between the two of them, Mabel would argue she was the one that was the least uneased by the sight of it. She looked up then, and saw that expression on his face, the press of his lips which tilted into a determined frown, the groove which appeared in the middle of his furrowed brow and the slight straightening up of his back. It was like he was preparing himself for war. His lips curled, then twitched open, like there were so many words he wanted to say right then but not enough syllables he could spare. She raced in front of him then, sensing that if she let him get any closer, something unspeakable might happen, that it was impossible, for anyone who suffered as much hurt from Bill’s hands as her Grunkle Ford that he would be able to face that demon again, without a weapon in hand, even in this form. Sock puppets in hands and confetti up her sleeves, she announced an impromptu nonsense eulogy, hoping to lighten the mood. She didn’t know if it helped, didn’t know if anything anyone could do would help, because after, there was still something in his eyes, something bittersweet. He didn’t look away from the statue, like he was afraid that if he did, it would disappear. Or move. Like those weeping angels from the films Dipper and her used to watch on Movie Nights back in California. Perhaps he was in shock, or maybe there was something deeper in it that even he couldn’t explain. Ford had told them before, that during his time in the multiverse, hopping across dimension after dimension, that he had been running from Bill Cipher. And Mabel knew from Dipper that Great Uncle Ford had known Bill even before, before he fell in the portal. Realistically, that would mean that Grunkle Ford had known Bill for thirty years, maybe more. It would be reasonable to say that after knowing someone for three decades or more, it would be difficult to fathom the fact that they were gone, much less imagine it. Maybe Grunkle Ford had never thought about what he would do after Bill Cipher was gone from his life. How it would feel finally being rid of that shadow that follows your every step, threatening to pull you under–

–But Great Uncle Ford had them now, didn’t he? He wasn’t all alone anymore. Except he was, he was stuck in that castle with Bill, for all that time. And if Bill wasn’t torturing him, then maybe… maybe…

OH.

Suddenly, that chocolatey sweetness in her mouth has turned acidic, her stomach dropping like a rollercoaster at the final stretch. Ford wasn’t. He couldn’t be. But if Bill wasn’t messing with her mind. And it was Grunkle Ford who spoke to her in her dreams. Then… then… She couldn’t go through with this, could she?

“Hey, kid.” Grunkle Stan’s voice snapped her right out of her reverie, causing her to jump. “Uh. Woah there, pumpkin, easy.” He soothed, raising both hands up in an obvious gesture of consolation. “I get being anxious, but this is a bit much, eh?”

“Who’s anxious? I’m totally fine!” Mabel snapped, then winced at how harsh that came off, she took a deep breath, then brushed down the wrinkles of her sweater. “Hey, Grunkle Stan. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to check on you.” He replied, gruff cadence tempered by his concern, though he was overtly trying to hide it with the way he tried to glance off to the side. It was an exercise in futility though since Mabel could see that in his hands there were two Pit Colas, one clearly meant for her. “Sorry to have sprung this on you both again. After all that happened last summer, I- I really thought this year would be different.”

“Awah, it’s alright.” Mabel waved off, as her eyes were abruptly drawn back to the absurdly tall robot parked at the edge of the front lawn, where usually the tourists visiting the Shack would. Its gigantic nature contrasting almost humorously against Soos’ pick-up truck and the Stanmobile. Despite this, Mabel felt anything but amused right now, in fact, there was a pit in her stomach that seemed to not be going away. “You think this is a good idea?”

“Well, it has got to be a better idea than that time I tried to teach a bear to drive.” Stanley grumbled softly, swirling his can of Pit Cola before knocking it back to swallow the last drops of what contents it had to offer. “But, hey, what do I know?”

Mabel blinked back at her Grunkle, her eyes wide as the grip she had on the hem of her sweater tightened so much she could practically feel her knuckles go white from it. He shot a glance back at her, blinking back just as incredulously, “You, uh, okay?”

“I just can’t shake off the feeling that something is going to go horribly wrong.” Mabel confessed in a babble so fast that Stan had to tilt his head to catch it, “I had a dream last night. And I saw Grunkle Ford, telling us to not go save him.”

Grunkle Stan paused for a moment, as if trying to compute and contextualize her dream, before he huffed and said, “Figures.”

“What?” Mabel yelled, before she realized how loud she was and tuned down her volume, “What.”

“Figures that even a dream version of Poindexter would be stubborn.” Stanley shrugged, nevertheless, he didn't sound at all bitter, perhaps just a bit fondly exasperated, “If all you’re worried about is that Sixer’s gonna be mad at you for saving his butt, I’ll go and wager a guess that there’s really nothing to worry about at all. And believe me, kid, I’m the definition of a wagering man.”

“No.” Mabel huffed, “No. No. That’s not what I’m worried about at all. It’s just that–” She was raising her volume again she noticed distantly, and everybody was looking at her now, with Dipper pretending to gaze politely to the side as he filled the recruits into the plan. “It’s not that okay? I don’t know how to describe it. But, just, no.”

Stanley glanced at her sympathetically, and while she appreciated it, really, she couldn’t help but to feel as though she was going clinically insane and without a way to articulate her emotions. Usually, this would be the moment where the protagonists in her movies would burst out in song, but life wasn’t a musical, and it was really, only all the worst for it. 

“If you say so.” Stanley ruffled her hair, “You’ll do great, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Mabel replied, though the ache in her chest refused to fade. And in light of her recent realization, she doubted it would any time soon. 

“Mabel? What was that about?” Dipper’s voice broke the silence as they made their way through the forest, McGucket’s robot in tow, and the sound of clambering footsteps of the Gravity Falls townsfolk. Nothing had gone wrong just yet and everything had gone exactly as planned. Each step following his checklist to the T, it was better than he’d ever imagined. This was supposed to be a good sign. But somehow, Dipper couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was going to go wrong. For one, Mabel usually was the one who woke up before him every morning, especially during the summer. He would chalk it up to nerves, but throughout the preparation stage, he noticed something. Mabel’s movements were just off, like her head just wasn’t in it for some reason. He was probably just being paranoid, but that dream…

“What was whatttt about?” Mabel let out a nervous chuckle, twirling a piece of her around her finger. 

