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Chapter Text

When Blendin Blenjamin Blandin looked up at the sky, split with a thousand colors most mortals couldn’t comprehend, he knew something had to change. The horrors of Weirdmageddon had only just begun, but he knew it wouldn’t end until Bill Cipher could be stopped--but when would that be? Bill was an immortal and nearly all-powerful creature, and if even Time Baby couldn’t defeat him, then who could?

The answer, of course, turned out to be the Pines family. Stanley and Stanford Pines, with the assistance of Dipper and Mabel, and a gun that erases memories. Blendin could recall swearing vengeance on them once. How far away those days seemed to be now.

So, even long after it had ended, the question continued to plague his mind, and his career became focused entirely on the Pines family—their adventures, their conflicts. They had been the key to saving this world in this timeline. How many other worlds could they have saved?

As Blendin searched for this answer, he found many other timelines in which the Pines didn’t save the world. Where Dipper and Mabel were destroyed, over and over, whether it was to gnomes or Gideon or where Bill won after all. But that only solidified his resolve--regardless of whatever had done in their counterparts, these Pines twins had survived. This pair had won. So what else could they do? What worlds could have been spared if only a Pines had been there?

It would not be an easy question to answer, being hypothetical. Bill Cipher was, as far as the mortals were concerned, still trapped in stone, and the rest of the galaxy knew he was in an unreachable realm known as the Theraprism.

And yet.

The Euclydian Massacre was one of the most well-known instances of complete dimensional destruction across the multiverse. Weirdmageddon was nearly the sequel to such an event, barely stopped by the Pines family. And now, Bill had nearly broken free from the Theraprism with a book made of materials that shouldn’t even be accessible in such a place. There was never a time when the multiverse was not in danger from Bill Cipher, and so, Blendin decided to take it into his own hands--again.

According to those who knew Cipher well, there was one human he had been particularly fond of. And, incidentally, this human was Stanford Pines--a former devotee and an archnemesis; the closest thing Bill Cipher ever had to a true friend and his ultimate destruction.

In the end, Blendin Blenjamin Blandin formulated a plan, and decided that he would go through with it whether he received approval or not. He could solve two problems with one plan--or Pines, rather. The tragedy of Euclydia, and the threat of Bill Cipher to come.

Taking a deep breath, Blendin pulled out his time tape, possibly for the last time.

And disappeared.

Chapter Text

At the ripe old age of seven, Stanford Pines had enough. The bullies, the trash, the lies--it was all too much for him. He hated hearing his parents argue downstairs, even if it turned out alright in the end. He hated when his brother stood up to bullies instead of him, because they beat Stan just as hard as they beat Ford, and then Ford felt even worse because his brother had gotten hurt in his stead. And, most of all, he hated his hands--feakish, strange, and bright targets for Crampelter and his crew to pick him out anywhere, no matter where he hid. Everyone already knew, and no one would let him forget it. As if that was possible.

So he sat in his room, drew in spare notebooks with pens he found lying around his home and at school, and read books filled with things infinitely more strange than he could ever imagine. Creatures with blue skin, or stripes, wings or gills, seven eyes or one, and sometimes only three fingers. He escaped to the worlds that had never turned him away, and wished that could be enough.

It wasn’t enough. Not for Ford, and certainly not for Stan, who outright told him that he hated it when Ford got all ‘sad and mopey.’ So, one summer evening, he dragged Ford from his books and his drawings and took him to the beach.

“Why?” Ford asked, already missing his comfy mattress.

“Because Mom said so,” Stan said, and while that was probably a lie, Ford still walked with his brother out to the beach.

“What are we going to do, anyway?” Ford grumbled, surveying the same trash-filled sand that had always been there.

“We’re going to look for treasure,” Stan declared. “And we’re not going to stop until we’ve found something big.”

Their search led them to a cave--a small one, the opening barely bigger than they were, and boarded up with planks and nails. It was also covered in ‘No trespassing’ signs, but Ford figured that if they were half-buried in the sand, they didn’t really count.

“Besides,” Ford said, “It might be filled with lost pre-historic life forms or Mesoamerican gold!” This earned him a ‘ladies first’ from his brother, but he didn’t mind. He couldn’t punch out the planks like Stan could, but he certainly had better handwriting when they signed their names at the mouth of the cave.

Inside was the best treasure Ford could have asked for--a boat. It was small and ratty, missing so many parts, and it looked almost as bad as their Mom’s supposed psychic skills. Which was to say, Ford was skeptical it would even float, much less take him and his brother on a treasure-hunting escapade across the world, as Stan suggested. Still, he couldn’t help but be fond of the thing, if only for what it could be.

“It’s okay, bro,” Stan said, putting a small hand on Ford’s back. “We can just fix it up! It can’t be that hard…” he frowned, putting a hand on his chin. “But we will need supplies.”
So that was how Stanford Pines found himself back in that cave, searching for spare materials that might have accompanied the small sailboat whenever it had arrived on Glass Shard Beach. Ford sighed, surveying the sand for particularly sharp seashells or stray pieces of glass, picking through driftwood to find something they could use for materials.

Ford gasped, pulling his hand back, sticking his finger in his mouth to stop the blood. There was something--now that he looked, he should have seen it earlier. Grey stone, built into a basin of thorns of dead coral.
“Facinating,” Ford said aloud, out of some instinct to fill the silence. Making careful note of the pointed stones, he crept closer, peering into the cold grey.

It looked like a bowl. A large one, like the kind you use for punch, or the one Stan had broken when they were five. It sat perfectly level with the surrounding brown stones, as though someone had dug out a space for it. The bowl was filled with crystal clear water, perfectly still, unaffected by the wind outside. Ford could see his reflection uncannily well, and something about the strange basin drew him in despite himself.

Ford gasped, taking several steps back. There was something inside--he couldn’t tell what it was, but he could’ve sworn he saw something gold in the reflection. He stepped back up, trying to position himself directly over the bowl, attempting to triangulate where the flash of gold had come from. It had to be somewhere in the cave--perhaps he was right, and there was buried gold in here!

He leaned so far down that his nose nearly touched the water’s surface, and he nearly missed the thing that crept up again--as if it, too, was startled by something. By him, perhaps.

That thing, it seemed, was a mere blade of grass. Ford leaned back, taking in the whole image, and had to stop himself from gasping again. There, inside the basin, was a landscape. Or rather, part of one. Most of what was visible was the sky--a vast starry night, filled with shapes in colors Ford had never seen. He could see houses in the distance, as well as grass, though something about the colors seemed…off.

Now that he looked--really looked--it wasn’t just hte colors. Everything in the water seemed flat, as though it had only two dimensions. Perhaps it’s just a picture, then, he thought. And yet, even as he stepped down and away from the bowl, gathering up scraps of metal and wood that had definitely belonged to the Stan O’War in some years past.

He walked back out to his brother, who had put his shirt back on after itching at his sunburn. “I took down one of our flags,” he said sadly, as though Ford didn’t suspect this would happen.
“It’s okay,” Ford said, dumping the materials at his brother’s feet. “So, where should we start?”

***

Ford continued to visit the strange basin whenever he had time, but more often than not, it was the same image as before. He never stayed too long--he didn’t want Stan to ask questions, especially because he didn’t know how to answer them--and, if he was honest, he wanted to keep this discovery to himself. So he would come and examine it, or try and copy the images, and sometimes he would talk to it. Maybe it was only a bowl, but it was also an anomaly. Like him, in a way.

On one particularly bad day, Crampelter and his friends caught him on his way to the cave. Ford could hear them coming--their loud, jeering voices carried easily on the wind. Ford crept along the sand, spying out potential hiding places in case they came too close, and freezing at every stray motion around him.

All his surveying turned out to be for naught, however, when he heard one of Crampelter’s friends call out “Hey, isn’t that one of those dopey twins?”

Panicked, Ford darted behind a ‘no trespassing’ sign as the gang of bullies came up over the hill. He shrunk down, hoping the massive triangle would cover him if he squeezed himself in just right.
The sound of running footsteps, then silence. “Where’d he go?” Crampelter shouted, sending a chill through Ford’s bones. “You said he was here! Where did he go?”

“S-Sorry, Crampelter! We’ll find him!” One of the lackeys said--Ford always forgot his name. He heard more footsteps--slower this time, searching, accompanied by voices, calling Ford’s name and jeering. Glancing up, he surveyed the area, trying to locate the bullies so as to evade their gaze. If he had just one moment, he could make a break for the cave entrance. Hopefully, they wouldn’t look for him there.

He took one last glance around the sand. Crampelter and his gang were searching further away. Ford took a deep breath, and bolted.

“Hey! He’s right there!”

One of them must have turned around. Biting his lip to keep from cursing--his mom wasn’t out here, but he never knew if she really could hear everything--he hid behind the first batch of suitably large stalagmites he could find, and waited again.

“He went in here, I know it.” That was Crampelter, all right--peeking from between the rocks, Ford could see the small smirk on his face. There was nowhere to hide now, and they both knew it. He contemplated revealing himself, but doing that would probably mean a beating, and that would be horrible, especially without Stanley.

He growled, then bit his lip hard. No. He could wait them out. They’d get bored eventually, right? He could survive one encounter with them without his brother’s help. He just had to use his brain--do what he was best at. As Crampelter passed the rocks where Ford was hiding, he covered his nose and mouth with his hand, stifling the sound of his breathing. Everything echoed here.

It was agonizing--every part of him itched to stand up, run around, do something, but he kept control and watched the bullies search the cave where the Stan O’War had been not too long ago.
After what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, one of the lackeys sighed. “This is boring. He’s not here--it was probably a rat. Can we go?”

Yes! Ford stifled his glee as the three turned to go, but the second lackey stopped, peering at a particular formation. “Hey, look at this.”

A pit formed in his stomach. The bowl. All three of them were crowding around it, muttering amongst themselves, but Ford couldn’t pick out the exact words.

That was, until Crampelter touched the surface of the water, and screamed. His entire body convulsed, and Ford could almost see the arcs of electricity racing up his body. He covered his mouth with both hands to keep from gasping as the bullies sprinted from the cave, shouting enough profanities that would get Ford grounded for a week. (Stan had been grounded for two, but Ford figured he could get off easier.)

Still, he emerged from his hiding spot, being extra careful this time not to touch any part of the strange bowl. It looked the same as it always did, but when Ford peered closer, he could’ve sworn he saw something yellow sprinting away.

Chapter Text

Bill had seen something. He knew it. He was still seeing something, but his mother had called, and he couldn’t give her a good excuse as to why he was late. Everyone already thought he was crazy, and he didn’t want to make it worse. But the thrill of that encounter remained, and he was itching to finish dinner so he could go back outside and investigate. 

He gave his parents his most adorable look as he came inside, the one that begged them not to ask many questions. They did, of course, because they thought they had to--not that Bill understood why. 

“So, Billy, what did you do at school today?”
It was his mother’s standard question that she asked every day, and every day, there were a thousand things he wanted to say. I looked at the stars and charted their types. I tried to make a pencil stand up. I electrocuted someone through the Mirror. But he couldn’t say any of those things, no matter how much he wanted to. “Nothing much,” he said instead. 

“Should we be expecting any notes?” This always came from his father, who never quite trusted that Bill was doing as fine as he said he was. It would be smart, if it wasn’t so futile. 

“Nope,” Bill said, glancing down at his food. Circular pizza, some milk with a silly straw. He learned early on that talking about things like ‘up’ and ‘forward’ at school would lead to much more severe consequences than they did at home--so he kept quiet and simply observed the teachers and students who professed to love learning and blocked their minds from true knowledge. 

The conversation turned from school to more adult and bland things, and Bill tried to ignore the pit in his gut. It wasn’t that bad--they were just scared. They needed to see that there was nothing to be scared of. 

“Did you hear that, Billy?”
He glanced up at his mother, then shook his head just slightly. “No.” 

“Dad said we’re going to the art museum over the weekend. Won’t that be fun?” 

The anger in his gut subsided, and he said, “Yeah. I’d like that.” His parents smiled, and went back to their boring conversation. It was frustrating--no, infuriating--but he knew why. They had precious little things to talk about with him that wouldn’t stear towards the topics of ‘up’ and the stars. But they still tried--they knew the art museum was one of his favorite places, so they went there as often as possible. (His parents thought he liked the pictures and the history, but Bill just liked the colors--the combinations, the swirls of chaos that you couldn’t find anywhere else.) It further solidified that his parents would be on his side, if only he could get them to believe what he told them. If only he could prove it, and have them not be scared. And maybe he could prove it, if he could confirm that Up was where that mirror led. 

After staying a sufficient amount of time for his parents to let him leave, Bill sprinted as fast as his chubby baseball shoes could carry him to the strange mirror propped by the tree. It wasn’t far from his house, so his parents would let him go whenever he wanted, for the most part. As long as he didn’t tell them what was really there, and that he wasn’t suddenly obsessed with climbing trees (though it was fun). 

About six months ago, as far as Bill could tell, the mirror had simply appeared out of nowhere. He’d checked everywhere to make sure--but no store carried something like that, and neither his parents nor anyone they knew owned anything like it. At first, he’d assumed it was a strangely clean piece of trash, and then he saw what was inside. 

Nothing, at first--just a plain cave of brown stone, but it had small spikes of rock standing straight up, even more so than trees, which curled around and around themselves until they were barely taller than most houses. But the simple sight gave him some hope--there was more than one way to see Up, and if he was right, he could convince everyone with this. If the Department of SuperVision didn’t take it away first. 

Then he started seeing something else. A creature--large and stringy, dressed in brown and white, with two eyes and glasses that somehow didn’t look too big on him. Bill had never seen anything like it, and that exhillerated him. 

At first, the creature would come and simply look, examining what must be his side of the mirror or whatever it was (could it be a mirror if you could see through it?) Then he began staying longer--sitting, simply, and sometimes drawing. Bill especially liked that, and sometimes attempted to draw the creature himself, though he could never get the proportions right. There were just too many parts. 

Then, most recently, the creature had begun talking. It must be young, maybe even Bill’s age, because it talked of its mother and father, and school and bullies and someone called ‘Stanley,’ who he later figured out was the creature’s sibling. 

But what happened earlier was even stranger. This time, it wasn’t the regular creature--who Bill had started calling ‘Glasses,’ because he didn’t have any other name--but three others, who looked less stringy and far, far meaner. 

They’d been looking for someone called ‘Pines.’ Glasses had ran and hid behind the rocks, covering what Bill assumed to be its face as the three creatures had passed. 

One of them had seen the mirror. The other two had followed. Bill had ran and hid in his usual spot to the side--just out of sight, but well within range of hearing Glasses talk. 

They’d mtutered amongst themselves, mostly exclamations of ‘what is that?’ and ‘Is something there?’ Bill had kept quiet, not wanting to draw their attention, until he heard one of their names. Crampelter. 

The worst of the bullies, according to Glasses. The one who was brought up the most, who mocked Glasses for being a ‘nerd’ and a ‘freak.’ The one who sometimes drove Glasses to tears.

Bill had plenty of experience with bullies. And even more experience for being called a ‘freak’ for something that actually made him better. Not that he knew why Glasses was supposedly a freak, but he understood the feeling all the same. 

So, once one of the creatures--the big one with the dirty yellow mop on its head, an insult to the color if you asked Bill--touched the mirror, he let loose his own ‘freak.’ And by that, he simply willed the blue fire that drove away his classmates to be unleashed on the creature. 

“Cipher, Cipher, he’s insane, starting fires with his brain…”  Every child he’d encountered had parroted that cursed rhyme at some point, so what was one more? Bill had darted in front of the mirror and pressed one stubby hand to its side, and an arc of electricity had shot through the mirror and into the creature. 

Bill had stepped back, unsure. How did fire translate to lightning? That, at least, was something in the sky that everyone could see--always Over, going from one end to the other, never interacting with the ground. How did that mesh with fire?

He’d needed to hide before Glasses could see him, of course, but Bill couldn’t help but think of it, sitting beside the (now empty) mirror, under the tree. Glasses sometimes showed up at night, but it wasn’t often. Still, he always came, because even the chance that he would was better than sitting quietly in his house and pretending that there wasn’t an entire universe out there that no one but him could see. 

Instead, he looked Up and out over the stars. Brilliant pinpricks of light, some with more shape and color than others, but all of them brighter than anything that Euclydia could comprehend. He wasn’t much of an artist, or a writer, but that didn’t stop him from trying, sometimes, when the loneliness of being the only one to see grew too much. Maybe Glasses would understand. 

Shuffling from behind. Bill stood, but didn’t move from his spot, flicking his eye back and forth to make sure no one else was around. If anyone saw him, if anyone discovered the mirror, then…

“Is anyone there?” It was Glasses. Glasses had come, and maybe, it was looking for Bill. Maybe it suspected that the mirror itself had done nothing, and it was something on the other side. 

Or it could be a trap, he thought for the hundredth time, but no. No one in the entire dimension could come up with something like Glasses, or any of the other creatures. So, at long last, Bill stepped out from his hiding spot, and faced him.

Chapter Text

Ford couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. So there was something there. Crampelter couldn’t be electrocuted through simple stone and metal, however strange the surface of the bowl might be. He knew there had to be something on the other side, and he was right. 

He did, however, do a double take upon seeing what exactly that creature was. By all accounts, it was a triangle, maybe a pyramid, with bulky blue shoes that looked almost as big as it was and a rainbow-colored propellor cap. Strangest of all, it had chubby hands above a brick pattern on its body, and it had only one eye. 

“What--who are you?” Ford asked, quizzical. “Are you the one who shocked Crampelter?” 

“Of course!” The creature said, its voice far louder than Ford had anticipated. It also sounded…excited? It was hard to tell. “You’re welcome for that, by the way.” 

Ford flushed with embarrassment. “Oh--yes. Thank you, er…” He stopped, realizing he didn’t know the thing’s name. If it had one. 

“Call me Bill!”
He smiled. “Okay, Bill. I’m Stanford--but most people just call me Ford.” 

It’s hard to read Bill’s expression, given that he only has one eye and not much else, but he thought Bill was smiling, too. “Hiya, Ford! Or, can I call you Fordsy? Do you like nicknames?” 

Ford winced. “Not a huge fan, but sometimes people I like will give me a nickname. My brother, mostly.”

“Your brother…Stanley, right? I’ve heard you mention him a few times. Is he like you?” Bill leaned closer to the water until most of it was filled by his eye.

“Like me how?” Ford asked, resting his arms on the bowl’s rim now that he was certain it wouldn’t hurt him. “We are males of the mammal homo sapien species, if that’s your question.”

“ Homo sapien …” Bill trailed off, leaning back until Ford can see the triangle’s surroundings again. “So that’s what your species is called?”

“That’s the scientific name. There are a few more names for us, but the most common name is ‘human,’” Ford said. 

“Amazing,” Bill whispered. “You have two different names for the same thing?”

“Well yes, but the different names are just for categorizing,” Ford said. “What about you? What’s your species? Do you have any siblings?” 

Bill froze for a moment, then made a motion that Ford assumed was the equivalent of shaking his head. “No siblings. I’m from Euclydia--not sure what we’re supposed to be called, since everything is Euclydia and nothing is not Euclydia and nothing can exist if it’s somehow ‘outside’ Euclydia.” 

The bitterness in Bill’s voice surprised him, but Ford couldn’t help but press further. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean…you’re not part of Euclydia. You’re part of the Up--whatever its name actually is.”

“You’re right, I’m not, as far as I know,” Ford said, face pinched. “But what do you mean, ‘part of the up?’ Does your dimension not have such a concept?” 

“No, they don’t, even thought it exists!” Bill exclaimed, flapping his hands for emphasis. “I keep trying to tell them about it, but no one listens to me! But you will, right? You know it exists.” 

“Of course it does! I’m standing up, those rocks back there are facing up, all trees stand up. In my world, anyway. But, Bill, how do you know of ‘up’ if there’s no concept of it in--what was it, Euclydia?” 

Bill made his version of a nod and said, “Because I’m one of the few that can see it. No one else can--their eyes simply won’t let them. But I’m special. So special that they have a special doctor who’s entire job is to make me blind.”

“Blind?!” Horror filled him as Bill continued.
“Yeah. They tell me they’re just trying to help me, as if me seeing the stars or seeing you is twisted and wrong. They make me take this medicine that makes everything go fuzzy--so naturally, I don’t take it. I just pretend.” 

Ford nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. I wouldn’t either. After all, even if you lived in a two-dimensional world, a third dimension should be inferred already. I live in a three-dimensional world, where ‘up’ and ‘down’ are universal concepts, but the fourth dimension is too, even though we can’t see it.” 

“What’s a dimension?” Bill asked, looking as confused as his lack of face would let him. So Ford launched into an explanation of dimensions--points, lines, shapes, and all--and for once, he didn’t get snickered at, or mocked, or have something thrown at his head with ‘square’ all over it. Bill listened with rapt attention, as if every word was gold. To him, perhaps it was. He didn’t think Bill would hear it anywhere else, if his world called him crazy for saying the word ‘up.’ 

“Facinating,” Bill said when he was done. “So there’s more to it. And your world lets you talk about this?” 

Ford cocked his head, confused. “Yes. Why wouldn’t they?” Something twisted in his gut. “Wait. Does yours not?” He’d heard about places that forbade learning--places that didn’t want you to see the truth so you didn’t try to leave. Still, he’d never heard of someone trying to control a place so much that it forbade knowledge of dimensions. 

“No, they don’t. Because like I said, everything is Euclydia and nothing is not Euclydia and nothing can exist if it’s somehow ‘outside’ Euclydia. There’s even a nursery rhyme about it. I’m pretty sure it’s the national anthem, with how often the teachers recite it.” 

Ford said nothing as Bill’s eye closed, and his entire body shifted with his breath. Then, he began to recite. 

“Two dimensions, two and fro, you’ll always know which way to go

If you’re lost, don’t be afraid, in Euclydia you’ve got it made,

Run too far too right of frame, you’ll appear on the left again

Jump too high, don’t cry or fret, you’ll pop up from the ground, I bet

In this space there is no fear, loved ones will be ever near

Roles and rules always clear, Euclydia we hold you dear.” 

There was silence in the cave as Ford registered what Bill had said. “So they really don’t like you talking about Up.” 

“No.They really, really hate it. I try to stear clear of the teachers, because they’ll tell on me if I bring it up too much, but even the other kids don’t like hearing about it. Some of them gang up on me and try to get me to tell them about it, and then run and tell the teachers. It’s horrible.” 

“I understand. Same thing happens to me all the time.” 

“Really?” Bill looked so hopeful--like something out of a cartoon, something the girls in his neighborhood carried around at school because it was ‘cute.’ 

“Yeah. People don’t like me because I’m a freak. It’s kinda the same as you--You have a weird eye, and I have a weird hand.” Instinctively, he folded them behind his back. 

“What do you mean, a strange hand?”
So Ford showed him, counted the fingers. “Humans are only supposed to have five, but I have six. They don’t like that, and I don’t know why. It…doesn’t help that I’m also the smartest kid in the class, so they make fun of me for being a ‘suck-up.’ I have Stan--my brother, he’s great--but it still gets lonely, you know?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Bill said. “After all, you have me now, and we’re pretty similar anyway.” 

It was strange to hear, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Whenever Ford tried to explain things to his classmates, he got mocked for being a ‘teacher’s pet’ and a ‘know-it-all.’ Maybe it wasn’t on the same level as Bill, but he still thought he could relate. “Yeah,” Ford said, holding his hand up so Bill could see. “Smart freaks have to stick together, right?”

If Bill had a mouth, Ford was certain he’d be smiling. Their conversation continued well past sunset as they talked--comparing bullies, and teachers, grades and parents. Bill’s parents seemed to be a lot more timid than Ford’s, and he relished in telling the triangle all the crazy things their family got up to sometimes.

“You’re saying your parents actively scam people and don’t get in trouble?” Bill asked, wide-eyed. 

“My mom does, yeah,” Ford said, grinning. “My dad runs an actual business, but…pawnbrokers get some interesting people. The cops usually come to us to get other people in trouble.”

“Are those your SuperVisors?” Bill asked, a hint of worry in his voice.
“Supervisors? I don’t think so,” Ford said, pondering. “But I also don’t know much about that. Usually they come to us if someone stole something to see if that person tried to sell it to my dad. That happens a lot, actually.” 

“Wow. That actually sounds cool. I wish I could run around and make people do what I wanted.” Ford wasn’t entirely sure that was how it worked, but he didn’t correct him. For all he knew, it could be. 

“What’s a supervisor?” He asked instead. “Sounds weird.”
Bill groaned. “It’s a stupid government thing. They’re the ones my teachers run to if I start talking about Up too much. That’s where all the doctors are, too. They give me medicine that makes my vision go fuzzy and randomly show up to check on me to make sure I haven’t ‘relapsed.’ I don’t even know what that means, but I hate it.”

Silence filled the cave as Ford processed what his friend had just said. “You mean not only do they try to convince you you’re crazy, but they actually try and blind you?!” 

“Yeah! Messed up, right? And I can’t even say a word because they’ll make it worse if I do. But you won’t tell them, right? You won’t say anything?” 

“Of course not,” Ford reassured. “I would never.”
Bill’s eye reflected the stars that no one in his world could see. “Thank you, Ford,” he said softly. 

“Please, call me a friend.” 

***

After enduring a verbal beating from his mother, being threatened with a literal one from his father and several strange looks from Stan, Ford retreated to his bed at last, wincing when he saw it was well past his mandated curfew. 

“You’re lucky they didn’t do worse,” Stan muttered as he settled in on the bed below Ford’s. “How do you do that?”

“I think they let me off because I don’t get in trouble as much,” Ford said, smiling. He knew Stan couldn’t see him, so he didn’t hold it back. 

“Where were you, anyway? You kept avoiding that question and it’s really suspicious.” 

“I know,” Ford said, but nothing more. He grinned wider as Stan huffed, and counted the seconds before his brother fell asleep. 

He’d tell Stan about his new friend eventually, but for now, it was probably best to keep it secret. He wasn’t sure what kind of person--or triangle, he supposed--Bill was, after all. Sure, they had a lot in common, but Bill seemed much angrier than Ford, even if he didn’t admit it. So perhaps it was best to test the waters first. 

Still, he went to sleep happier than he’d been in a long time.

Chapter Text

Days passed before Ford was allowed back on the beach to talk to Bill again. Ford reassured his friend that he was okay--his parents were just mad he was out so late, was all--and Bill listened rapturously to his tales of life in the Up—what Ford said was called the ‘third dimension.’ Ford, in turn, listened to the most mundane details of Bill’s life—as if Euclydia was the most fascinating thing in the world, instead of a cage full of bullies. 

      More days passed. Weeks. Months. Even years. They talked almost every day—sometimes it was only for a few minutes, on the way to or from school or whatever else. Sometimes they’d talk for hours, about their worlds or families or just the strange oddities of their respective worlds. And sometimes, when they grew older, they simply sat in silence, doing schoolwork or some new project, just enjoying each other’s company. 

Ford was fascinated by the prospect of lightning in a two-dimensional world, and Bill interrogated his friend about the inner workings of humans, wanting to see just how much they knew. 

This knowledge, in turn, gave Bill comfort in his encounters with the rest of Euclydia. And it seemed to ease his parent’s minds--they knew he’d met a friend, but each time they asked to see him, he always sidestepped. His parents probably thought he’d made someone up, and no matter how much he longed to introduce them to Ford, he knew the most likely outcome was that they’d contact his SuperVisor and they’d take the mirror away, cutting off his acces to Ford and an unfiltered knowledge of the third dimension. 

He never mentioned ‘up’ anymore. He found other ways to try and introduce the idea of spaces outside of Euclydia, and while those who used to know him were more skeptical, no one called him crazy to his face anymore. 

“If there were such things as additional dimensions, then it would certainly make sense,” one professor said to him. “But we have no way of confirming the existence of such places, so until we do, your theory can never be proven.” 

He tried to be content with that. He really did. But Bill couldn’t stand the narrow-mindedness of these people who couldn’t even comprehend the idea that just because they couldn’t see something didn’t mean it wasn’t there. 

Perhaps the final straw was when he came home one day, ready to relax and maybe eat some sandwiches without the crust and drink soda from a silly straw, and was instead faced with the two last shapes he wanted to see. The first was an octagon, grey with three eyes, a glass manacle over the highest one and wearing white armbands, marking him as a doctor. The second was a pentagon, whose eyes were covered by large black shades and who only spoke in an artificially deep voice. That was the SuperVisor, and both he and the doctor were assigned to ‘keep an eye’ on Bill. 

With a barely concealed glare, Bill unceremoniously dropped his supplies on the table and sauntered over to the living room, lined with two couches for this exact purpose. His parents always liked to talk around it, but all three of them knew the house was styled for the comfort of the representatives. Euclid and Scalene themselves were sitting on the opposite couch, with space enough between them for Bill. They’d done this ever since he was little, and if he was honest, it was more than a little exhausting. 

“My name is Dr. Eldenburgh,” said the octagon, as if he hadn’t been giving Bill medicine that blinded him for years. “This is the SuperVisor, from the Euclydian Department of Vision SuperVision.”

The SuperVisor rarely said anything. He just came along to intimidate Bill--make sure he wasn’t saying anything he shouldn’t. Bill had to suppress a smirk-- you’ll never know, sucker. You’ll never catch me again. 

“It’s good to see you again, Bill.”
Right. Dr. Eldenburgh liked to pretend they were friends, as if Bill didn’t fantasize about pulling out all three of his eyes and smashing his stupid manacle. As if he wasn’t the worst culprit of attempting to keep Bill in line. 

“Good to see you too, Doc,” Bill said, putting on his best winning smile. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Perhaps his words came out sharper than intended, because the doctor frowned, all three of his eyes drooping. “No need to be rude, Bill,” his father hissed, though he knew everyone could hear. 

“I’m simply hear for our quarterly checkup,” Dr. Eldenburgh said mildly. “You’ve been taking your medicine, yes?” 

“Of course,” Bill said, leaning back. “Every day, twice a day, never missing a drop.” 

He knew his mother was giving him three side-eyes. He didn’t care. Dr. Eldenburgh looked at him appraisingly, though some part of Bill knew the octagon didn’t fully believe him. “I see,” he said. 

“We haven’t quite gotten through this last bottle, though,” his mother said. “That’s okay, right?” 

“Oh, of course, of course,” Dr. Eldenburgh said. “Don’t be worried. Single-eyed children tend to have overactive imaginations, it’s normal.” 

He’d said this so many times that Bill really started to wonder if the old octagon had gone senile. Or perhaps he was scared of saying anything else with the SuperVisor around. Bill wasn’t sure what was worse. 

“I see,” his father said, clearly as annoyed with the repetition as Bill was. Maybe Euclid had a few less redeeming qualities than Bill had thought as a child, but one thing he always respected was his father’s low tolerance for beating around the bush. Single-eyed children were rare, and the more Bill looked into it, the more he found that single-eyed children were also more likely to die young. 

 “I heard you had an interesting conversation with Professor Clyde earlier today,” came a deep voice. All three Cipher’s startled, looking toward the SuperVisor, who hadn’t moved at all. 

“Yes, I did,” Bill said, sitting up straighter. “Very interesting.”
He couldn’t see any defining features of the pentagon--Bill wasn’t even sure he was a pentagon, he was so well covered--but he could swear the SuperVisor was looking right at him. “What were you discussing? I heard something about ‘dimensions?’”

“Just a theory,” Bill said sternly. “A hypothetical. I wanted an expert’s opinion, and he came and spoke to the advanced class today.”

The SuperVisor hummed, and this time Bill was certain that no one in the room believed him. “I see. Professor Clyde is an expert in the field, certainly. I wonder, what did he think of your…charts?” 

No matter how many times Bill explained, he knew that Ford never quite understood every expression of his face. He had to make it obvious for his human friend to even catch onto something--though, he supposed that humans had a lot more features to work with in communicating their feelings nonverbally. Euclydians, however, relied almost entirely on their eyes for ‘body language,’ as Ford said, and so Bill had practiced for years to hide any shift in his gaze for moments exactly like this. “What charts?” he asked. “I didn’t mention any charts. I was simply asking questions on proportions and the dimensions of certain objects.” 