“Dude, you’re acting more antsy than a demon caterpillar on a gallon of blood. Plus, you were arguing with Grunkle Stan this morning.”

“Pssss, who do you think you are? Ducktective? I’m tots fine right now. In fact I’m so fine right now that you can call me… uh Finabel!” She threw her hands up jazz hands style, glitter coming out of her sleeves in slimmery cascading waves. “And I wasn’t arguing with him, we were just having a heated discussion.” She added belatedly. Dipper only narrowed his eyes, pushing her hand down, “Mabel.” He addressed sternly.

“Yeah?” She asked, an anxious cadence entering her tone. Retracting her hand, her arms falling back down, with one hand pressing against her arm. 

“Just tell me, alright?” Dipper frowned, “Come on, it’s not a big deal.”

“No, Dipper, it isn’t. So quit pushing, alright?”

“Mabel. You’re the one who said we shouldn’t keep secrets between us.”

“Yeah? Well. That doesn’t apply to this specific instance at this specific time frame, okay?”

“Mabel.” Dipper raised his voice, shaking Mabel’s shoulders gently, “Snap out of it. Just tell me alright?”

Just when Mabel opened her mouth, their conversation was cut short by a nearby gasp. Dipper took his eyes off of his sister for a moment as the group of them came to a stop in front of the giant meteor they had seen before on their expedition with Grunkle Ford in what seemed like so long ago. 

…They’re here.

After a bout of more arguing and the townsfolk all insistenting that they would stay behind to keep 'watch' (whatever that meant), Stan had stepped up and stated that he be the one to go in first despite the twins' protests. 

“I’d be able to distract him.” He shrugged, as he tried his best to ignore the cross arms and disgruntled looks, “And anyways, I’ve been in tough positions before, if anything happens I can always punch that devil back into his grave. Don’t ya worry.” Dipper and Mabel shared a glance, but sighed knowing that when Stan had set his mind on something, there was really no changing it. “Be careful.” Dipper warned. “Don’t get yourself killed, there’s no way Soos isn’t gonna taxidermy your body if you do.”

Stan grimaced before he let out a soft laugh and took Dipper’s hat off, and gave the kid a noogie, his other arm pulling Mabel in for a group hug. “Geez, since when were you great at making threats? I’m proud of you, kid.”

The soft laughter of the Pines family made that somber moment lighten just a bit. And when it at last died down, Mabel was the first to extract herself to stare straight at Stan with something unreadable in her gaze, “If you don’t come out in five minutes, we’re gonna send in McGucket after you, alright?”

“Nothing’s gonna happen.” Stan reassured, though the serious expression on his grand niece’s usually cheerful and unguarded face gave him pause, “Promise. I really ain’t that easy to take down. I’ll go in, grab that Poindexter, and you kids can send in the crowd. Yeah?”

“Everything’s going to be fine.” He added after the silence stretched on for longer than he’d like, pumping one fist into the air, before extending it towards them. “Pines. Pines–”

"...Pines! Pines!" Two voices finally joined into the chant, hesitant at first before picking up to the rhythm, the sound of it triumphant and loud even as the damp forest atmosphere surrounded them.

Chapter Text

Stanley would consider himself as well travelled, as much a con man could be in an El Diablo anyways. That was to say, he’d consider himself as pretty damn well travelled. Ever since his old man kicked him out, Stan has traversed state lines over state lines, running Ponzi schemes and trading cheap goods away for a buck or two to make ends meet. From New Mexico to Colombia, from the beaches of San Diego to the shores of New Jersey, Stan could pretty confidently say that he has probably seen it all before. But in all his years of dealing with exotic tastes of all sorts, not the least of which was his brief stint with Jimmy Snakes with his predictable and self explanatory interior decorating style— Bill Cipher’s architectural taste was quite literally another beast entirely. 

He really shouldn’t be surprised, considering that the few times he had actually interacted with the demon; which isn’t much considering he had been the leading factor in putting that triangular demon who tormented his family in a well deserved, early, yet evidently, not permanent grave— Bill has always seemed to him the type of guy to be show offish in the worst ways. A con man like him could always recognise a snake oil’s salesman, no matter how dapperly or geometrically they may dress themselves up to be. Always eager to make a deal and with a gaggle of weird creatures/ minions barking at his heels. Not to mention the way he treated his brother. There were no shortage of signs for Stan to see just how much of ‘red flag’ ol’ Cipher, the supposedly all-seeing eye, was. 

So though, Stan wasn’t unsure of what he would see when he strolled through those heavy double doors of which Cipher had stored his brother for the past few weeks. He really didn’t expect to see how abnormally normal the whole place would be. It was as if the set designer of Duchess Approves had woken up one day drunk off their butts and decided to vomit all over Bill’s new lair. Sure, the decor was a bit different than your usual run of the mill royal branding fancy furniture or hang paintings to be sure, but as much as it was different. You could still point at it and say, huh, that’s odd. And not: ‘I don’t know what any of this is, and I don’t want to ask.’ A familiar spin in the tropes of interior decoration tilted just enough to make you question if you’ve entered a different timeline, but not enough to make you think you’ve flown past the point of an alternate universe and straight into the Twilight Zone. And after a swiping gaze, Stan has already gotten past his initial trepidation. Really, there was nothing to feel uneasy about, maybe that demon had felt over confident again after his success and didn’t think they would try anything as gutsy as this. 

No sign of his brother. He was wasting his time, there were only a few more minutes left.

He quickly brushed past the lounge entirely and went straight for the stairs.

The hallways that greeted him were long winded and were as tightly packed together like canned sardines on sale, and just when he was deciding to kick down all the doors instead of opening them one by one, his hearing aids picked up the sound of movement just as he passed a door that had way too much loops and flourishes in its design. Slipping a hand under his suit jacket, he took out his golden brasses and slipped them onto his fists before pressing one foot onto the carved wood and slamming it down with his weight.

Bingo.