“No charts at all?” The ‘charts’ the SuperVisor was so interested in were deranged scribbles compared to what Bill could make now, with Ford’s help. But during his first visit to the Department of SuperVision, he’d brought along one of his most prized possessions--a drawing of all the stars he could see in the sky. It had been taken from him, of course, and now, referencing the chart was how the SuperVisor brought up Bill’s ‘theories’ about the third dimension. 

“Not one.” Bill glared, the SuperVisor glared back. I did nothing wrong. You can’t accuse me of anything. 

Scalene stood up quickly. “Are you sure we can’t get you anything, representatives? A snack? Something to drink?”

“That’s all, Mrs. Cipher. Thank you,” The SuperVisor said curtly. Bill couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still staring at him, and the doctor was still looking askance between the family and his colleague. Without another word, the two shapes left, and Bill was left standing to stew in his rage. 

***

He ran from the house as soon as his parents would let him. Bill made straight for the mirror, now carefully concealed by underbrush that he’d cultivated specifically for that purpose. He got down on his knees, patting the grass down for any stray thorns, and waited for Ford to show up. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Stanford’s panting echoed through the cave he was in and even sounded through the mirror, which made Bill chucke. He must have been kept back at school--no doubt with some altercation of his brother’s making. 

“Bill! Hey, sorry I’m late.” Sure enough, Ford’s face was flushed from running, likely all the way from school--as Bill understood the distance, it was much farther than he had to go. 

“That’s okay. I was kept back, too.” He didn’t mention by what, but then again, he didn’t have to. There were only a few things that would keep him away from their meetings. 

“The SuperVisor came again, didn’t he?” Ford grumbled, but he soon smiled. “What did you do this time? Ask how the pyramids were built?” 

Bill rolled his eye. “They don’t even know what pyramids are, Sixer. And if I did ask that, I’d probably be in even more trouble.”

He’d meant to sound lighthearted, but the bitterness of the day was getting to him. Ford shrunk back and hung his head, as if he’d been chastised. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be joking about that.”

“Fordsy…” Bill sighed. “It’s not your fault. It’s those stupid doctors. I don’t know how they heard about my conversation with the professor today, but they did, and they barged into my house to interrogate me about it.” 

This seemed to get Ford back to himself. “The mathematics professor? What did he say?” 

Bill groaned. “Nothing! Absolutely nothing. Just kept going on about theories and hypotheticals and said nothing concrete.” 

“Well, at least this one held a conversation with you,” Ford said, leaning on his arms. He seemed to have grown exponentially since they’d first become friends--sometimes it was hard to see, but every time Ford had to get up and move away from the bowl, it hit Bill like a brick. He was bigger, stronger, taller…and though he hadn’t said much about it, he was going to leave home soon.

Euclydians didn’t grow very much--not compared to humans, anyway. According to their measurements, Ford was about the same height as the average Euclydian tree, and even then, he was ‘only average height.’

“Yeah,” Bill said. “He said that if the theory could be proven, it could be a major breakthrough. But, of course--”
“Nothing can exist outside of Euclydia,” Ford finished. “Yeah. Still, it’s something! Even a small amount of progress is better than no progress at all.” 

“I know.” He tried to make it sink in. It’s enough. It’s enough. Things like these take time, you can’t convince them all in one go. Nothing’s ever that easy. 

And yet , some part of him replied, what if it is?
“I’m just sick of it,” Bill said, knowing he should stop and not caring. “I’m sick of being treated like I’m stupid. Sick of people thinking I’m insane. I’m sick and tired of people thinking that I’m some broken thing that must be fixed, and like I’m not just fine the way that I am!” 

“Bill--”
He was shouting, now. “I hate them! I hate them all! The idiotic doctor, the SuperVisor, all of them!” 

He realized too late that he’d slammed his hand into the mirror--the glass, not the frame. Bill froze, staring at his friend, who’s hand was twitching violently. Mouth open in shock, hairs standing on end, Ford looked…almost scared. 

Oh no. “Ford--” I didn’t shock him, did I?
“I--I think I need to go,” the human said, though his words were slower than Bill knew they should be. “Gotta get home.” 

Bill let out a feeble ‘bye’ as Ford fled the cave, and cursed himself for letting his temper get the better of him. 

Chapter Text

“You’re home early,” Ford’s mother said as he walked in the door. Ford hummed in response, still thinking over what had happened with Bill. 

“Stanford?” He didn’t realize she’d come up to him. “Are you okay? You look…” 

“I’m okay, Mother,” he assured her. “I’m just tired, is all.”
She didn’t look like she believed him, but he made it into his room before she could ask any more questions. 

He dropped his bag at the foot of his and Stanley’s bunk. He had a few hours to himself before Stan got home from his boxing lesson, so he had plenty of time to think. Which, now that he was alone, might not be a good thing. 

Ford shook his head. It would be fine. Maybe storming off like that wasn’t the best idea--now that he was thinking about it, it really was a matter of instinct, he was sure Bill would understand--but Bill clearly needed a minute to cool off. Ford would go back in a couple hours, reassure his friend that everything was alright, and it would be back to normal.
He groaned, covering his face with both hands. Who am I kidding? It will never be normal. There was nothing normal about a triangle and a human being as close friends as they were. Especially when one of them was constantly being stalked by his world’s government because he could see what the rest of the world should already know was there. I mean, really. Is the concept of a third dimension that hard to grasp? 

Perhaps he had no right to feel as much anger over it as he did, but Ford did have a corrective streak. He simply couldn’t let someone go on with false information knowing that he could fix it. The most infuriating was when people brushed him off or simply didn’t believe him. That happened more and more often as he got older.

But as much as he understood Bill’s anger, it also scared him. He hadn’t seen Bill use his powers so maliciously since he shocked Crampelter all those years ago, and if he was honest with himself, he thought he never would. Of course, Bill had attempted to ‘teach’ Ford how to use these powers, but they never worked--the closest he ever came to pulling it off was crafting a makeshift taser out of spare junkyard parts and hiding it in his sleeve. But it had been fun, especially seeing Crampelter being scared of him for a few days.

Bill had said his powers would only hurt someone if he wanted them to, but Bill would never try and hurt Ford, right?

The fact that he couldn’t immediately say no made him uneasy.
I can’t keep thinking like this. It’s getting to my head. After all, it was only the latest issue in a long line of issues. 

***

Stanley came in when the sun was beginning to set. Ford had buried himself in his notebook, for once too distracted to do his AP Chemistry homework. He heard his brother shuffling around, but paid him no mind. 

His brother did not have the same idea. He could feel Stan’s eyes on him, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Ford let his pencil drift across the page, and realized with a start that he’d been drawing Euclydia again. It was so easy--a two-dimensional world translated perfectly to two-dimensional artwork.

“Are you ever going to eat? Mom’s getting pretty worried,” Stan said finally. “She says you came home from study group early. Did something happen?”

Ford had decided early on that telling his family the truth about Bill was out of the question, but he still had to tell them something. It was easier now than it had been--he’d made up a supposed ‘study group’ that met almost every day after school, and for at least an hour on the weekends. So far, it had caused minimal problems, and Ford could only hope it stayed that way. 

“I’m not hungry,” he said simply.
His brother remained silent. It was irritating how well he knew Ford--he couldn’t stand awkward silence. 

“Study group was fine.”
“That’s a lie if I’ve ever told one,” Stan said. “Don’t make me come up there and interrogate you.” 

“You don’t even know basic interrogation tactics,” Ford retorted. “Do you even know what the word means?” 

“It’s asking a lot of questions. Hey, I thought you liked big fancy words.” 

“I wouldn’t classify ‘interrogation’ as a ‘big fancy word.’ It’s just a normal word.”

Stan huffed. “To you, maybe.”
After a few seconds, the ladder to Ford’s bed groaned under Stan’s weight. His brother very rudely planted himself right next to Ford, seizing his notebook and examining the drawings. 

“Give that back!” he snapped, but his brother held it away, and Ford didn’t have nearly enough room to sit up. 

“Not until you tell me what went down at your nerd class.”
“A study group is not a nerd class.” Ford huffed, wiping down his glasses. “I don’t even know what qualifies as a nerd class.” 

“Everything you do, Sixer.”
He knew Stan was trying to cheer him up, but Stan didn’t know that he wasn’t the only one who called Ford ‘Sixer,’ and so Ford couldn’t tell him why he flinched.

His brother sighed, setting Ford’s forgotten sketchbook on his lap. “Did Crampelter get to you again? If he did, I’ll punch him for you.” 

“I can punch him just fine on my own,” Ford grumbled. “No, it’s not him. For once.”

“Then what is it?” 

Ford shook his head. “I guess…I’m just stuck in my own head.” 

His brother was silent again, so Ford continued. “Stan…can I ask you something?” 

“Hm?”
“What would you do if a friend was in trouble?” 

“I’d help ‘em out, of course,” Stan said. “Is that even a question?”
“Yes--well, maybe not,” Ford said. “Maybe it’s the wrong question. I don’t know if he’s in trouble or not.” 

Stan turned, raising his eyebrow. “Well, tell me about the situation, and I’ll tell you what I think.” 

Ford looked away, considering. How to explain Bill without giving too much away? There was so much about the situation that was supposed to be impossible, and if he said the wrong thing, Stan would certainly start telling people. Not that Ford could blame him--if it was anyone else, he’d call them crazy, too. 

I’m sick of being treated like I’m stupid. Sick of people thinking I’m insane. I’m sick and tired of people thinking that I’m some broken thing that must be fixed, and like I’m not just fine the way that I am! 

Bill’s words rang in his mind again, and Ford sighed. At least the worst his world would do is send him to a therapist, and not arrest him. 

“I have this friend in study group,” Ford began, thinking his way around giving a name. “He…doesn’t live in the best situation. Keeps getting in trouble for things that aren’t his fault.”

He could feel Stan shifting. “His parents try to help, but they keep trying to ‘fix’ him, and it’s only making things worse. He has a doctor, a supervisor.” He snorted at the word.

“Wait. A doctor and a parole officer? Is he--you know--”
“He’s not, but everyone thinks he is,” Ford said, sidestepping the question. There wasn’t much he could say that wouldn’t make Stan get the wrong impression, so he shifted gears. “It’s taking a serious toll on him. He’s gotten angrier and angrier, and it’s starting to come out at school. I don’t want him to get arrested, but…” He trailed off, unsure what else to say. 

“So, guy’s got anger issues, his parents can’t help him, but you think you can?” Stan asked, and Ford’s anxiety spiked at his tone. “Look, I can’t tell you who you should or shouldn’t be hanging out with--we both know I’m not the best at that either--but I would be careful of this guy, especially if he hurt you.” 

How did he--? It must have shown on his face, because Stan answered, “You’re only ever this jumpy after a fight.” 

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Ford insisted. “It was just…a little electricity. Satic. That’s all.” 

His brother frowned, and he could tell Stan didn’t believe him, even though it was the truth, for the most part. “Okay.” 

“He’s completely alone,” he continued. “He’s got no one on his side but me. No one else is trying to help him, and I…I want to, even though I don’t know how.” 

Stan sighed. “Listen, Ford…you can’t help everyone, alright? Sometimes there’s nothing you can do. But if you really want to help this guy, then maybe consider that being his friend might be enough, ya hear?” 

“I hear.” A smile wormed its way to his face, and he felt Stan sit up.
“Okay. By the way, Ford, this is pretty good.” He held up the sketchbook, open to the drawing of Euclydia. “You’ve been thinking about doing more things with art, right? Why don’t you make this 3-D?”

“How?” Ford asked, following suit.
“I dunno, you’re smart. You’ll figure something out.” 

Stan got off his bed, finally, but Ford’s mind was spinning. How do you turn something inherently two-dimensional and flat and bring it into the three-dimensional world?

Perhaps Stan had given him more than one solution to his problems.

Chapter Text

Bill wouldn’t be able to talk to Ford for another few days. He’d told Bill about something called a ‘college tour’ that he apparently had to go to, and so he was left to stew in his anger for days.

Anger and guilt. He wasn’t sure he blamed Ford for running off so abruptly, but it didn’t help the compounding frustration with everything around him. It would be fine, he assured himself--they’d have a few days to calm down, regroup, and Bill would apologize when they talked next. It’ll be fine. He can’t be that mad. He knows it was an accident, right? 

Perhaps it was because he was in the midst of this anger that things happened the way that they did. He was completely unprepared for another visit from the SuperVisor and Dr. Eldenburgh so soon after the last, and his parents looked worried. The doctor had a briefcase sitting next to him on the couch, and the SuperVisor didn’t break his gaze off Bill once as he settled in between his parents.

No one said anything, but he saw his mother’s hands shaking.
“Patient 3061, name Bill Cipher, overseen by Dr. A. Eldenburgh and Cylan B., SuperVisor.” Dr. Eldenburgh’s voice was flat, and the normal buddy-buddy joviality was completely gone. None of his eyes flicked toward Bill at all. 

The change in wording made him nervous. What had happened? Why were they here? What would make this so different? 

A horrible thought made a pit form in his gut. What if they found out about Ford?

The doctor and SuperVisor announced themselves every time they began a conversation with Bill, as if they’d never met before. It was always professional, and no matter how many times Bill interrupted, they always finished their speil, down to the word. For the first time, he began to consider that their repetition wasn’t because they were stupid--were they being watched?

Ford had told him about devices that could record faces and voices in his world. He didn’t think such things existed in the flat, backwards Euclydia, but what if they did and it was just hidden? He wasn’t sure, but if that was indeed the case, the Department of Vision SuperVision would certainly be the ones to have such a device. 

“Do you know why we’re here, Bill?” The SuperVisor asked.
He swallowed, trying to read the SuperVisor’s impenetrable face. “No.” 

“No sarcasm today?”
He barely stopped himself from flinching. “Why do you expect it? You’re obviously here for some special reason, so spit it out already!” 

Dr. Eldenburgh shuddered, one eye staring directly into Bill’s, but he said nothing. The SuperVisor, however, gained a note of triumph in his voice. 

“‘Spit it out?’ Where did you pick up that phrase?” 

“Nowhere. I made it up, like everything else,” Bill snapped. “Isn’t that what you want me to say?” 

He caught his mistake too late. “That’s the official answer you’ve been giving since you were nine,” the SuperVisor said. “Of course, everyone who knows you well has suspected that you’ve been lying.”

“But--I haven’t!” Self-preservation would always win out, even though the odds were stacked against him. 

“I doubt it,” the SuperVisor said mildly. “But that doesn’t matter. Now we finally have the means to prove it.” 

“How?”
Dr. Eldenburgh sighed. “That is, officially, classified information. For the purposes of this interaction, all you need to know is that this device is capable of capturing conversation in real time. It will not harm you or anyone here, though it might sound bad at first.” 

“Such things are possible?” Bill’s father whispered. “I didn’t think this technology existed.” 

“It exists, Mr. Cipher, rest assured,” The SuperVisor said, sounding conspiratorial. “Now, Bill, Dr. Eldenburgh going to play something for you, and you need to tell us all about it, okay?” 

“O--kay,” Bill said, hesitant and unsure of what, exactly, he was agreeing to. He carefully studied Dr. Eldenburgh as he removed a small black slab and pressed a few buttons. There was static for a moment, before he heard the horrifying sound of voices. 

“They don’t even know what pyramids are , Sixer. If I ask that, I’ll get in even more trouble.” 

He could feel his parents eyes on him, but the only thing he could truly register was the horror he felt at the recording of his own voice, incriminating him. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t joke about that.” Ford’s voice was scratchy over the recording, and partially blended in with the static. But it was enough that everyone there could tell someone was speaking. Bill forced himself to remain still, to wait it out and see just how much they’d bothered to record. If they’d left before his outburst, then perhaps he could use Ford’s existence as a sort of ‘powerful mystery figure’ to his advantage. 

There was a crash of static, though with Bill listening carefully, he could pick out his own voice. So they don’t have his name? 

“It’s not your fault,”   His voice was saying, clearer now. “It’s those stupid doctors.” 

Well. If he wasn’t doomed before, he certainly was now. Listening to his own rant playing back to him, he caught every jump and flinch that came out of his parents. They kept shooting each other looks, from worried to horrified, and sometimes simple confusion. 

“Well, at least this one held a conversation with you,” Ford’s half-static voice said. 

“He said that if the theory could be proven, it could be a major breakthrough. But, of course--”
“Nothing can exist outside of Euclydia.”
Bill started when the static abruptly stopped. The doctor, SuperVisior, and both his parents were looking straight at him. 

“Well?” the SuperVisor prompted. “Can you explain to us what that was?” 

Bill struggled, trying to find some way to both answer the SuperVisor’s questions and not lead him straight to Ford--if he tried to give any sort of lie, they could easily disprove it with the tape. 

Wait.
“Where did you get that thing?” Bill asked, infusing more horror into his voice than he actually felt. 

“As Dr. Eldenburgh said, that’s classified. But I can tell you that it came from Euclydia, as all things do, before you attempt to use this as proof of your ‘up.’”

The answer was a lot more helpful than he knew the SuperVisor wanted it to be, but it gave him some room to work with. 

“Bill, who is ‘Sixer?’” His mother asked, placing a hand on his back. 

“I’m not telling you,” he hissed. Scalene jerked back at his tone, but he was focused on the SuperVisor.

He closed his eye and took a deep breath, analyzing what the Department of SuperVision would know. 

From the recording, they knew he was talking to someone.That someone knew the rules of Euclydia, but wasn’t local--otherwise, they’d have heard about him by now, right? And he would have been in the same classes and on the same records as Bill, from what he’d been saying. 

Ford knew the basic rules of Euclydia. The Department of SuperVision had no reason to suspect that Bill’s mysterious partner wasn’t Euclydian--after all, they deemed such things impossible.

He could do this. He just needed to be convincing.
“Well? Speak up, boy. Who is ‘Sixer?’” This was from the SuperVisor himself.

Bill sighed. “He’s a friend. A good one. He’s like me.”
“Like you how?” 

He remained silent, glaring at the SuperVisor. To his surprise, it was Dr. Eldenburgh who spoke. 

“Having a friend who is similar to you can be extremely beneficial in some cases. However, given your current circumstances, I believe you will only be allowed to meet with this person on certain days and in certain places.” He swallowed, straightening, facing Bill for the first time since he’d walked in the room. “However, rest assured that contact will not be cut off entirely.”

Bill froze. “Wait--what do you mean?”
His parents tensed beside him. His father placed a hand on his back protectively, both eyes narrowed at the doctor. His mother sat up straighter. 

“I mean that, given Bill’s record and the nature of this incident, he is no longer fit for learning among his peers. He will be transferred to a school for exceptional students--within the Department of Vision SuperVision.” 

His blood ran cold. They’re really doing it. After all these years, they’re finally taking me away. 

This was accompanied by a single thought-- I can’t go. I can’t leave Ford without at least resolving things. No matter what the doctor had said, there would be no way to safely contact Ford within his ‘new school.’ 

“You can’t do that,” Scalene snapped. “You can’t take my son from me.” 

His heart broke, just a little bit, hearing his mother. She never once believed him when he poured his heart out to her, yet she was still willing to stand up for him against people who, by all accounts, would probably kill her. 

“He’s still well within the limits of his current school, if that was even an issue,” Euclid said, voice deceptively even. “He doesn’t cause any trouble--hasn’t for years. What’s one friend he can truly talk to? Spyglass over there said that was healthy, so I fail to see what the problem is here.” 

“The issue, Mr. Cipher, is that we simply cannot have such sentiments spread,” the SuperVisor said sharply. “The fact that he managed to convince even one other person of this mythical ‘up’ is a danger to our society as we know it. Bill will be taken into custody, and you two, as his parents, will be allowed an hour-long visit once per day. All other contact is forbidden except with selected teachers and doctor-reccommended partners.” 

Perhaps Dr. Eldenburgh was on his side, attempting to allow Bill to talk to Ford, even if it was only for a little while. But as much as he understood the octagon, it only made him angrier. The truth would turn away his only allies.

“So you just got fed up,” Bill whispered. He barely realized he was speaking, which he knew wasn’t good, but at this point, who cared? They were going to lock him up anyway, so why should he hide what he thought? “I’ve been telling you nothing but the truth for years, and you still insist on blinding and manipulating me. You’ll lock me away where I can never see the stars again just to keep me quiet, even if I die in that cell.” 

“Well, as the SuperVisor said, you will be allowed interactions with various highly skilled teachers--” Dr. Eldenburgh started, but Bill cut him off. 

“Don’t. Don’t even try to sugarcoat things, you know that will only make it worse.” He was shaking. He couldn’t stand it. He wanted to scream, but not a word was spoken as the doctor and SuperVisor led him from the house and into a car, carrying him far away from his home and only friend. 

***

The Department of Vision SuperVision was just as dim, dark and bland as Bill remembered it being from his very first visit with the two shapes beside him now. He was placed in a cell that looked exactly like he thought it would, grey and windowless, and force-fed a shot of the medicine he’d been avoiding taking for years. Once that was over with, he was left alone to do nothing but stew in his rage, and think of ways to escape. 

As the door closed, he thought he saw someone behind the two shapes. Someone who looked like Ford, or at least part of his species. But then the door slammed shut, and the image was gone. 

Chapter Text

He plastered himself to the other wall as the doctor and SuperVisor walked past, hoping that his color match would work better in Euclydia than it ever did on Earth. Euclydian’s eyes tended to not be as sharp as those of Earth-beings were, though, so Blendin Blandin thought he was in the clear. 

He could hear the child that would become Bill Cipher raging in his cell, torn between wanting to open the door and talk to him, and running away and abandoning this mission entirely. Coming face-to-face with Bill Cipher himself was very low on his list of desires, especially with how well his escape from the Infinitentary had gone, not to mention Weirdmaggeddon. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he still saw the flash disintegrating Time Baby and leaving the rest of the Time Cops leaderless.

The cell had no windows, but it did have cameras--in Euclydia, they were mere specks attached to walls that essentially acted as peepholes. The way you saw the feed was by looking through what humans often referred to as a spyglass, and were usually only used by trained specialists, often with only one eye.

He thought that might be Bill’s fate, if he remained in Euclydia. If it didn’t get destroyed. He could go from the spied upon to the spy himself, and perhaps use his power to protect others in his situation. 

Blendin shook his head--as much as he was able to in a two-dimensional form. It was wishful thinking, and he knew it. Bill Cipher had, in fact, become a master spy, using every peephole in every dimension to his advantage. And his advantage was never good. 

He was grateful for the fact that his color match was working better, and for the fact that he’d actually made accurate calculations for once in terms of when the cameramen would be taking their break. He’d stolen an eye patch for himself for this exact purpose. He reached the desk with a spyglass mounted on it, flipped over the eye patch, and peered through. 

Bill was huddled in one corner of his cell, shaking. If Blendin didn’t know better, he’d say that the all-powerful Bill Cipher was crying. 

Perhaps he’s not all-powerful just yet. Still, he had to think this through. Messing with the timeline any more than he already had would certainly attract Time Baby’s attention, among others, and they were only a few months away from one of the most notorious dates in the universe’s history. 

In the original timeline, Bill Cipher had no childhood friend to get caught talking to. What he did have--that he still took solace in, even now--were his fire abilities. He was caught experimenting with them, plotting ways to get in contact with more major professors than the one he’d been talking to earlier that week, and the Department of SuperVision had caught him in the act. He’d been taken from his parent’s house, never to see it again. He burned Euclydia while he was still a prisoner. 

This was how Blendin knew that, no matter what he was to do, he needed to put Bill back in touch with Stanford Pines as soon as he could, in an attempt to alleviate whatever emotions had sparked the fire that had ultimately burned the dimension down. 

The time was drawing closer. If Blendin’s mission was to serve any purpose, it must be acted upon soon.

***

Blendin gave himself one week to observe Cipher before he made his move. He snuck around the Department of Vision SuperVision, analyzing escape routes, sneaking into the camera room whenever he had the opportunity. In addition, he also got himself into a few of Cipher’s mandated lessons, which revealed some interesting things about the ancient triangle. 

One, he didn’t seem to have the All-Seeing Eye just yet. There was no ‘Ciphervoyance,’ as it was known. He was scarily good at predicting, yes, but there were still flaws in his predictions, and there was no glow to his form. No ethereal energy coursing through it--not yet. 

Two, he did have the same spark in his eye that Blendin had seen in his encounters with the triangle in the original timeline. The spark that indicated he was up to something--the calculating gaze, as if he was already plotting a way out. 

What worried him was the coded messages already starting to appear. The papers he would do for his ‘advanced schooling’ would come back entirely correct and covered in small markings that Blendin recognized as Cipheric code with a few minor adjustments. Messages that could be read by no one but himself--so he thought, anyway--messages that would be mistaken for nothing more than drawings. It was when he saw these that Blendin decided to act. 

He came that night to Bill Cipher’s cell. He slipped in just as the door was closing, remaining as silent as he could for several moments after the last doctor left the room. Cipher slid down the wall, covering his eye with his hands. 

Blendin stepped out from the wall, and in the harsh prison light of the cell, he couldn’t help but actually take in Bill for the first time. He looked awful--Blendin didn’t know where they took him when he wasn’t in his cell, but it was clearly doing a number on him. There were breaks in his base that split across the defined marks, and there were spots closer to his eye that looked severely discolored. Whatever they did, it was taking a severe physical toll. 

With one final breath, Blendin deactivated the color match on his suit, materializing in front of the triangle with a few sparks. Bill didn’t even look up at the sound, which didn’t seem good. So he tried another tactic. 

“Bill Cipher?” 

He looked up, meeting Blendin’s eye. “My name is Blendin Blenjamin Blandin, Time Anomaly Removal Crew of the year 207012. I’m a friend of Stanford Pines, and I’ve come to help you get out of here.” 

And he saw an expression in Bill Cipher’s face he’d never seen before: hope.

“You’re a friend of Ford?” Bill asked, eye wide.
“Of course.” It wasn’t technically a lie--he and Stanford had a working friendship in the future, even if they didn’t know each other in this particular present. “I’m also a time traveler.” 

Bill seemed absolutely delighted by this prospect. “A time traveler? How far in the future are you? When will 207012 happen? Does the Department of SuperVision ever get what they deserve?” 

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. If ‘what they deserve’ is being burned to death by a monster, then yes. 

“I am a time traveler, but that’s not what I’m here to do,” Blendin said. “You--you can’t stay here.” 

“Well, that’s obvious enough, I’d think,” Bill said wryly. “But I want to make sure of a couple things first.” 

“What are your demands?” Blendin said, perhaps fueled by instinct rather than his training. The idea of making a deal with him set him on edge. 

“What’s going to happen to my parents? If I break out, then the Department will retaliate. They’ll target the only people they can access with a clear connection to me, and--” 

“You don’t want them to?” He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but Bill Cipher expressing concern for another living being was not it. It…unsettled him, a little bit. 

“Of course not! I--” He cut himself off, then glanced away. “I’ve had my issues with them. But I don’t wish them dead.” 

Blendin nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll get you back to your parents, but my priority is getting you to Ford. Okay?” 

He held out his hand, heart jumping to his throat. This would be the real test. 

Bill hesitated, extending his own hand, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Blendin raised an eyebrow. “Do you--not know what a handshake is?” 

He put his palm in Blendin’s, and they shook, but the look in Bill’s eye told Blendin that he didn’t.

Whether he’d made a mistake or not was irrelevant. It was time for action.

Chapter Text

Ford had raced over to the cave with the bowl as soon as he and his parents returned home from their visit to Backupsmore University--not his first choice, but it was always good to have a Plan B--but after several days, Bill still hadn’t shown himself. And after two weeks, he was beginning to worry.

His parents noticed, but they didn’t comment anymore. Stanley certainly noticed, and tried to pester Ford about it more than once, but he went ignored. He still spent time at his ‘study group’ to avoid suspicion, but sitting in the cave by himself got lonely and creepy very quickly, and he found himself simply staring at the scenery of Euclydia more often than not. 

Three weeks after his last conversation with Bill, Ford was sketching in his notebook, perched on his bed after a long day. Stan was messing with some Cubics Cube underneath him, and Ford was simply waiting for his brother to give up and ask Ford to solve it for him. 

Both pages in his notebook were covered in drawings of Bill--simple charcoal drawings, but they captured him down to the last detail, which Ford supposed was easier when the being in question was two dimensional himself. He sighed and shut the book, staring at the ceiling. 

“Alright, Ford, spit it out,” Stan said from underneath him. “You’ve been moping around for a month now and I’m sick of it. Tell me what’s wrong or I’ll dig through your sketchbook again.” 

Ford groaned, covering his face with both hands. “Do I have to come down there?” 

“Do you want me to, quote, ‘stink up your bed again?’” Stan shot back, so he relented, decending the ladder to sit next to his brother. 

As soon as he sat down again, Stan handed him the Cubics Cube, which Ford sighed and took without a word. “So, Sixer, who dumped you?” 

His fingers froze on the cube. “Wait--huh?”
“You heard me. No one ever gets this mopey unless they’ve been broken up with. So, who dumped you?” 

“Why do you assume someone dumped me? What if I was the one who did the dumping?” Ford asked defensively. Okay, so he was the one who’d run away from Bill, but in his defence, Bill had electrocuted him. Why is that my first thought? He didn’t even think of Bill that way. It was weird. 

“Because if you dumped someone, you wouldn’t be moping like this,” Stan said, jerking Ford back to the present. “Or maybe you would, because you’re emotional. But honestly, I don’t think you have the guts to dump someone.” 

He glared at his brother. “That is not true.”
“It’s very true. What I really want to know is why I haven’t heard about it yet.” 

“I don’t tell you everything,” Ford insisted. “And I especially wouldn’t tell you about this, because all you’d do is tease me about it.” 

Stan bobbed his head, then said, “Maybe a little. But I’m also much better at picking up girls than you are, and I think after a little while you’d come to me for advice. So…” He waggled his eyebrows at Ford, who rolled his eyes. 

“I’m not dating anyone, Stan, and I haven’t been dumped, so you can unwrap your hands now.” 

His brother frowned, then began unspooling the boxing wraps from his hands. “Lame. But seriously, what’s going on? I have never seen you this depressed.” 

Ford sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Stan…do you remember when I told you about my friend from study group?” 

“The one who hurt you? Why, did he come back? Because if he did, I’ll--”

“Stan, put the boxing gloves away,” Ford snapped. “Him coming back isn’t the problem. It’s the fact that he hasn’t that worries me.” 

“I see,” Stan said, then raised one eyebrow. “Wait. Did he dump you?” 

Ford could feel his entire body turning beet red. “What--No! Why would you ask that? It’s not--” 

“Relax, Sixer, it was a joke,” Stan said. “You really need to loosen up.” 

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to tighten up a bit more,” Ford grumbled. “But anyway, yes. He hasn’t come back, and I’m starting to get really worried. It’s not like him to be away this long.” 

“You think something happened to him?” Stan asked. “If you’re really that worried, I could go with you to his house to look for him.” 

“Thank you, Stan, but I don’t think that would work.” He paused for a moment, then remembered he had to explain why. “His, um, parents don’t like strangers. I haven’t even met them.”

It was the truth, but he could tell his brother didn’t believe him. “Alright. What do you think happened? Did he get mugged?” 

“‘Murdered’ is more likely, if I’m honest,” Ford said. He felt stupid, admitting it out loud, but the Department of SuperVision was capable of a lot of things, and given Bill’s history with them, it wasn’t out of the line of possibility. 

He could hear Bill laughing him off in his head, which only made him feel worse. 

“Listen, Poindexter, if that’s a genuine concern of yours then I don’t want you going anywhere near this guy, even when he does come back,” Stan said sharply. “I don’t want you in danger, ya’hear? Besides, you’re terrible at self-defence.”

He elbowed Stan in the side with a smile, but something in him broke. 

***

Ford had a hard time falling asleep that night. Not just with worry over Bill, but also because of the strange creaking outside that had started just a few nights ago. It always bothered him during the night, but somehow, it escaped his notice during the day. Maybe everything was just heightened when he was trying to fall asleep. 