Right there on the other side, was Stanford, his brother, standing there right at the door (obviously trying to escape) and Bill Goddamn Cipher was standing just a few paces away waiting to get his ass kicked and handed to him by yours truly. He zoomed his focus onto Bill, snapping his head towards that demon’s direction as his hands balled up into tight fists. He stared back at the triangle who had dared to lay his grimey-supposed-to-be-dead hands onto his family again and allowed the visceral rage to consume him until there was a fire burning up in the pit of his stomach like the bright blue flames that once threatened to erase his mind. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the lucky spare, was wondering when you’d join us.” Bill greeted, his voice strangely even, as he folded his hands behind his back. Behind him, Ford grimaced and a bit of panic flicked through his expression along with the flush of red that Stan hadn’t noticed before.

“Alright, ya little guttersnipe, let go of my brother!” Stanley yelled before sending a fist crashing towards Bill, and it would have landed too if it wasn’t for Ford pushing him away at the last second. Stanley turned his head, mouth agape, only to see Ford’s eyes widened in surprise and horror at his own actions behind his glasses. “Stanley, wait—” Ford’s voice cracked, it genuinely cracked with mortification, and now wasn’t that just a blast from the past, he hadn't heard Stanford’s voice do that ever since it had deepened in puberty. “I can’t let you do this.” 

“Step aside, Sixer.” Stan wasn’t acknowledging him properly yet, still too shocked by the sheer act of Ford blocking his punch and protecting Cipher that for a moment his mind went blank and reverted back to their childhood days where they shared boxing lessons and the coach had pitted them against each other for the first time. Stan had begged Ford to throw the match in, because despite everything, he never wanted to hurt his brother. Never have. “Why are you protecting this… bastard?”

“Woah, woah, there’s no need for that kind of language! My folks were married when they had me.” Bill crossed his arms, glaring back at Stan with a way too smug expression on his mug for someone who was just about to get said mug punched in. “I may have been a mistake, slick. But at least I was planned .”

Distantly, as though picking up snippets of voices from under water, Stanley could hear the sound of Ford chiding (Seriously? What the hell does Brainiac think he’s gonna accomplish with that?) Bill for his words, “You do realize that means I’m also a mistake as well, right?” But none of the meaning and implications could get past the blood that was rushing pass his ears as Stan growled and lunged at the polygon demon, his hands reaching out, hoping more than anything that he could tackle Bill down and pull that bastard down a peg, or two, or maybe hundred. It’s okay, Stan wasn’t picky. Had never been, beggars were never choosers after all. “I’ll show you what a mistake looks like, ‘soon as I left-hook your mistake of a face!”

“Oh ho ho! Try it and see what happens, Fez-for-brains.” Bill taunted, vanishing for a moment before he popped right back up somewhere behind Stan, swinging his cane in circles. “You really think you’d be able to do an encore performance of pummeling me when you only got that honor because you were lucky the first time, Spare?”

“Cipher!” Ford called out, raising his voice as he gave Bill a disapproving glare, “ That’s enough. Stop insulting my brother.”

Instantly, that had made everyone in the room come to a stand still, unable to face their current strange reality, until Stan clenched his fists and pointed at Bill. “Six, I don’t know what kind of mental affliction this demonic snappy three piece has given you but ya’ got to snap out of it, alright?” Stanley huffed out, vocals tinged with irritation. “That thing ain’t gonna listen to you. Let me at him already so we can get the hell out!” He charged again, raising his fist, but was halted by a six-fingered hand on his chest, pushing him aside and behind Ford. 

“Just let me talk to him.” Stan had thought that Ford addressed that sentence to him but was corrected when Ford guided him to a corner with a hand holding gentle but firm on his shoulder. Stan’s gut churned with something close to a foreboding realization: He really didn’t know what these two have been up to all this time they’ve spent here together, did he? What if Bill had done something to Ford’s mind, what if he had been torture the entire time it took for Stanley to come for him or what if– Stan shook away that line of thought and turned to observe Ford’s expression instead. Ford had a determined glare in his eye that shone through even the separation of his glasses, and Stan could practically sense the calm before a storm in him. The brand that was just beneath his shirt itched and burned under the touch like it was still a freshly sealed wound. As Ford stopped, Stan quickly brushed Ford’s hand off, brows furrowed in aggravation.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you in what? Three weeks? What in the nine hells has that demon done to you, Sixer?” Stan crossed his arms, shooting a distrustful glare at Bill who had his hands clasped together and was whistling ‘Love Is a Stranger’ under his breath, trying to pretend as though he wasn’t eavesdropping despite the fact that no one in the room was buying it one bit. Except maybe his brother because that would be the perfect icing on the ‘Surprise Your Brother Has Officially Gone Even More Off His Rockers’ Cake. “He ain’t got you brainwashed, has he?” He muttered, his voice lowering, hoping to at least not make the demon’s job that easy. 

“Stanley, I get that what you may be seeing would seem strange but…” Ford gestured with a hand in a motion which made Stan reconsider his life decisions and everything that led him up to this point. Why did Pointdexter always get him into situations like this? He loved his brother to death, but sometimes he wondered whether or not it would have been better if he was absorbed in the womb. “But Bill’s been better, lately. And this might seem strange but I truly think there’s a chance where violence isn’t necessary.”

Ford was met with Stan’s blank look, and he sighed, “I’m saying we don’t have to kill him.”

“Have you been smoking something lately, Sixer?” Stan gave Ford an incredulous stare, his eyes narrowing, “I’ve got a whole mob down there waiting to sink their pitch forks into Mister Big-Yellow-and-Evil over there. And you’re telling me now , you don’t want this demon who nearly caused the end of the world as our squinty eyes know it, dead?” 

“Yet.” Ford added after a pause, like that changed everything. Stan only continued to grimace, “Did he stick something in your brain while you were out?” He asked in disbelief, “Got any brain worms I should know about, Stanford, or is this nonsense you’re spouting being served to me au naturel?”

“Now, that’s a bit unfair.” Bill pipped in unexpectedly, siddling in with swinging his cane in a circle, causing Stan to jump and his head to swerve back to stare at Bill over his shoulder. “Sheesh. You really gonna let Brutus over here talk to you like that, Six ?”

“ Don’t .” Ford warned, before letting out a breath filled with exasperation, clearly trying to quash down his rising annoyance. He hadn’t expected to be confronted so soon about his new, budding irrational feelings about Bill Cipher, but really he should have expected that Stanley would question him on this as though he had lost his mind. Because if it was Stanford himself just a few weeks ago, he would react exactly the same way. There was no clear reason for him to protect Cipher at all, except for the fact that despite everything, Ford still believed that there was something in Cipher worth saving. “Stanley wasn’t–”

But before he could complete his sentence, a loud crash rang out somewhere outside the halls, drowning out what he was going to say in a wave of crumbling rubble and crashing concrete. The ground beneath them shook like a warning, as Ford’s attention went straight to Stan then Bill, whose form glitched out like a television after its wires had failed to catch a proper signal, and his eye flickered with something akin to consigned horror. Something was attacking them. Something powerful. Another tremor shook the ground like a blaring warning, as all of a sudden a long pillar cracked loose of its foundation and went directly towards both of the Pines. Ford’s hand shot to his hip, but even as he did so, he knew by experience that his reaction was a millisecond too late, the pillar was already inches away from both of their bodies and they would have crashed under its bulk. He twisted his body to the side still, hoping to shield Stan from its impact, not expecting the force of a tornado to crash into him like a tiny meteorite causing his brother and him to fall like two twin shacks of flour on the floor.

He looked up immediately after, instinctively knowing, like a deer who had just been shot, what had happened. Bill was propping himself back up with an elbow after the tiny crash, trying to brush it all off even now, but the obvious signs of damage to his physical body could be seen. Bill was weakening by each second, and that tumble likely took more of him than he had realized it would. It scared Ford more that Bill had even used his body to protect him at all because if Bill were at his normal state, he likely would have just used his telekinesis instead. 

“You have to leave now.” Bill used his remaining strength to hover just above to ground, earlier amusement gone in a flash, voice turning an edge of seriousness that it only reached in threats or warnings, as his gloved hand pulled Stanford back up to his feet before pushing him a step away from Cipher. His balance still unsteady as the ground gave another rumble, he stumbled into Stanley who held him upright by the elbow, preventing his fall.

“Bill?” Ford took a step forward towards the flickering ember of yellow, Bill’s form barely holding its shape as tendrils cascaded all over the room, all previous anger forgotten as his stomach dropped in concern, because the last time he saw Bill glitch out like that was when… Oh, sweet Moses. “Cipher, damn it. Tell me what’s wrong.” But Bill didn’t respond, Ford’s eyes were trained on him, which meant that he could see the way Bill tried to speak again, with the striped glow around his form shimmering, yet only static and foreign syllables were garbled out in eldritch tongue even as multicolored foam leaked out of his eye socket. Bill’s hand reached up to wipe some of the dripping liquid off before staring down at it with symbols flickering strangely in the projection of his singular eye. His whole being glitched out and disappeared for one heart-stopping moment before it appeared back at the same exact spot again, with him staring back at Stanford in both terror and resignation. Like he had expected that this would have happened sooner or later– like he had known, somehow, that this couldn’t have lasted. Confused and wanting to know why, Ford tried to take another step forward but the hand on his elbow halted him.

“They’re too early. It hasn’t even been five minutes yet.” Ford caught Stan muttering under his breath, before he saw his brother tilt his head to the side as if trying to listen for more of that Earth Splitting sound, shoulders climbing when only the ominous silence greeted him, he immediately yanked Ford after him in a mad dash towards safety, “C’mon, Sixer, we’ve got to go.”

They made their way out of the room, and before Ford knew it the door was already behind them. Surprised, Ford tugged his shoulder back, his other hand coming up to try to pry Stan’s fingers off the crook of his elbow, “Stanley wait, Bill’s still–”

Another crash. Stan’s hearing aids made a high pitch squeaking noise, making his hand shoot up to dial the frequencies down, allowing Ford to pull himself free from Stan’s grip and cover his ears. Stan stared in horror at his brother for a moment, his hand reaching out to try and tug him back to his side again, only to see Ford sidestep and dodge his grip.

“Moses, Ford, you’re not going back in there. Who cares about that demon? We’re leaving now.” Stan reached out for Ford’s wrist once more, only to be sidestepped again, with Ford getting progressively further away from him. “Don’t be stubborn, Pointdexter. You’re really going to get yourself potentially killed for him ?”

“Stan, look, just let me do this alright?” Ford sighed, “I appreciate the help, Stanley, I really do. But I can’t let you do this. I can’t leave him there.” ‘To die’ , goes unsaid, but both of them knew enough just why Stanford was so hellbent on going back to a room that was potentially going to collapse in on itself. “Son of a–” Stanley spun around, turning his back to Ford for a minute to calm down, grumbling slowly all the while as he sent periodic glares back at his brother. 

“What kind of dirt does he even got on you?” Stanley threw back with a frown, “You’ve been actin’ strange and now you’re sayin’ you wanna go back and save him?”

“What? Are you in love with him or something?” Stan crossed his arms and finally turned back around to stare at Ford with a stern glare, throwing his hands up in consternation.

Ford shifted uncomfortably at that, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, as he stared to the side, a faint but damningly unmissable flush tainting his cheeks with pink. It was there for just the briefest of seconds, but when Stan’s eyes caught onto it, everything clicked into place. Ford’s adamant defence, Bill’s shifty glances. And hell, didn’t Ford and that demon have some sort of history together? 

“No. No. Stanford. This isn’t funny. Say something, come on, tell me I’m wrong.” Stan wasn’t stupid, well, he wasn’t as smart as Ford but there were certainly things he was better at. Emotions for one, and suddenly all those pages from Ford’s journals made sense. Flashes of blood and black ink blotches flowed through Stanley’s mind in a haze, and the memories of him scanning through them the few weeks before he brought Sixer back from the portal came back to him in an instance.