He yawned, then sat up. It was well past midnight, and he was no closer to falling asleep than he had two hours ago, so he figured he might as well do something. He slipped out of bed, using the wooden beams at the foot of his bed to avoid the squeaky ladder. 

Checking to make sure Stan was still asleep, he crept out of their room and down the stairs, grabbing a cup and filling it with tap water. “Water is your brain’s best fuel,” his old teacher used to say, and it stuck with him. 

It’s lukewarm, but it gives him something to concentrate on rather than the pounding anxiety that’s been coursing through his body for the past month. His conversation with Stan only made matters worse, by introducing the thoughts of ‘ Did I really dump him?’ And, even worse, ‘Do I even feel that way about him?’

Ford could not immediately answer the question with ‘no,’ and that terrified the living daylights out of him. 

He was pulled out of said thoughts by a crashing in the living room. Fear and adrenaline now at an all-time high, Ford stepped into the living room, lit only by the still-glowing sign advertising his mother’s ‘business.’ 

“Ow, my time-bone! Oh, time-dang it, I’ve really done it now…”
Ford froze. Perhaps it was the sign, or maybe the tap water was really as poisoned as the conspiracy theorists said it was. But standing in the middle of his house was a man in a blue jumpsuit, rubbing his elbow and muttering ‘time’ over and over again.

The closest thing that could be used as a weapon was his mother’s teapot that she used for ‘readings,’ so Ford seized it and held it at the ready. His father had several guns in the pawnshop, but he didn’t want to waste time retrieving one in the dark and loading it. Instead, he carefully approached the intruder, who was now standing up. 

“Hold on--wait, wait!” The intruder shouted, finding Ford much closer than he’d anticipated. “I can explain!” 

“You broke into my house,” Ford hissed. “Get out of here before I call the cops.” 

“I am a cop, genius,” the intruder grumbled. “I’m a time-cop, but--oh, wait. I shouldn’t have told you that.” 

Ford lowered the teapot, interested. “Wait. A time-cop? You’re a time traveler?” 

“That depends. Show me your hands.” 

Slowly, Ford lifted his free hand, all six fingers on display. “Drop the teapot and show me both of them. I need to know if you’re the right one.”

“The right one?” Ford asked, setting the teapot down and raising both his hands. “Who’s the right one?” 

He heard the so-called ‘time cop’ counting the fingers under his breath before asking, “Are you Stanford Filbrick Pines, son of Filbrick and Caryn Pines?”

He picked up the teapot again. “Yes. Why?”
“Then yes, I am a time traveler.” He pulled out a business ID, showing it to Ford. “My name is Blendin Blandin, from the year 207012, and I have some news you’re gonna want to hear. It’s about your friend, Bill Cipher.” 

He didn’t miss the way the time cop’s voice shook when he said the name, but he was too excited to care. “You have news of Bill? How? What happened?” His stomach dropped. “Is he dead?” 

“No. But he’s been taken into custody.” 
Ford’s breath shook. “So he’s in danger.” 

Blendin hung his head. “Well, yes, but not for what you think. I’ve managed to get him out--”

“You helped him escape prison? Isn’t that extremely dangerous for him?” 

“Relax, I helped him get released,” Blendin said. “He’s waiting for you now. Also, do you have bagels? I haven’t eaten anything and I’m starving. Being 2-D really takes it out of you.” 

Every rational part of Ford was telling him to take this with a grain of salt. Every self-respecting New Jersey boy knew the basic rules of the street and had a good amount of self-preservation beat into them; Ford thought he had more than most given his father. Still, he barely hesitated before sprinting down the stairs and out the door, barely stopping to grab a knife from the kitchen, a jacket to cover it, and a bagel for Blendin. 

Blendin ran behind him as he sprinted for the beach, barely taking the precautions of sticking to the well-lit roads, and only realizing once he arrived at the cave that he both forgot to bring a flashlight and actual stable shoes. He and Stanley had gotten themselves pairs of ‘flip-flops’ on a whim, before they realized the beach was covered in too much glass for such footwear to be safe. 

He paused, hearing Blendin’s ragged panting behind him as the time cop caught up to him. “Aren’t cops supposed to be super buff?” Ford asked incredulously. 

“I’m a time cop,” Blendin said. “I don’t have to run anywhere, I can teleport!” 

Ford bobbed his head. “Fair enough, I suppose. But, um--your toolbelt wouldn’t happen to come equipped with a flashlight, would it?” 

“Got it right here,” Blendin said proudly, handing it to Ford. He turned it on, then ventured into the cave, wedging it between two pointed rocks and pointed it down towards the bowl so his friend would be able to see him. 

“Bill?” He whispered, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. “Are you there?” 

“I’m here, Sixer,” came a familiar voice, and Ford could have cried for joy. 

“Bill! Oh, I’m so glad you’re alright. I’m sorry for running off, I’m sorry for--” 

“Stop it, Ford, there’s nothing for you to apologize for,” Bill said sharply enough that Ford stepped back. “And actually, this might be the last time we get to talk. Listen, I appreciate you sending your time-travel friend to come and get me--believe me, I do--but Ford, you’re in danger.” 

“How?” He wanted to add so many things, but none of them came out. His stupid brother’s words kept ringing in his head-- Did he dump you? 

I don’t feel that way about him, Ford told himself for the millionth time. I don’t. It didn’t feel true. But it is. 

“Ford, please. The Department of SuperVision--I don’t know how, but they have a recording of your voice. They’re going to try and track you down, and I don’t know what they’ll do to accomplish that.” 

“They can’t track me,” Ford insisted. “I’m part of the third dimension, and they can’t see that, remember?” 

“Right,” Bill said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “But I don’t know if that extends to the mirror. Sixer, please, keep yourself safe. For me.” 

Something in his chest warmed at those words, but he shoved it down. “Is that why you were arrested? What happened?” 

Bill groaned. “Yes, actually. They got a recording of our last meeting--again, I don’t know how--and they used it as evidence to lock me up in the department building itself. I don’t think my parents ever expected to see me again.”

Something cold and hard settled in Ford’s chest, and he shuddered. For a reason he couldn’t place, he had the sneaking suspicion that was supposed to be the case--that, Bill was destined to go into that facility and never come out.

“Sixer, I need to ask you not to try and contact me again. They locked me up once for it, and like I said, they’re still looking for you. I--I want to let you know that here, so that when they eventually find out how we communicate, you won’t be left in the dust.”

As much as he saw the logic in leaving--destroying the bowl, never looking through it again, cutting off all contact with Bill--the thought hurt. “That sounds horrible, Bill,” he whispered. “But--I can’t leave you. You’re my friend, I have to do something.” 

“There’s nothing you can do, Sixer,” Bill said. “Unless you were some superpowered extra-dimensional being with cosmic power, there’s nothing you can do. All it will do is put both of us in danger.” 

Ford shook his head violently. “No. That’s not how this ends.” His hands tightened around the otherworldly silver of the bowl, his sixth finger running along the strange patterns of the rim. “Wait…” 

What had Stanely said, only a few weeks ago? ‘Why don’t you make it 3-D?’

“Bill,” he said slowly, “I have an idea. I think there’s a third option, and one that won’t put your parents in danger.” 

His friend had remained nearly motionless the entire time, but Ford could tell from the glint in his eye that he was interested. “What?” 

“You know how we can talk? Through these otherworldly objects that bend the cosmos themselves?” 

Bill’s eye widened considerably. “Wait. You think--”
“I more than think, Bill,” Ford said, a grin spreading across his face. “These small surfaces are strong enough to transcend who-knows-how-many dimensions to connect us. If we added a little more power, maybe expanded them…” 

“Then we could get more than just audio and visual through,” Bill finished. 

“More than just electricity,” Ford elaborated. “Maybe even an entire entity.” 

“So, what you’re saying is…”
Blendin hadn’t followed him into the cave. He was standing guard outside, but up until this point, he’d been whistling softly. Now, however, he was silent, as if he, along with the whole beach, was holding his breath. 

“We’re gonna get you out, Bill. We’re gonna build a portal.” 

Chapter Text

A portal. The thought was dizzying, but it filled Bill with an excitement that simply couldn’t fit in his body. His parents seemed to notice the change, so drastically different from when he’d arrived home the previous evening. They’d been surprised, and he’d been sullen, and while they’d tried to pretend everything was normal, everyone knew it wasn’t. 

His father was the first to drop the act, always one to have such a small tolerance for lies. “Be honest with me, Bill. What did they do to you in that… facility?” 

He said ‘facility’ like it was a curse. He said ‘facility’ like he used to say ‘up.’ 

His father wouldn’t lie, so neither would Bill. He shuddered at the memories of the things they’d done--shoving medicine down his throat had been the least of his problems when he resided in the Department of Vision SuperVision, and he finally realized why everyone had always been so scared of them. So when Euclid asked, Bill Cipher drew on all those memories and said, “They taught me to trust no one.” 

His parent’s faces had fallen as he said it, but the air was cleared between them. He could tell it saddened them, but the tension of pretending was finally gone, and Bill couldn’t say he mourned that. 

He still wasn’t allowed to go back to school, so the teachers he’d had at the Department came to teach him in his house. However, he noticed a difference in his parents whenever they came--somehow, his father was always sitting in the main room reading the paper, and somehow, it was always time to prepare for dinner. He grew used to the sounds of his father’s unimpressed muttering front he corner as he did his lessons, and the smell of his mother’s cooking became more of a warning bell than a soothing comfort. 

On a particularly bitter night, his mother came into his room while he was sketching out plans for Ford’s portal. It wasn’t much--just the basic sketch of the mirror surrounded by a few other pieces of machinery--but it caught his mother’s attention when she saw it. 

“That looks like the portals you used to draw,” she whispered. “The ones you said would let you watch the stars.”

He sighed, letting the sketches fall across his bed. “That’s not quite what it does, but it’s close enough.” 

“What does it do?” Scalene asked, voice soft. It was strange--normally, she would have shut him down by now. But his mother seemed fascinated by the barest bones of his drawing. Perhaps, because the worst had already happened, she wasn’t afraid. 

Well. Everyone thought the worst had already happened. Bill wasn’t sure if that was true or not.

“I can already see the stars,” Bill explained. “This machine, this portal--it will let me visit them.” 

His mother peered closely at the paper. “How?”
He sighed, making a gesture that he just then realized was him imitating Ford. He shook his head, though the didn’t really have one. 

“I don’t really know,” he said. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
“Okay, then,” Scalene said. “Walk me through the problem.” 

He knew his mother understood barely half of what he was saying, but he did. He described the mirror, how it worked, how Ford thought they would be able to expand it enough to create a true opening that would allow Bill to go through it to Ford’s world.

“What about the return journey?” Scalene asked, and for the first time Bill realized there were tears in all three of her eyes. 

He gave the best smile he could. “It should work,” he said. “A door must open both ways, after all.” 

His mother tucked him in that night, as though he was a small child again, as though the baseball shoes and propellor hat that were sitting in the corner were still his. The tight jumpsuit that the Department of Vision SuperVision had put him in sat above it--a haunting reminder of what they’d done, and what they could just as easily do again. 

He didn’t say a word as his mother stroked one angle and sang her lullaby--the only thing that truly connected them, and the only thing that kept them apart.

“Rock-a-bye Billy, 

please, don’t you cry

It’s not your fault 

you have that strange eye…”
“Why do you sing it that way?” Bill whispered, back to his mother. 

The hand on his angle stopped, then started again. “Because it’s not your fault,” Scalene said. “Even though they tried to tell us it was. That having this eye meant you would be an outcast, and prone only to destroy.... I…I couldn’t accept that. I can’t accept that. And because I knew they did mock you for it at school, all the time.”

“What’s worse? Children’s mockery, or your own mother never believing you?” 

Scalene sighed. “I’m sorry, Bill. I really am.”
He felt a single tear leaking out of his eye as his mother finished her song. 

“Stay safe with Mommy, 

You’ll never fall

We’ll always love you, 

Sharp angles and all.”
He didn’t miss the way her voice broke on the last line, turning it into more of a sob than a note. “I mean that,” she said. “Even when you leave us, we’ll still love you.” 

She didn’t give him the chance to respond, instead turning out the light and closing his door. Bill found it in himself to forgive his mother for treating him like a child--if she thought it would be her last days with him, then he couldn’t blame her for wanting to make them count. 

***

He kept his materials in his room in hopes that no one would find them, but he knew his parents did. But as much as Bill sometimes wondered, they never once said anything to the SuperVisor or the doctor, deliberately misleading any representatives of the Department whenever they came by. 

Bill’s studies continued, and he threw himself into them with renewed vigor. They seemed particularly keen in teaching him what the ‘actual’ physics of the universe were, which was just as well for him--they didn’t know what he was planning to do with that information. No one did, except Ford, and now, his mother. Perhaps his father knew, too, but he was too stern to say anything. 

What none of them knew, however, were Bill’s experiments with his other powers. Every time his parents had heard about Bill’s supposed ‘fires’ at school, they’d brushed the teachers off--it was the one thing Bill knew he could get his parents to agree with him on. When the children made up horror stories about him and his blue flame, they put it down to children being cruel. 

So, behind their backs, Bill practiced. He didn’t even think he’d told Ford about this, and perhaps it was out of fear of what he’d say. He could get Ford, the three-dimensional being, to agree to the concept of a third dimension, but fire powers? Experimenting with said fire powers near easily flammable trees? 

He snapped his fingers, conjuring a spark, then sent it flying towards a nearby leaf. He watched as the leaf crumbled to ashes in a few flecks of blue. He did the same to a twig, a patch of grass, a foot-long strip of bark.  Bill counted the seconds it took for each item to burn, satisfied with the numbers. 

“I would stop doing that if I were you.”
Bill jolted at the voice, frantically looking around for its source. He finally saw him, coming out from around the edge of the house. “You’re Ford’s friend, right?” he asked the figure. The human body didn’t exactly translate to the second dimension, but Bill suspected that this particular one was sent because his would translate the best. 

“Alright, I may have lied to you,” said Blendin Blandin. “Ford doesn’t know me. Not yet, anyway--not in this timeline. But I know him, and I certainly know you.” 

Bill froze, focusing more energy into putting fire in his hands. “What are you talking about?” He got me out of the Department. If he doesn’t know Ford, why would he do that? He wondered. Then again, he just said he does know Ford. Ford just doesn’t know him. But that doesn’t make any sense! 

“I told you I was a time traveler, right?” Blendin asked, creeping closer to Bill, who nodded. “Yep.”

“Well, that means I haven’t just seen the past. I’ve also seen the future. Heck, I’m from the future! 207012 won’t happen for another trillion years at this point!” 

Trillion. A near-incomprehensible number, a quantity that Bill couldn’t even fathom. “What does this have to do with me?”

“It has everything to do with you, but you don’t know that yet,” Blendin said mildly. “I can’t say too much--you’re not the only one who will have a massive, cruel and all-powerful government hot on your heels if you say something you’re not supposed to.” 

He flashed a small smile at Bill, and as much as Bill understood the feeling, it still sparked anger in him.  

“What does this have to do with not using my powers?” Bill asked instead of insulting the frankly pathetic strips of hair plastered to the time traveler’s head. 

At this, Blendin’s face hardened, and he met Bill’s eye with both of his. “That fire can and will destroy a lot more than you want it to, Bill Cipher. Be careful.” And then he was gone.

Bill stared after him for a long time, trying to discern how Blendin Blandin had managed to so completely disappear in such a short time. But when he looked, all he saw was the image of a strange, frilled creature with beady black eyes and a serene smile on its face.

It left him uneasy.

Chapter Text

Ford’s head spun with the possibilities and impossibilities of the portal alike. He sketched blueprint after blueprint in his notebooks, both during class and at home, and walked with a purpose in his step that he didn’t think had been there before. 

“Six--Hey, Ford? Are you listening to me?”
“Hm?” Ford looked up, and winced at his brother’s expression. “Uh, yes? What was that?” 

“You haven’t been listening to me at all, have you.” It was moments like these where Stanley most resembled their father--cold and stern, one eyebrow raised over a decidedly unimpressed expression. 

“Ah--my apologies,” Ford muttered. “What was it you were asking?”
“Nevermind, it’s not important,” Stan grumbled. “Clearly not as important as that weird time guy who broke in last night and had you meet with someone in a cave at two A.M, anyway.” 