“I’m sorry.” Ford muttered, his eyes darting away as if ashamed, and wasn’t that the most damning nail in this coffin. Stan continued to stare at the way his brother shifted his posture, how his hand awkwardly settled back at his side before it was lifted up to rub at an arm. He wanted to curse, wanted to yell, to push, shove, anything to change the fact that apparently they were all too similar to each other in ways which Stan hadn’t dared to consider before. Because, what kind of sick joke was this? To think that Stanford Goody-Nerd-Shoes Pines, had horrible tastes in romantic partners. He’d laugh if it wasn’t so surreal. But seriously, what was he supposed to do? Stan had come here for what he had thought was a simple mission, grab Ford and get back to Mystery Shack and maybe celebrate with another can of bad Pit Cola, not to bear witness to this awkward mess of a relationship that apparently his brother had sorted out in these past few weeks. But, no. The universe once again had to puke all over Stan’s well calculated plans to reunite with his brother, at this point, he might as well be keeping tally. 

“I’m sorry.” Ford repeated and Stan’s brows twitched in a mix of irritation and indignation because what was Sixer even apologising for? Sure, it was kind of messed up for Ford to go ahead and fall back in love with the guy that nearly started the Apocalypse, but Stan wasn’t gonna up and abandoned him about it. Not after everything they’ve worked through. This was just another obstacle in a long line of boulders and pits they would overcome. It had to be. Stan wasn’t going to lose his brother again, not if he had anything to say about it. “It was a recent development, and I never thought it would–”

“I hope you know if we die doing this, I’m gonna get a bigger tombstone than you.” He finally settled on, pressing a hand down the wrinkles of his suit.

“You’re coming with me?” Ford asked surprised, lacing his tone, as his mind immediately grasped onto the implicit offer in Stan’s words. He hadn’t expected Stanley to be willing to go save Bill with him, hadn’t dared to ask, especially after everything Stanley had sacrificed for the chance of defeating Bill Cipher the first time. 

“Look, where you go, I’m going. We promised we'd stick together, remember?” Stanley huffed, and gave Ford’s shoulder a good-natured punch. “So let’s haul our asses back there before your demonic boytoy gets himself buried, yeah?”

“He’s not my–” Ford shook his head, “Yeah. Alright.”

And as Stan was just about to turn back. “Thank you, Stanley.” Ford added, halted and unsure, but unmistakably heard, Stan paused then let his lips curved up in a smile. “Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it. You know I’m only doing this for you.”

“You deserve to hear it.” Ford shrugged, before he straightened up as he heard another booming crash in the foreground, rattling the decorative vases from their table. After the ground below their feet was settled, Ford quickly dashed back towards the room they had come from, hoping that they hadn't been too late.

The bile clawed at his throat like pinpricks of supernovas trying to escape a dying universe; It was the first thing Bill could register after the world around him grew suffocatingly silent. The second thing was the pain– or rather, the attempts made by the laws of physics within the third dimension trying to right the wrongs of his very existence, sensing an intruder that didn’t belong and doing its very best to exterminate him. It was akin to being ripped apart molecule by molecule, every excruciating detail about his anatomy turning against him, flattening, reshaping, attempting to fit into a mold that was just one dimension too flat. A deep ache engulfed his very being, as he was being squashed like a bug. Bill never believed in a merciful higher power in his life, never, not even the Axolotl for all its supposed grace and second chances could be called merciful, it all had a price. Everything had a price. Bill Cipher, of all cosmic beings, would know that principle of the multiverse better than most. Ever since he had still been that pathetic mortal being living in that backwards dimension and he had seen that radiant light shoot across the sky with his own eye, pointing at it and asking, ‘Do you see it too?’ Only to meet with silence, and bitter medicine that did nothing but to blind his eye with the need to show them all what they couldn’t see. He had lived, breathed and embodied it. Consumed power from the souls of those who had once shamed and outcasted him for his gift. And he showed them. He had shown them all! As their bodies burnt as though cast upon the pyres of sacrifice, unable to handle the weight of the third dimension’s collision, and he knew the only way then to carry them with him would be to consume and devour, and he ascended to a transcendent plane of existence. So why? Why was he so empty?

This hurts. This hurts. This hurts.

Thousands of souls spilt from his oesophagus as mouths appeared in all the gapes in his form, he could feel them draining him from his energy source. Bill hadn’t lied when he told Sixer that the small flickering light stored in his top hat was the only piece left of his pathetic dimension to remember it by. Not entirely anyways, the rest were all stored in him. Used like kindling, except now, the flames were licking up his body, and he too will be consumed.

This wasn’t fair. 

Why had he climbed this far? Liberated his dimension only to kill them before they could see the way he saw? For what purpose is his all-seeing-eye if he couldn’t even find a way out of his misery, his agony? The pain seemed in itself neverending, waves after waves course through him, and he could feel the power that he accumulated since his return slowly drain out of his body with each and every prolonged contraction which struck at his core. At least Sixer made it out safely, Bill’s mind thought deliriously, even if in the end Mirror-Bill had been right. This time, Bill could take solace in the slight chance that Stanford would maybe remember him fondly to get him a headstone that wasn’t his corpse.

It was pathetic, but at the end of the line, after everything– all the games, tricks, deals and manipulation, Bill knew deep down he had always just wanted to feel something besides the crushing guilt. Party after party. Two centuries of staring at a barber pole sign go up. Recking and trashing dimension after dimension with his Henchmaniacs. He had gladly done all of it in the name of chasing one more high, all in the hopes that he wouldn’t have to face the crashing weight which awaited him whenever it got just too silent.

Why did you do it?