“Of course it’s impor--wait, what?” Ford spluttered as he processed what his brother had just said. “Wait. How did you know about that? I thought you were--” 

“Asleep? Nah. You can be loud enough to wake the dead sometimes, and even if you weren’t, the time guy certainly was.” 

“‘Time guy?” Ford asked incredulously. “Do you mean Blendin?”
“Is that his name? Almost bald, weird gray jumpsuit?” When Ford nodded, Stan continued. “Yeah, I mean him. Listen, I followed you two out to the beach. You’re lucky you didn’t get mugged, because you were being downright stupid. And I overheard your entire conversation. You’re going to spring your friend from--prison? Did I get that right?” 

Ford swallowed, face starting to flush. “Ah. Well--yes. That’s right. And, before you ask, yes, Bill is the friend I was telling you about earlier.” 

“I thought so. And even if I don’t like any of this--it seems like this guy only gets more dangerous the more I hear about him--it would’ve been nice if you’d at least told me his name--or, I dunno, anything about this situation aside from vauge what-ifs,” Stan said. 

Ford sighed. “I see. Sorry, Stan. I just wasn’t sure how to explain the situation to you, considering you could never meet him.” 

“Hey, I’m not mad. Actually, I get where you’re coming from. But even if it sounds crazy, clue me in next time, yeah?” 

He nodded. “Alright. Still, how much did you hear? And why did you wait this long to say something?” 

Stan shrugged. “It was only two nights ago. Had to use yesterday to sleep in. As for what I heard, it wasn’t much. Just something about being locked up, not being able to see each other, and something about a portal? I’m assuming the last one is why you’ve been muttering numbers to yourself all the time. More than usual.” 

Ford chuckled. “Yes, you’re right about that. Though, in my defence, this type of thing has never been attempted before in all of recorded science.” 

“What, a portal? You’re telling me no one’s ever tried it?” Stan asked. “Haven’t you read books on this stuff?” 

“Those are science fiction,” Ford said, starting to smile. “But this--Stanley, if I pull this off, I’ll make it a reality. Sure, plenty of ancient peoples have attempted ‘portals’ before, but it was never anything like this. No one’s attempted to do what Bill and I are planning to do.” 

“And what is it, exactly, that you’re trying to do?” Stan asked.
He didn’t even care that his brother was baiting him, he was just excited. “We’re going to cross worlds, Stan,” he said. “We’re going to cross dimensions. Hey, remember when you grabbed my sketchbook and told me to make my drawings 3-D? That’s what this is! That’s what this is going to do!”

“I was talking about--you know what? I’m not surprised. It’s you, of course you’d go straight to this.” Stan shook his head, but he was smiling. “I am a little confused, though. What does making 2-D art 3-D have to do with building a portal?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” Ford said, seizing his brother’s wrist. “Now, you interrogated me about it, so you get to help me look for parts.” 

***

He explained as much as he could to Stan about Bill’s true nature--both as his friend and what he was physically--and about their methods of communication. He also explained some details about Bill’s home dimension and what life was like there, though he did say that it would be best heard from the guy himself.

“He sounds like a piece of work,” Stan grumbled as he dug through a pile of scrap metal. “A triangle being hunted by the government for--what, knowing what a pyramid is?” 

“Pretty much,” Ford said, fishing out a bent crowbar. “This might work for the Stan O’War.” 

“Wha--? Oh, yeah. We can still bring it with us, it’s not like they’re super far away from each other,” Stan said. “Just put it in a different pile.” 

Ford set the crowbar in a separate spot than the rest of the materials they’d fished out. “So, you’re not weirded out?” 

Stan looked over his shoulder, raising one eyebrow. “You? Weird? I hate to say it, but weird for you is normal.” 

He chuckled. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”
“Neither. Not trying to be mean, but I also don’t know if that’s a good thing.” 

Ford shrugged, but his smile fell. “Seems fair, I suppose.”
“Don’t take it to heart. You’re weird, it’s in your nature. Just like being a knucklehead is in mine. According to Dad, anyway.” 

He rolled his eyes in response, but he did feel better. “Still, why are you helping me with this? It’s not like you have much of a stake in any of it.”

Stanley sighed. “Ford, we’ve been over this. You’re my brother--I’ll always go out of my way to help you out. Even if it means helping you build a weird science nerd portal to help your science nerd friend, who is apparently visibly similar to a cornchip. Also, I wanna meet the guy.” 

“Any particular reason?” He didn’t quite understand why his voice shook at the question. “Also, whatever you do, please don’t call him a cornchip. Remember, he can electrocute you, even if he is in another dimension.” 

“Wait, what?” Stan whirled around to try and face him, but Ford only laughed. 

***

A few hours later, the two had acquired all the materials they thought they could get away with taking to the beach. They hauled the parts in giant fishing bags that Stanley had pilfered from somewhere, and Ford knew better than to ask where exactly. 

Stan moved the Stan O’War out to the sand as Ford raced into the cave, finding Bil already there, waiting for him. 

“Everything okay on your end?” His friend asked, glancing toward the mouth of the cave.

“Yep. That’s just my brother--he’s helping me gather materials. This stuff is heavy.” 

Bill nodded, but Ford could tell his mind was somewhere else. “Did something happen?”

“The time cop happened,” Bill grumbled. “Told me he was your friend, but you don’t know him, do you?” 

Ford shook his head. “I’m trying to find out more about him, but it’s slow going. He clearly knows about us and our family--he was scarily accurate in telling Stan and I apart just by our faces, and could list our lineage up to what must be six thousand years ago. What I’m trying to figure out is why.” 

Bill hummed. “It’s certainly suspicious. I think he might have been threatening me earlier, but it’s hard to tell with you humans. And…”

Ford leaned closer as Bill continued. “I don’t think he’s a time cop. A time traveler, yes, but he said that I ‘wasn’t the only one with a cruel government hunting me.’ I wouldn’t trust him. Not completely.” 

His breath caught in his throat, and he nodded. “I thought it was fishy, but that’s something else. Now, I think Stan’s done moving the materials, and I know he wants to meet you.” Ford stood up, then shot a glare back at him. “Don’t pull anything funny, I need him to like you so he doesn’t stop me from leaving the house.” 

Bill snorted. “No promises, Sixer.” 

Ford groaned, rolling his eyes as he exited the cave and got Stanley. His brother was nearly tall enough that he had to bend completely over to fit through most of the spaces Ford only had to hunch through. He showed Stanley the bowl, and Bill on the other side of it. 

The two stared at each other for a long moment. “Wow. You told me he was a cornchip, but…For some reason, I wasn’t expecting an actual cornchip.” 

Ford facepalmed. “What’s the one thing I asked you not to do?”
“What’s a cornchip?” Bill asked at the same time. “And why do I look like one?” 

“This guy doesn’t know what a cornchip is?” Stanley whispered, looking at Ford in shock.

“Cornchips don’t exist in his dimension,” Ford deadpanned. “Now. Bill, this is my brother, Stanley. Stan, this is Bill. Please don’t attempt to punch him.” 

“Hello, Stanley,” Bill said.
“If you hurt my brother again, I’ll hurt you,” Stan replied. 

Ford groaned again. “If you fight when I’m around, I’m cutting off both of you. Now, Bill, are you ready to do our first test run?” 

“First test run? You’ve already built the thing?” Stan asked, sounding alarmed. 

“No, Ford Duplicate. We’re testing to see how much we can already pass through our entry points,” Bill explained. “We already know that energies can pass through relatively easily, so we’re stepping it up to see if other forms of matter can also pass through.” 

“Our first test is going to be with gas,” Ford said, taking out a tube. “This is a jar of smoke. I’m going to open it, and Stan, you’re going to use that piece of cardboard to try and fan it into the bowl. Now, it took a lot of campfires to actually get this, so if it doesn’t work, I’ll be very mad.”

“Here goes nothing,” Stan muttered, retrieving his instructed tool.
“How will I know if it works?” Bill asked, voice slightly muffled with the portal. 

“Well, smoke has both a very dark color and a very strong smell. I know you can do both of those things, so if you see or smell it, we’ll know it’s working.” 

With a nod from Bill, Ford unscrewed the cap on the jar, then darted to the side as Stan came forward with the cardboard. He fanned, and some of it got in their faces, but some of it went down into the bowl.

“Did you get anything?” Ford asked, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice. 

“I’d know the smell of fire anywhere, Sixer. We did it.”
Bill had no mouth, but Ford could’ve sworn he was smiling ear-to-ear. If he had ears, that was. 

“Alright! Gas is a success. Next, liquid. Bill, prepare to get a taste of Glass Shard Beach!” 

He ran out of the cave without another word, leaving Bill and Stan to themselves. This won’t go wrong at all. 

***

He came back only a few minutes later, with the jar that had formally held smoke now full of seawater. “Not the most ideal thing, since salt water has more solid components, but we don’t have very many better options around here,” Ford said. 

Stan nodded, then shrugged. “Want me to pour it in so you two nerds get the best view?” 

Ford elbowed his brother for the comment, then looked to Bill, who said, “I don’t mind. Just don’t get me wet--it’s the worst.” 

“I’d move out of the way, then, ‘cause I’m about to pour it into your eye,” Stan said, before tipping the jar over. 

“Be careful,” Ford said. “I don’t want to spill any of the water that’s already in there.” 

Stan nodded, letting the seawater trickle out in a thin stream. Ford bent down, focused on the rim of the bowl. The surface was rippling, which was new, but Ford counted only three drops spilled. Surprising, considering that Stanley had poured almost an entire jar of water onto it, but Bill wasn’t complaining about getting wet, either.

“It’s working, Sixer, but not too well,” he said when Ford asked. “There’s a decently sized puddle, but most of it’s burning up in the mirror, I think. There’s certainly not enough for it to be the entire jar.” 

The last drops fell out, and with them, a small clump of sand that had gotten washed in with the tide. It hit the surface of the water with a plop, sending droplets flying. 

Ford and Stan huddled around the rim, looking eagerly at Bill. “Did it go through?” Stan asked, seemingly to himself. 

On the other side, Bill picked up a single grain of sand. “Yes.” 

Chapter Text

Progress on the portal seemed to go by much quicker after that. They knew how much they could already fit through, so they knew how much they should expand it. Theoretically. 

“Does it account for brain size? Maybe your brother could fit through, but you couldn’t,” Bill said one day as they were discussing this problem. 

Ford, however, shrunk back into himself, and didn’t laugh like Bill had thought he would. “Don’t say things like that, please,” he’d said softly. “He is my brother, and he’s come a lot farther than most people thought he would already. I’d like to continue to prove them wrong.” 

Theoretically, Bill had known Ford had a brother for years now. But for the course of their entire friendship, ‘Stanley Pines’ had just been a phrase, a name thrown out occasionally to put something in context. He hadn’t been truly real to Bill until he’d started helping Ford construct the portal. Bill couldn’t help him at all, unless it was discussing calculations and theories. But that didn’t feel like helping, no matter how much Ford insisted it was. 

That didn’t keep him from continuing to dive into the research, of course. This portal would be his ticket out of Euclydia, and away from the Department of Vision SuperVision, and away from the endless suspicion and mockery he’d faced all his life. It was the project of the century--no, the millennium--and Bill would rather die than leave it unfinished. Of course, if he were to be discovered, he probably would die this time, and he didn’t think Blendin Blandin would come to his rescue.

At the same time, the prospect of leaving Euclydia behind was…bittersweet. Now that he was getting ready to say goodbye, he found a thousand reasons to stay--things he didn’t appreciate, things he might actually miss. 

The hardest part of the whole ordeal would be his parents. They wouldn’t understand any of it--where he was going, how, or why. They would be confused, and sad, and these were things he didn’t know how to remedy. Nothing could have prepared him for it. 

Still, they kept on. Bill’s parents resigned themselves to the roles of bodyguards, always close whenever the SuperVision representatives came to their house. No longer were they welcome--the thought still gave him comfort. 

He no longer had to lie to his parents about where he went every night, but he did have to keep them away from the main room of the house on the night he went to retrieve the mirror. He crept up the hill to the tree, uncovering the object out of the brush that concealed it, and froze. 

Cameras in Euclydia were hard to stop, especially to the untrained eye. In Ford’s world, they were obvious--giant blocks of plastic and glass that required careful positioning, angles, and focus to get a good shot. According to Ford, anyway. Stanley said that there were other, more discrete types that took videos and observed every step you took in certain buildings. As a general rule, Bill didn’t like Stan, but if he had to describe a Euclydian camera, he would go with Stan’s version, with the addition of the fact that there was always someone on the other end. 

Bill stopped, staring at it, trying to see a way to move around it and seize the mirror. Who was on the other side? What would they do? 

He stepped around the bush, tracking the camera’s movements as they lagged behind him. So the Department found where he’d been going all the time--not a big deal, not really. What would they think of a dirty old mirror that had been sititng in the dirt for over six years now? 

Bending down, he found that the mirror’s frame didn’t look nearly as dirty as it should. Well, that complicates things. Where did it even come from, anyway? How was it not dirty? It did rain in Euclydia, contrary to what the humans believed. 

Deciding there was nothing else to be done about it, Bill picked up the mirror, examining it as though he’d never seen it before. Looking around and deliberately avoiding the camera, he heaved it up and began carrying it down the hill.

Would that performance fool them? Probably not, but it was the best he could do. 

***

He had no idea what Stan and Ford did with their portal preparations. Bill had all his materials in his room. 

He didn’t go outside anymore. At all, almost. Even his backyard wasn’t safe anymore, with the image of the strange, frilled creature not having left since Blendin’s visit. 

Bill mounted the mirror in his room, and over the course of the year of the portal’s construction, it began fusing with his wall, until Bill was unsure if he would be able to remove it even if he tried. There was certainly no hiding it, not anymore. 

He and Ford continued to talk every day, and to Bill’s relief, Stan only joined them occasionally. They would talk of the portal’s construction, but Ford would also go on tangents.

“People always say the beach is the best place to go for the summer, but if you ask me, it’s overrated,” he said one day. “I think the best place would be teh mountains, or maybe the woods. Or both! We can go visit them next summer--you’ll probably be with us then.” 

He almost envied the human twins for having so little in their lives affected by the portal. Stan and Ford still had human school, and ‘college,’ and summers of freedom and fun. Bill was locked in his house to avoid drawing ire, and barely left his room unless he thought it was necessary. The portal was Bill’s whole life--the only thing, at this point, that kept him going. 

Though the mentions of being with the Pines next summer--it was tantalizing. He would gladly put up with Stanley if it meant going with Ford to the mountains and forests he gushed so much about. 

The Department of SuperVision, however, visited with much more frequency that they’d ever had. Bill would always be on the main level with his parents, waiting patiently for them to come, having covered up any trace of the portal in his room. His parents helped him hide on the worst of days, but those rarely happened anymore. 

But, in Bill’s mind, the most critical work happened when no one was there to see. When he snapped his fingers, and bright blue flames lit up--when he sent them through the mirror, waiting to see if they would survive. They didn’t, at first. But soon enough, after enough testing, roaring flames would fill the cavern, and Bill would watch them until they burned out. In the worst case scenario, the flames were his comfort--the Department would never touch him again. 

He could still remember what they did. They tried to blind him with medicine, first--and when that didn’t work, they tried to remove his eye entirely. But his eye was three-dimensional, and as much as they tried, they couldn’t touch him. But it still burned, and he still bore the scars. 

Almost a year after the three had begun the portal, Bill found that, more and more, there were strange symbols following him. It had started in the backyard with Blendin’s visit, but it was no longer regulated there. 

“Bill?” His mother called from the kitchen. “Can you come here, please?” 

It was not the established phrase--the one that indicated the Department, the one that said he needed to hide everything and appear normal, now. This was genuine--this made him curious. 

For the first time in a while, he made his way to where Scalene stood, staring at something on the wall. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

One eye flicked towards him before his mother pointed. “Do you know what that is? Is it from…” 

His parents still wouldn’t say the word up, but they seemed more open to its existence. Or, perhaps they’d stopped caring. 

“I think so,” he said mildly, though the image stirred fear deep within him. It was the same image from the backyard, but it was glowing pink now. 