He could still remember how it felt when he was with Sixer, a bright-eyed scientist with a chip on his shoulder, Bill Cipher knew the moment that Fordsy summoned him that it had been exactly what he had been waiting for, his big break. He would’ve eaten the scientist alive without a hint of remorse as long as he could finally get that neverending party he dreamt of. With the Nightmare Realm crumbling around him, the void getting closer each passing year, it seemed as though destiny, that fickle thing, had finally aligned its stars precisely in his favor to deliver him that Endless Party that he had always dreamt of. An eternal paradise for freaks like him– what he never had counted on was that Sixer too would consume him. Would chew and swallow him, only to spit him back out a shell of his former self. There, right then, clenching his fist and suppressing all those pleas from escaping, Bill knew again, what it was to lose something you never even really had in the first place. For the first time, he had known what it was, how it felt, to be loved for the whole and not just the individual. Fordsy, dumb as he was at the time to not see those red flags waving in front of him, saw Bill as his muse. A muse. Something to glean inspiration from, and not only to be feared. And when the deck of cards had all fallen and he was revealed as the monster he was, he knew Bill Cipher would never be the same. 

Millions of probability all at his fingertips, billions of possibilities all within his foresight, yet somehow he never factored in the numerals of love.

Ironic how that’s the only thing that could save him now. 

“This is why I’ve never liked tech.” Stanley grumbled to himself as he pushed himself out of the way of the piece of concrete ceiling which nearly fell on him. “All that Robo-somobo-mumbo-jumbo, nothing good ever comes out of it.”

“Yet, I seem to remember someone asking me to build him a Football Playing Robot, Stanley.” Ford muttered back, tugging Stanley back on the path as the infrastructure seemed to collapse around them, “Clearly, your statement holds places for scrutiny.”

“Hey! You take that back, Footbot is a holy grail of wire work. Anyways—” Stanley coughed, “Your whole relationship with anomalies holds places for scrutiny.”

Ford blinked, “Stan, are you serious right now? Your sentence didn’t even–” 

“Sixer, can we please get a move on?” Stan pushed Ford forward with a gentle shove, “McGucket’s already torn half this place down in the past minute, we ain’t got time to spare.”

Ford frowned but nodded in agreement, picking up the pace, he couldn’t help but to let out a small gasp when they retraced their steps back towards the room they were at before. He did his best to ignore all the rubble that scattered about the place and blocked their way or how there wasn’t technically a door at the entrance anymore. Rushing inside without another thought, Bill was still at the same exact spot they had left him at before, his form was afloat midair though he was crumpled in over himself, arms holding his midriff as a puddle of static pooled at the floor under him. 

“ቻዐዪጋነሃ?” Bill garbled out, “What are y̴̧̢͍͕̙̳̑̽ͪ̋ͫ̀̀͞͞ó̸̦̙̻͚̱͂̎̂͋͆̑ͯ̃̎̇͢ͅü̴̷̡̹̝̥̲̼̻̘̦̳͉̰̱͊ͤͣͧ͋ͭ̾̈́̐͛̿͆ͥ̑͗͛͐ͨ͒̔̅͞ͅ doing back?”

“Tell me how to fix it.” Ford ordered resolutely. His hand already reached out, making contact with the fractures that had formed between Bill’s bricks, lines cracking them straight down the middle. He carried Bill into his arms immediately, as he gestured for his brother to go back outside, and began his trek as well. “You got to know, right? You’re supposed to know everything.”

Bill, despite the dire situation still had the time to laugh, as Ford’s fingers dug in deeper so that the slippery static would not make him drop the demon in his arms. “You overestimated me too much, Fordsy.” The liquid didn’t stop dripping down, splattering rhythmically to the floor, leaving a trail as they made their way down the stairs. It was everywhere, even staining his sleeves which had been rolled up to his elbows. “You can’t f͈̲̎ͬͧ̐̊̀̊̐́i͉͇̦͋̓͌x̶̤̼͈̻͉̜͈̬̙͕̳̼̩̜̅͛̿ͥ̉́ͮͩͧ̀̌̈́͛ͦͫ̚͝͞ it, it’s too late. It was too late before you came here. I’ve always lived on borrowed time.”

“No, damn it, you can’t stand here and say that bull. Tell me how to save you now, Cipher. I’m not going to let you die. I’m not going to let you go. You promised this wasn’t goodbye.”

“Stanford…” Another burst of static– no blood, Ford couldn’t call it anything but that, not when it was expelling Bill's body in droves. Not when every drop of it spelt the exact finality of blood. They were almost at the exit now, but deep down, Ford knew that even if they got Bill out of the castle, the damage had already been done. Bill wasn’t dying because he was in the crumbling castle; it was the castle all along which had given him strength, and now that it was being demolished, his thread to this third dimension was being severed violently, as the plane itself was trying to purge this anomaly too dangerous to be housed within it.

“Don’t you dare. I still haven’t forgiven you yet, Bill. I’m not going to let you die like this, not when you still have so many things to answer for. You can’t just make me–”

“I’m sorry.” Bill closed his eye, “I don’t say that enough, not for the things I’ve done.” The action felt too finite, anticlimactic almost, when so much blood still laid between them. Ford wanted an apology, of course he did, but more than that, he wanted resolution. This wasn’t where their story should have ended, he knew this deep in his gut.

“What are you talking about, Bill? Come on, don’t–” Tears rolled down his cheeks unbidden; Ford couldn’t recall the last time he had cried, but he thinks it must have been about Bill Cipher as well. He forced himself to push past the next few steps, barging open the double doors by slamming his shoulders against them. He crumpled as he reached the final steps down the front yard, Bill held close to his chest. “Stay with me. Don’t do this to me, when you’ve made me…”

The words choked on the back of his throat, as he felt Bill’s hand slumped down from his cheek, resting down on his lap. “Love you.” He finally sobbed, ugly and all too honest. “I love you.” His voice rasped out hoarsely, a lump forming at the base of his throat that refused to be swallowed down, it made him feel like vomiting, even as his head grew strangely light as the world around them blurred in a fast fiery. Angry reds and yellows swarmed like wasps at the edge of his vision as he blinked down the tears that were clouding his vision and burning his eyes. It’s been a year since he had cried like this, he realized, the last time was when he had lost Stanley, in a way he never thought he could lose a person before. Grieve and self-hatred stung at his heart then, invading his lungs until he felt like he could barely take in another breath. This wasn’t the same. Far from it. 

He couldn’t even care that they were out in the open right now, that everyone could see the way he was clinging on to Bill and barely registered the fact that Stanley was yelling at someone (Fiddleford?) to stop the rampage. There was a crowd that was hesitantly forming at the edge of his vision, and Ford could only duck his head low, as no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t even begin to regulate his emotions.

Moses, he had wanted Bill dead for most of his existence. For thirty years he had tried to hunt the demon down and to put a stop to his plans. Bill had tortured him, made him feel so used. Bill wasn’t a being worth Ford crying over, but he still wept, uncontrollably as their history bore down on him like dead weight. All of the good and bad mixed together until the anger and sadness were indistinguishable from each other, because how dare, how dare Bill do this to him when Ford had actually begun to care again about that stupid isosceles? 

His head slumped down, as distantly he heard firm footsteps walk towards him, a warm hand placed on his shoulder as a pair of knees came into his peripheral vision. He let the hand draw him closer to an embrace, Stanley’s arms carefully manoeuvring so it could wrap Ford fully into a side hug. His eyes fell shut, taking in a deep breath though it was difficult because of the mucus that was clogging up his nasal, after he did though, he regretted it instantly as the scent of metal invaded his nostrils, reminding him all at once of the somber moment, what comfort he had quickly evaporated. There they remained, as the body in his arms slowly grew cold.

Alone, amongst the stars once more.

A triangle blinked back his tears.

The Axoltol had given him a test.

To see if he could put to rest,

The sins of the past that burnt him dearly.

Not knowing he had already succeeded,

But to rewrite fate, the demon stood and pleaded

For a being who was not himself alone.

Just a chance to meet the one he lost,

Ignoring power, forgetting cost. 

And the guppy smiled, and sent him back.

For mercy was never the thing they lacked,

As long as it was for those deserving.

An infant god, an immortal being.

The first thing Bill felt as he came to was the presence of his icy cold hands trembling like leaves on a tree branch caught in an autumn wind; The second was that he had the ability to feel anything at all, because Bill could have sworn that he had died a few minutes ago and he was sure he had used up all of Frills’ get-out-of-death-for-free cards by now. Little by little though, spatial awareness returned to him, and that he should probably start moving his limbs which had been frozen still for Axolotl knows how long. The view in front of him was pitch black, and a pang of fear shot through him before he suddenly realised that his eyelid which had been shut needed to be lifted before he could actually see. Briefly, he registered the feeling of six-digits holding on to his hand, the warmth of the grip seeping into his chilled hands like the burn of alcohol that was declared illegal in fifty separate galaxies chugged all the way down his gullet, glass included. In fact, that may have been exactly the thing he had done considering the horrible hangover that was the meat cleaver slicing to the center of his exoskeleton. As Bill took the minute to regather himself, something wet and unpleasant dripped onto his eye, stinging it open for a moment as he struggled to pry it open with the crust that had formed around it to stare up at a blurry form whose silhouette was hauntingly familiar. The blinding cast of the sun created an outline that had Bill blinking his eyes rapidly to get used to Earth’s rays of sunlight, slowly he grabbed onto the lapels of the figure above him and he heard a gasp fall from the man’s lips.

Stanford Pines.

All at once, everything that had happened before crashed into him. His death, the confession, everything. How Ford had actually come back and tried to save a hopeless case like him– and how at the last minute he had finally said those three words he had anticipated all this time. “Guess who’s back from the dead. Again. Told ya you’re stuck with me, Fordsy!” Bill tried for a cheery voice, but it came out more hoarse than he had intended. Sixer must have gotten the picture though because the faint shock on his tear stricken face quickly turned to a mix of anger and happiness if that was even possible. But, if Bill had learnt anything from his relationship with Stanford, it would be once his Sixer has put his mind to something, he could do not only the impossible but supersede any doubts of it in the first place. 

“Damn it, I knew he couldn’t have stayed dead.” Stanley grumbled by Ford’s side, before he stood up, “You made me kneel on the dirt for nothing! Come on, Ford! I’ve got osteoarthritis– the ground is not good for these bones.”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, but couldn’t hide the tiny relieved quirk of his lip as he sighed. “Sorry, Stan.”

“You better be, cause now I’ve got to talk down an angry mob.” Stan brushed down his pants before pointing at the both of them furiously, “You two better get your stuff sorted out before I get back. I don’t want to actually stare at yeh when you’re sucking each other’s faces off.” As Stanley finally left and gave the two some space, Ford looked down at Bill with a complicated light flitting in his gaze, his thumbs fidgeting with each other.

“Woah there, sexy, gonna give yourself another wrinkle scrunching your brows up like that.” Bill teased lightheartedly, causing Ford to glare even more down at him, it was like the demon was trying hard to play off his revival, and Stanford was not keen on letting Bill off the hook so easily. “Not that I’d mind at all, you’re handsome either way and I’ve always preferred–"

“You died.” Ford stated blankly, cutting Bill off, “You were dead, Bill.”

“I got better though, didn’t I?” Bill shook his hands up in a playful gesture in hopes of easing the tension, but that only earned him an even narrowing of Ford’s eyes. Geez, and they made coming back to life reunions look so easy. Guess Stanford’s always a skeptic. “Is this a turn off? Cuz I’m not technically a walking corpse this time. I swear I smell as normal as a gas leak!”

Ford grimaced at that and promptly dropped Bill off of his lap, getting up himself. “Can you explain yourself properly for once and stop avoiding my questions? Was all of this just some kind of ruse? To play with my emotions?”

“What? NO! Fordsy, I swear I did really die.” Bill waved his hands frantically, he didn’t want to lose Ford’s trust right when had gotten everything back in order. Getting off of the hard ground which Ford had dumped him on– rude. Bill felt a small wave of relief wash through him when he got his feet off of the ground and began hovering five feet above the surface, coming eye to eye with the scientist who still had a mildly displeased frown on his features.

“Uh huh.” Ford muttered in a deadpanned tone, as the brief relief that Bill dared to feel quickly turned into a cold dread. 