It was also more detailed. Its body was more defined, and it looked long and lizard-like. (He knew what lizards were because they inhabited the cave that Ford’s bowl was in--there were no such creatures in Euclydia). It had a long, smooth tail, and four legs with webbed ends. But the focus of the depiction was the head--far larger, or perhaps that was simply the focus of it. The frills were more detailed, now--red, with tendrils coming out of them, making Bill think they were soft, though perhaps they could also be disturbing-looking feelers. The creature certainly couldn’t see very well, given how small its eyes were, but the lines indicated a wide mouth. 

“Do you need to ask your friend?”
Scalene’s second eye flicked briefly towards one of the cameras that were set up in the house. His father could only ‘accidentally’ knock over or cover up so many without suspicion--most of them were either shattered to pieces or covered behind paintings, but they couldn’t cover all of them without getting even more suspicious. 

“I will,” Bill said simply. “Don’t worry about it.” 

But even as he said it, he flinched. Though he knew such things weren’t possible, save through cameras, he could swear the strange creature was watching him--listening, to far more things than the Department ever could.

***

“It’s almost done,” Ford said. He was red, flushed, and covered in sweat, but he was beaming, and it made Bill feel just as warm. “We’re almost done. You’re almost out.” 

Bill’s eye gleamed, reflecting in the mirror for just a moment. “I know. It’s so close, I can almost taste it--and by your standards, I can’t even taste!” 

The two laughed for a moment before Stanley came back in, calling for Ford. He glanced in Bill’s direction, then mimed a gesture across his lips. “Stay quiet. He doesn’t know you’re here.” 

“I hope you’re done with your drawings, Sixer,” Stan said louder, sounding more apprehensive. “Blendin’s here, and he doesn’t look happy.” 

Bill and Ford exchanged an uneasy glance before the time traveler himself came into view of the bowl, stumbling and cursing as he did so. Blendin, Bill had noticed, acted very differently in the third dimension than he did in Euclydia. He seemed to stumble so much more, and while he stuttered in Bill’s presence, it didn’t happen nearly as much as it did when Stan and Ford were around. It made him suspicious--or, perhaps, he was an extremely clumsy human and functioned better in the much more limited reality of Euclydia. 

“I can’t let you go through with this,” he said. “Talking--talking is one thing, but bringing him here? Building a portal, this early in--?!” 

He cut himself off, though Bill could tell it took effort, even just from hearing him. “Bill isn’t here, right?” 

Something dropped in Bill’s stomach. Ford stood, leaning against the bowl and blocking most everything from Bill’s view as he said, “No.” 

He swallowed, listening for his parents for a moment. They were still downstairs, talking to each other. They wouldn’t bother Bill and give him away--hopefully. 

“Good,” Blendin said. “Because I need to tell you something, and he can’t hear about it.” 

Chapter Text

“What do you mean?” Ford asked, not needing to fake the fear in his voice. “What are you going to say to us that you can’t say to Bill? All of this is for him, after all.” 

Blendin sighed. “That’s the problem. Everything you do--it’s always for him. Always.” 

Stan looked worried at the words, but Blendin kept talking. “Bill does need to know--eventually. But I don’t know how to tell him, and if I say one thing wrong, billions of lives are put at risk.”

Ford gulped, shifting his position on the bowl. He knew Bill was watching--and likely getting a very good view of his rear, which made him blush--but he was suddenly unsure if hiding his presence from Blendin was a good idea. “Billions of lives? How?” 

Blendin looked the most serious Ford had ever seen him. He checked over his shoulder, around the walls, as if something inside them could see and hear them. “Because of what is going to happen,” he said. “Listen. I know the friendship you guys have is cute, healthy, and good or whatever. I know it because I’m the reason you two have contact in the first place. But Ford--one factor you haven’t considered is just how far apart the two of you are.” 

Ford took a shallow breath, taking one glance at his brother, who looked equally worried. “What does that mean?” 

“Cut to the chase, time cop. You’re freaking us out.” His brother sounded angry, but Ford knew he was really scared. 

“There’s no way to sugarcoat this. The two of you are alive 1.1 trillion years after Bill Cipher’s home dimension of Euclydia was destroyed. And it was destroyed by Bill Cipher himself, at the young age of seventeen.” 

Drip. Drip. Drip. The water fell on the rocks, trickling small rivers down the stalagmites. Waves crashed just outside the cave, sucking small tons of glass and sand out into the ocean. And Ford stood there, trying to wrap his head around the idea that his closest friend would be responsible for the destruction of his home.

“That’s not possible,” were the first words said. Surprisingly, they came from Stanley. “You can’t destroy a dimension--it would be like destroying the universe, it’s not possible! Ford, tell him it’s not possible!” 

“But it is,” Blendin said grimly. “I put you, Ford, in contact with him--across millions of dimensions, across trillions of years--in order to prevent such a tragedy. I was hoping things would be different, but it seems we’ve come right back to where we’ve started. Bill has his hooks in your mind, and you’re blinded to the true consequences of what you’re actually about to do.” 

The brothers shared a glance, then looked back to Blendin, who sighed. “I know you want an explanation, but the truth is, it’s far more complicated than I’m able to explain. So, I’m going to tell you a story, and ask you to pay very, very close attention.” 

The twins nodded, faces setting into something stern. “You might want to sit down. This will probably take a while.” 

Blendin fiddled with something on his wrist, and then a blue-green hologram appeared between them. “This is how it goes.” 

Something flickered onto the hologram, and with a start, Ford realized it was himself. He watched, enraptured, as Blendin began to speak.

“It begins, as most stories do, with two brothers who were closer than anything, and the one thing that could tear them apart. One brother was gifted with a mind beyond reckoning, and all around him wanted to see just how far he would go. The other lagged behind--it was an impossible distance to breach, no matter how hard either of them tried. So, one fateful day, they fell away.” 

The screen showed Ford, in a freshly-pressed dress shirt and bow, shaking, holding an empty bag of toffee peanuts to a distraught Stan. There were no words coming from the image, though he could see their mouth’s moving--clearly, they were having an argument. Blendin looked down, quirking a smile. “I had to turn the sound off, because you can’t know what, exactly, breaks you two apart. All you need to know is that these brothers did, and that was the catalyst for everything that happened afterward.” This was followed by the image of Stan being thrown out, and Ford turning away. 

Blendin sighed, and the image split itself in two--Ford sitting in the stands of what he recognized as Backupsmore, and Stan sitting in his car as the rain poured down. “They didn’t see each other for over ten years. One brother was forced to make his living on the road, constantly moving from place to place as he was banned from making a residence. The other brother--he nearly destroyed his world.” 

The holographic stan shuffled out of the picture, and the focus was entirely on Ford, who appeared to be reading something in a cave. The exact inscription wasn’t in view, but soon enough, Ford fell asleep, and the scene around him changed. 

“This brother met an extradimensional being known as Bill Cipher, who, unbeknownst to him, had been terrorizing Earth for millennium. He’d been banished, finally, until this brother stupidly ignored the warnings and summoned the demon--I can only assume he was desperate.” 

Ford flinched at the words, but Blendin kept going. “Over the course of their four-year partnership, Cipher inspired him to create a portal, claiming that it would be the crowning achievement of the brother’s studies, and that all who had opposed him would finally stop. This…wasn’t entirely a lie, because the end of the world would certainly silence the protestors, if in a more…permanent way than the brother thought.

“Well, as everyone but the two of them knew it would, the project fell apart. Both of them called it a betrayal--the brother because of all the lies and manipulations that he’d been fed from the start, and Bill because--for some reason--he thought that he could convince the brother to abandon his dimension and join him.” 

The images had been playing out on the screen as Blendin described them--a large, triangular machine that looked like something out of a novel, the center resembling the bowl that Ford had been using, with Ford himself and another man he didn’t recognize standing in front of it; and a horrifying image of a tear opening in front of him, casting a blood-red shadow across his face. But at the end, Ford caught an interesting scene. Bill--and it was undeniably the Bill he knew, if dressed in black, not blue--had one hand on the back of Hologram Ford’s head, drawing him closer and closing his eye. Hologram Ford had a large smile plastered across his face as he leaned in, and--

“Gah, stupid thing, won’t change,” Blendin grumbled, slamming his fist into the projector and disrupting the image. Ford’s cheeks burned--he knew Stan was giving him a sidelong glance, but he ignored it, replaying the hologram in his mind over and over.

“Sorry, there it goes. Anyway, the brother was pulled into his own creation, and Bill’s plans were frustrated for another few decades as the portal was shut down and the brother worked tirelessly to find a way to stop him for good.” 

It was showing Ford now, alone, slowly moving across quickly changing terrain like a movie montage as he became dressed in more and more black, with the rifle at his back growing more and more complex. “Little did he know, of course, that the brother he’d left behind was working just as tirelessly to save him.” 

The image rewound to the two brothers together--Ford looking like he hadn’t slept in a week, and Stan with the most disgusting-looking hairstyle Ford had ever seen. To his credit, Stan appeared to be trying to comfort him, but it somehow ended in a fight, and that fight sent him flying through the portal.

It now focused entirely on Stan, who grew older and frankly classier as he lured people into his tourist trap. But the image cut out abruptly, now showing Bill, and a massive, sunset-colored tear in the sky.

 “He managed to save his brother, of course, but it came at the cost of letting Bill into this world. He began an event known as ‘Weirdmaggeddon,’ which promised to destroy Earth. He was stopped, in the end, but the weight of what was nearly the end remained on them both.” 

Images flashed by too quick for Ford to process before Blendin shut it off. “And this is hardly the first time he’s done such a thing, either.”

Stan looked at Ford, long and hard, and Ford couldn’t read his brother’s face. “Okay, so how did the time cops get involved? Was it because of Weird-ma-something?” Stan asked, side-eyeing Blendin now.

“Weirdmaggeddon,” Blendin said, shuddering. “And we got involved because he resorted to taking over m--one of the time agents to try and restart the portal, so we came to arrest him. And, well. He ended up incinerating our leader.”

Ford’s mouth went dry. “Do I want to know who that is?”
Blendin chuckled, but it sounded wrong. “The all-powerful Time Baby. Who, by the way, has been thawed out of that iceberg for a lot longer than Bill ever thought, which is why I can’t tell you the full story, even now. Suffice it to say that history is repeating itself--or, from your perspective, the future is happening far sooner than it should.”

The twins were silent. A small, pink, lizard-looking creature--an axolotl, perhaps? He didn’t think they were found this far north--skittered on the ceiling over Blendin’s head. It stopped for a moment, and though Ford couldn’t see the critter’s face, he could swear it was staring at him. The moment passed, and it skittered away behind Ford to the rim of the bowl. “So, with all this said, I want to ask you--is bringing Bill Cipher into your world willingly worth the risk?” 

He didn’t wait for a response. Blendin disappeared before their eyes, leaving the brothers--and Bill, hiding by the mirror--on their own.

***

The two sat, silent, on the swing set they’d been using since they were kids. Ford had tried to talk to Bill, to see what he thought, but Bill had waved him off without a word. So the twins left, but hadn’t felt like going far. 

“Do you believe him?” Stan finally asked. “Blendin?”

“I don’t know,” Ford sighed. “He is a time traveler, after all. He’s probably seen it. But still…” 

“It’s unsettling,” Stan finished. “I get it. Neither of us have the best future.” 

Ford shook his head. “Listen, Stan--I don’t know what separated us, but--”

“It’s okay, Sixer,” Stan said with surprising vigor. “That doesn’t matter. We have to finish the portal.” 

“It’s--wait, what?” Ford looked at him, confused. “But Blendin just said--” 

“What? About how the two of us getting separated was the catalyst for everything? Or that the portal would start the end of the world? Think about it for a second, Sixer. In Blendin’s time, you built the portal alone--or, you and whoever that long-nosed stringbean was. But clearly, he wasn’t doing anything, and I wasn’t there. But I’m here--I’ve been building this thing with you the whole time. Not to mention, Blendin made it sound like you were just scammed--and we both know I know all about scams. Guess I went as far as to make it my living, in the future.” 

Stan looked down, but his face was stern. “So we can go ahead. Because whatever else Bill might have done in some other future, he hasn’t done anything yet. Euclydia’s still there, and we can still reach it. Besides, Cipher--whatever Cipher there is in our time--can’t use our portal if it’s not connected to him, but to a dimension that’s supposed to be dead.” 

Stan looked up at him, but he still looked angry. Ford grinned, the weight in his chest finally lifting. “We still need to account for the time jump. 1.1 Trillion years isn’t exactly a small distance.”

A small smile made its way onto Stan’s face. “Yeah. Any idea how we’ll do that?” 

Ford punched his shoulder. “Nope! But if we’re together, we can figure it out, right?” 

Stan was smiling fully now, and stood up. Ford followed. “Right. High six?” 

“High six.” 

Chapter Text

He was fuming. He was distraught. He had no idea how he was going to deal with this, but he must, because it was the only thing left between him and the freedom of Ford’s dimension.

The freedom of Ford’s dimension. How many other worlds, timelines, versions of him had set their sights on that same thing, and gone to unspeakable lengths to do it? And how many times would he see that stupid pink lizard? It was definitely following him. 

It was an uneasy two weeks following Blendin’s revelation. He still talked to Ford and Stan, but he always cut the interaction short when he could. They said a lot of things--Bill doubted that they were actually going through with them. 

Not to mention, Ford stopped meeting his gaze, blushing every time Bill made direct eye contact with him. It was strange, and Bill wasn’t sure he liked it, and he couldn’t get Ford to tell him what exactly he’d seen. Blendin had, apparently, shown them images of their future, but neither were forthcoming as to what those had been exactly. No matter what he said, both twins freaked out, so he stopped asking.

Two nights before they were set to bring him through to the third dimension, he and Ford were up talking, and Ford was avoiding looking him in the eye, as usual. Bill was tossing a frisbee up and down--an old thing from his early childhood, and blunted beyond actual use. Ford was tossing an apple back and forth between his hands, the flash of red continuing to draw his eye. 

“What would happen if you threw that to me?” Ford asked, dragging Bill out of his stupor. 

“Like…threw it through the mirror?” Bill asked, eye darting back and forth between Ford and the frisbee in his had. 

“Yeah. We’re going to test if we can get you through, but so far, we’ve only tested three-dimensional objects going through. What about 2-D?”

It was a good point, but suddenly, Bill was hesitant. As ratty of a thing as it was, it was still part of his home, and he didn’t want to give it up. But at the same time, he was supposed to be going through in a few days. If the frisbee didn’t make it, then he certainly wouldn’t. 

“Alright. Just make sure it doesn’t break,” he said, flicking his wrist a few times. Ford nodded, taking a step back, holding up his hands. 

One, two… he flicked his wrist again, sending the small disk through the mirror. 

Part of him expected the thing to bounce off the glass of the mirror, or maybe break it. Instead, it flew straight through into the third dimension, and into Ford’s hands--though, he noted with a flush, it was comically small, even compared to the apple. 

He watched Ford clutch the thing to his chest before lowering his hands and taking a closer look. He held the frisbee up to the class where Bill could see, then peered at it closer himself. 

“Does it feel any different?” Bill asked, wishing more than ever he could just go through and examine it himself, but doing that would mean he already knew the answer to his question. A fine predicament he had himself in. 

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be this small, but…” He trailed off, then looked at Bill, smiling. “It’s thick.” 

Bill raised half his eyebrow. “‘’Thick?’”
Ford chuckled. “It’s the descriptor for the third dimension--also called ‘width.’ You in Euclydia would have ‘length’ and ‘height,’ but not ‘width.’ And--” he turned the frisbee, showing Bill its newfound dimension. “It’s about the same thickness as a frisbee would be in our world, so that’s translating well. My worry is the size.” 

“What do you mean?”
Ford looked away, but he appeared more abashed than embarrassed. “I mean, it doesn’t seem like the frisbee changed in size at all, which means…” 

“What? Spit it out, Sixer. It’s getting annoying.”
The human laughed, which was the wrong reaction. “What I’m saying is, I think there might be a significant size difference between us that we didn’t consider. If I’m right, then you will come through okay, but you might be…well, about the size of a mouse.” 