“Look, Brainiac, I get how this looks. But I didn’t fake my death for the drama, Sixer. The Axlotol linked my powers to the castle, so when it was being bulldozed–”

Though Ford still didn’t seem convinced, his tone was at least not as bitterly sarcastic when he interjected, “No, I got that part. How were you able to stabilise yourself back onto this plane?”

“...Stanford, promise you won’t be mad. Alright? I know how this sounds, but please?”

“Fine.”

There was an awkward silence for a brief moment before Ford raised his brow up at Bill, “Well, are you going to answer? What’s with the hold up?”

“I’m finding it, I just didn’t expect you to agree not to be mad.” Bill coughed, trying his best not to fidget even as everything in his being screams at him to just erase Stanford’s memories to get him off of his back. But Bill couldn’t bring himself to mess up Ford’s mind back then when they had just had their falling out, afraid to lose that one brilliant spark of light in a multiverse full of fools and henchmaniacs that didn’t get his vision or laugh at his jokes, much less now when he had finally gotten everything back.

And so, at final last, Bill explained everything. The deal, why he had tried so hard to woo Stanford, and most importantly how none of it had just been a game to him. Hoping against hope that even after Ford had learnt the truth, that he wouldn’t immediately kick Bill to the curb, even though Bill Cipher deserved it in every way possible. When every last drop of deceit had been rung out, Bill only stared up at Ford, just trying to gauge Stanford’s reaction. 

After the longest moment of Bill’s centuries of life, Ford finally shifted and let out a long sigh. “I should be mad.”

“Yeah, no, I get that.” Bill responded almost too quickly, before he realized his error and crinkled his eye up into what could be seen as a half-grimace, “Sixer, I know I hurt you. I’m not… good for you, I don’t think I’m good for anyone. But you make me want to… try to be good. And I hope that you’d let me at least prove to you that I can be.”

“So you’re not going to use your powers to take over the world?” Stanford asked in a stern voice, Bill knew that it was more of an order and less of a question. Still the query brought up something in him that he didn’t expect. Of course, Bill still wanted that endless party, the bottomless martinis and the thrill of it all. But that was just part of what he had wanted all along, what Bill had wanted the most, beyond the drinks and the shallow ear-worm inducing synth-pop music that he had never really liked– he wanted someone who he could share it all with. Someone who understood him, who didn’t see him as the monster he had always seen himself as; Someone like Sixer. 

“I think retirement sounds nice.” Bill teased, flicking Stanford gently on the nose, “Besides, I’ve had enough of partying for a lifetime.”

“Ha, never thought I’d hear that from you, Bill.” Ford muttered fondly, rubbing at his nose, “We’ve always got extra room in the Shack.”

“I’d like that, Fordsy. I’d like that a lot.”

-

“Remember what you told me about Carla McCorkle when she dumped me for that hippie?” Stan asked with a small grunt in his tone. It took Ford a second to recall what Stanley was talking about but when he did, it did not solve his confusion at all. “Yes, I believe I told you to–”

“Get over it."

“Get over it.”

“Because Pines men don’t settle.” Stan finished, clapping Ford roughly on the back, exasperated desperation seeping into his words, “Exactly. Look I get that this two-bit, no good, yahoo demon and you’ve got some history, Poindexter. But sometimes, some people are just unfixable.”

“Stanley.”

“Y’know I respect your decision making, Ford.” Stan continued, ignoring how the people around them were giving a wide berth as they exited the ruins of the once tall castle. “But sometimes a guy just has gotta remind his brother that some broads are just not worth pursuing. Especially if you’ve been with them before, and doubly more so if they’ve got cryptic warnings attached to their summoning encantations.”

“Stan.”

“And anyways, I really don’t want to have Bill-Goddamn-Cipher as my brother-in-law, Sixer. Come on, yah gotta think of the family dinners— He’s a demon, he probably eats souls for Mose’s sake! How am I supposed to find a recipe for souls when it's Hanukkah?”

“Lee!”

“...Yah not changing your mind. Are you, Stanford?”

“No.”

“Please? Would you at least reconsider it?”

“...I’m sorry, Stan.” Ford ended, his voice plateauing with a mix of guilt and self-frustration, his hands twisting together in a gesture of compromised uncomfortableness in face of this conversation.

Stan sighed, his gaze flickering down to the hands then back at Stanford. “I guess there really isn’t any helping it. Is there, Sixer?”

“Are you… angry, Stanley?”

“Not really. I can’t be mad at you, Poindexter. It really ain’t your fault what your heart tells ya what you want. Even if what you want is a triangle demon thing that terrorised our family and nearly got our world destroyed.” Stan waved off, “But who am I to judge, my love life is as off the rails as yours.”

 “I highly doubt that anyone's love life can be as strange as mine.” Ford responded, a soft smile tugging at his lips, relief lightening his tone, “Nonetheless, I do appreciate the sentiment. Thank you, Stanley.”

Suddenly, the large destructor creaked back to life, its gears whirling with a soft engine noise before it stopped again, like a car being turned off by its keys. After a moment, Stanford saw in the distance, a hunch over figure with a crinkly old tipped hat heightening its silhouette began to approach him. “Fiddleford!” He exclaimed with a chuckle he hasn’t let out ever since his teenage years and he had to cover up for Stanley’s nightly antics whenever he wanted to sneak out to see his girlfriend in front of Pa, “We had better stop meeting like this.” He replied, rubbing the back of his neck. The truth was, though he was glad to see his friend, he had no idea how to explain any of what Fiddleford must have seen to him, much less defend himself against whatever accusation his friend might hurl, as deserving as they may be. 

“Stanford.” Fiddleford’s voice greeted, serious in a way that Ford forgot his old friend could be. Of course, Fiddleford would be mad, Ford would be too, if he had seen what he did in third perspective. It almost reminded him of those nights he used to have with Fiddleford in their dorm room, late night horror sci-fi movies binged on VCR, how they’d shout at the characters for their inactions or obvious logical mishaps. Apparently, it didn’t feel as good on the other side, who knew?

“We need to talk.”