Bill remained silent for a long moment. “So, what you’re saying is, you could crush me under your boot.”

The human laughed again, and Bill felt that weird warmness swell up, like sticky pink goo that felt soft and tasted like sugar, clinging to his insides no matter how much he tried to shake it away. 

“No, I don’t think we have that big of a height difference,” Ford said. “Didn’t you say I was as tall as the average tree in your world?”

The feeling was deceptive. It liked to make him think it was gone, but it was just in hiding, waiting to strike again. “Yeah. As far as I can tell, anyway. We don’t exactly have the same measurement tools.”

This feeling better go away when I get to the third dimension, or things will be a lot more complicated. 

Somehow, he didn’t think it would. 

***

The portal, as he explained it to his parents, was made of glass, steel, and discarded medication. 

He’d admit the last part wasn’t true, but he wasn’t sure how to explain the way the mirror seemed to meld itself into the steel frames Bill managed to support it with. The more he truly looked at it, the more he felt as though the mirror he’d been clinging to for years was only one piece of a much larger plan--both figuratively and literally. It fit far too comfortably as the center of the portal for it to not have been intended for it. 

And, who knows, it might have been part of the same portal Blendin was talking about. But the thought of recreating what his apparently evil past? Future? self had done made him uneasy. Especially since it had involved manipulating Ford so thoroughly. 

Bill was good at manipulation, and he knew it. He regularly used every tactic in the book on the representatives of the Department of SuperVision whenever they came by, convincing them that nothing is wrong, all is well. Rats that they were. When he got to the third dimension, he would find himself a bunch of rats, name them after all the doctors, and then feed them to the street cats. Ford said that neither were scarce, so it was something he was confident in. 

As much as he wanted to revel in his victory, however, he was always stopped by the thought of what was already here. Yes, there were the doctors and the endless watching eyes, but…would he really be willing to leave it behind? 

His parents still thought he was making a return journey. That this would be a temporary trip, and not his way of moving out for good. 

They seemed okay with the idea of him leaving, even if it was for a while--he sometimes caught his mother sorting through his various hats and shoes, separating them into batches based on what he should take with him and what could stay behind ‘for his return.’ His father told him that he’d have a stack of news ready for when Bill got back, so that he’d be able to catch up on everything that he’d missed, and Bill knew how expansive his father’s news collection was. He was planning on saving a lot of papers, but no amount of shelf space would account for forever. 

Forever. A near inquantifiable amount, almost like trillion. So big he simply couldn’t process it. His parents certainly wouldn’t be able to. 

Or perhaps they did. After all, Scalene’s eyes had rarely been dry in the past few days, and both she and Euclid had tucked him into bed that night. His father had looked at him with grave grief, and said ‘good night’ as though he was saying ‘goodbye.’

Mere hours before he was set to leave, in the dark night that comes just before dawn, Bill was wandering around the kitchen. Not because he was hungry, or even for something to drink. No, he was more enamoured with his mother’s cooking utensils, and the collection of silly straws that he’d once adored. It had been the only way for his parents to make him take his medicine--and as sour as the thought was, he was still fond of the swirling suction vessels. 

He looked at the cluster of shoes by the door, the hats hanging from the rack. He ran his hands over the couches that his family had often sat in, across from the ones who had tried to ruin him. The material was soft, and he could see scratches towards the bottom of where he’d once played with paper-thin bricks and drawn shapes that could never be translated quite right. 

Of course, he hadn’t understood then that the toy blocks he’d played with were mere whisps compared to what was out there. He hadn’t known what a sphere was, or one of the pyramids that Stan and Ford liked to joke so much about. It had just been baby Billy and his loving parents. 

“Bill?”

He whirled around, finding himself eye-to-eye with his mother. Scalene’s eyelids dropped, as though she was fighting back sleep, but her expression gave more sadness than tiredness. 

“Yes, Mom?”

“When do you leave?” 

Bill’s shape trembled. “In the morning. I already told you.”

Scalene’s motions were so subtle that perhaps even Bill couldn’t have picked up on them if he wasn’t watching so closely. “Do you want me to wake up your father? So we can say goodbye?” 

Bill froze. “But--can’t we do it in the morning?”
His mother smiled sadly. “Oh, Billy. I’m your mother, and you can’t hide anything from me. You were planning to leave before we woke, even though you’ll never see us again.” 

Something sharp pricked at his eye, and Bill realized too late that it was a tear. “How did you know?” 

“We know you too well. You’d never come back to this place, even for us. I don’t blame you, and neither does your father, but--” 

“I’m sorry.” His mother was crying again, and he hated seeing his beloved mother cry. “I’ll miss you.” 

She led him by the hand back into the kitchen, pulling out several small sacks. “One for clothes, one for food. And--here.” 

With shaking hands, she undid the bowtie to the right of her upper eye, tying it on Bill instead. He couldn’t say a word. 

“Remember me,” she whispered. “Your father left something, too.”
She handed him what Bill recognized as his father’s favorite hat, made of the finest materials and that never seemed to get dirty. “Remember us.” 

“I will, Mom, I will,” Bill croaked. “I won’t forget.” I couldn’t.

His mother mustered up a smile, stroking his hightest angle the way she always did. “Goodbye, Billy. I love you.” 

“I love you too, Mom. Goodbye.”

Chapter Text

It was the crack of dawn, and Ford was pacing on the beach, as relentless as the waves behind him. He could feel Stan watching him from where he sat on the old swingset, but he was too restless. They were supposed to begin the portal operation at sunrise, but Blendin was late, and it was making him anxious. 

“Hey, Ford?”
He startled, not having noticed Stan coming up behind him. “Are you sure we need him to go through with this?” 

“Well, if he’s telling the truth and we’re pulling Bill trillions of years ahead of his time, then I think we should have the assistance of someone who has experience crossing that distance.”

Stan snorted. “Assistance, distance. Nerd.”
Ford rolled his eyes right as a flash of blue blinded them both, dying down to reveal two figures. Blendin, he recognized, with his regular blue-grey suit and the small tufts of brown hair. But there was someone standing behind him, in a long, deep purple cloak, with a hood that shrouded the face. The figure had the shape of a woman, but Ford couldn’t be sure. Still, it was something. 

Stan squinted. “Who’s that with Blendin?”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as the pair came near. They stood at the mouth of the cave, about to change the course of dimensional history. It was a lot, and the intimidating presence of the new figure didn’t help matters at all. 

“Is everything ready?” Blendin asked, coming up to the two. “Checks, polishing…” 

“Yes, we triple-checked it, like you said,” Stan snapped. “Can we just go ahead and do this already? I’m sick of all this waiting.” 

Stan led the two into the cave, with Ford bringing up the rear. He did it to try and catch a glimpse of the new figure, but all he saw was one eye, and the lump the figure carried--an eerily human-shaped bundle of blankets. He could have sworn the figure met his eyes, but the moment was soon gone. He gulped and followed them through.

“Blendin--could you tell us who that is?” He kept glancing towards the new figure, who was standing still as stone. 

It took him a moment to realize that Blendin seemed just as unsettled by their new companion as the twins were. The figure turned her head towards Ford, and though he couldn’t see the face, he could feel the eyes boring into him. “Are you sure you want to know?” 

The voice was too deep for a woman, but too light for a man, further confusing him. He opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment, he heard Bill tapping on the glass of the mirror--their signal for letting each other know they were there. 

Ford rushed to the bowl, leaning over to see his friend. “We’re all here,” he said. “Are you ready?” 

Bill never had much in the way of facial expressions as a human would recognize them, but Ford had gotten good at knowing when his friend was melancholy. He was wearing a new bowtie, and clutching the brim of a hat Ford couldn’t see. But despite his face, he still met Ford’s eye with a hard stare. “I’m ready.”

Not knowing what else to do, but feeling suddenly nervous about proceeding, he looked back to Blendin and the mysterious figure. Blendin looked nervous, sweat beading on the bald patches of his head, but the hooded figure spoke. “Bill, come through.” 

His friend looked just as nervous as Ford did, but had far less hesitation before moving closer to his mirror, connecting to Ford’s bowl.

A week prior, he, Stan, and Blendin had mounted it on the cave’s wall, tilting it as far as they dared without spilling any of its precious contents. It wasn’t completely level with the wall, but it was enough that Bill wouldn’t have to haul himself out of a ditch, and would, at the very least, fall into the twins. 

He blushed at the thought of Bill falling quite literally into his arms, but shook his head. Now was not the time to get distracted, because doing so could cost his friend’s life. 

The moment Bill touched the portal, it lit up blue, then gold, then a myriad of colors that flew by too fast for Ford to process them all. Wind began whistling through the cave at a rapid speed, and Ford could’ve sworn his feet started lifing off the ground, though he couldn’t be sure. 

Someone was shouting. He, Stan and Blendin yelping as the time traveler began to unquestionably float off the sand, trying to grasp the rocks around him to steady himself. 

Stan clung to the stalagmites, using them to forcibly keep himself on the ground. So the anti-gravity properties must not be that strong, if Stan can manage this. Then again, he reminded himself, Stan was probably the most physically fit out of everyone. He was trying to be kinder to his brother, in light of what Blendin had revealed.

Still, he took advantage of the lack of weight to make his way over to Bill, who was struggling through. He realized some of the screaming was coming from him. 

“He’s trapped!” Ford shouted, the realization hitting him like a truck. “He’s trapped in the middle!” 

“Oracle!” Blendin yelled as if Ford hadn’t spoken. “You’re up!”
The figure--the ‘Oracle,’ apparently-- raised her arms as though to cast a spell. Or, what Ford thought spell-casting looked like, anyways. Either way, a purple glyph surrounded its arms, growing large enough to encapsulate the entire portal. Dread shot down Ford’s spine, thinking he knew--given what Blendin had said--what it was the Oracle was going to do. 

“Stan! Get them!”
His brother’s jaw dropped, seemingly stunned. “What? Why?”
“They’re gonna break it! They’re going to kill Bill while he’s vulnerable!” 

“Sixer!” Bill called out, sounding terrified, right as Blendin shouted, “Kid!” 

Ford ignored Blendin, shooting back towards the portal. Bill’s single eye was filled with nothing but fear, and it made his chest clench. His hand was outstretched, though it didn’t break the surface of the pool. “Help me, Sixer!” 

With barely a thought’s hesitation, Ford plunged his hand into the bowl, searching for Bill’s hand. The water was cold, yet it seemed to burn at the same time, and his hand moved through it like it was slime. 

“Ford! This wackjob’s got a body! A human body, Ford!”
Stanley’s words caused him to crane his neck, seeing the limp form of what appeared to be a dark-skinned teenage boy about his age laying on the sand. His stomach dropped. Though he knew things like this happened to kids all the time in Jersey and New York, he’d still never been witness to such a crime-- or seen the aftermath. 

“Get off!” Came Blendin’s shout, and a few grunts told him Blendin had overtaken Stan. “That’s for Bill! We’re not trying to kill him!” 

Wait, wha--? But his thoughts stopped when he finally caught hold of Bill’s hand. “I’ve got you!” 

His friend’s grip tightened, and Ford began to pull until Stan shouted, “Ford! Watch out!” 

The purple glyph hit him in the next moment, sending a thousand bolts of static through him, making him shudder violently. “Bill? You okay?” 

“Ford, just pull!” Stan and Bill shouted at the same time, which Ford knew would irritate them both. He smiled down at his friend, form nearly indistinguishable in the murky waters, and pulled with all his strength. 

Ford’s hand made it out, Bill’s clasped tight onto his forearm. It flitted between black, brown, and gold, and he wondered for a moment if Bill would make it through formless.

“Ford! Jump back!” Blendin shouted. “Bill will be okay, I promise! Just jump!” 

“Stan?” He knew Blendin was probably telling the truth, but his brother would let him know.
“Do it!” Stan was still clinging to the stalagmites, but his feet were over his head, now. 

So Ford used his free hand to pull himself in, then pushed out with all his might, dragging Bill with him. 

He hit the wall with a grunt, crumpling to the ground, catching the Oracle through hazy vision as she completed the ritual. The hazy multicolored wisp that Ford had pulled from the portal was absorbed into the prone body, sinking in slowly. 

Ford sat up, head pounding, as the purple glyph shone on the floor and disappeared. For one tense moment, no one moved. 

The body sat up, gasping, clutching at his throat with one splindly hand. He looked thin and malnourished, and Ford wondered not for the first time where Blendin and the Oracle had found this kid. 

“Where-what--” The body coughed, and to Ford’s shock, it was Bill’s voice. 

“Bill?” Ford whispered, crawling over and placing a hand on his arm. “Is that you?” 

Slowly and with a great deal of crackling, Bill turned to face him, grinning widely. “It’s me, Sixer. It worked.” 

A laugh bubbled in his chest, then escaped his throat as he pulled him into a tight hug that left Bill wheezing. He pulled back, but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “I can’t believe it! I--” 

Bill grinned back just as fiercely before pushing him away, attempting to stand up. “Yeah, yeah, I’m amazing and you couldn’t wait to see me. Now help me up.” 

He did, though Bill’s hands weren’t gripping his quite as tightly as they had coming out of the portal, though he was more corporeal now. He pulled Bill closer, examining his face, taking it all in. He had tanned brown skin with black hair, though he was starting to see streaks of gold shooting through it--a testament to Bill’s true colors. He was also wearing a gold polo with black slacks, as well as a matching black bow tie. The black hat Bill had been holding had fallen to the sand, and was picked up by the Oracle, who nodded at Blendin.

 Most of Bill’s forearms were exposed, and Ford noticed that they were almost unnaturally thin--as though no muscle had developed. Still, he was here, and gripping Ford tight. Holding him, for the first time in their entire friendship. 

“Uh, you two gonna break it up?” Stan asked, having stood up and watching the two with a barely disguised smirk. Ford realized he’d been staring and broke eye contact with a flush, though he didn’t let go of Bill--he was pretty sure he’d fall if he did. 

“It will take a bit of getting used to, but that’s what happens when you Frankenstien a body,” Blendin said. “We didn’t do the Frankenstiening, but the guy we took it from was trying to create a body for a…similar purpose. Ironically, he thought it was too young, so he tossed it out.” 

Ford thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose it suits our purposes quite well, but--”

“How long is it going to take for me to get the hang of this thing?” Bill cut in. “And why did you stick me in it in the first place?” 

“If your plan is to stay in this realm indefinitely, you will need a form more suited to it,” the Oracle said. “As for your first question, you should be on par with the average teenage human in about two weeks. You’ve done all the growing, you just need to practice in it for a while.” 

“That’s all well and good,” Stan said. “But now that everything’s calmed down, who exactly are you? And what was that purple thing you shot at Ford?”

Ford could’ve sworn she grinned before moving to remove her hood. She let it fall, shaking her head and letting her loose purple hair sway about before looking into Ford’s eyes with all seven of hers. “I am Jheselbraum the Unswerving, also called ‘The Oracle.’”

Chapter Text

It was truly embarrassing, how long he’d spent clinging to Ford’s arms. In his defence, he was pretty sure he would fall over if he didn’t, but he felt himself flush every time Stanley Pines shot him a look. The worst part was he couldn’t read it--just because humans had more facial features to work with didn’t mean Bill was an expert in it, however much it frustrated him. 

The seven-eyed woman--’Jeesbarm’ or whatever it was--had a much worse stare, and it sent shivers down what he thought Ford had called a ‘spine.’ He gripped Ford’s arm tighter, frustrated with his lack of grip strength. Blendin stood, looking between the three human boys-- he was a human boy now, it was still surreal-- and straightened, the picture of the perfect officer. 

“Bill Cipher, congratulations. You’re part of the third dimension, which your counterpart in this timeline spent over a trillion years attempting to accomplish. Now, since you are now without a safe home, we must decide where you’re going to--”

“I will take him,” Jeesbram said, all seven eyes fixed on Bill. Seven Eyes. That was probably the better name for her. “I have a place where we can stay, and he can safely develop all basic human motor skills. It will not be hard, as I said.” 

Bill froze, but managed to let go of one of Ford’s arms. “And where is this, exactly?” 

Seven Eyes smiled, which somehow made the feeling worse. “I would tell you, but I doubt you would know, considering the circumstances.” 

Right. He was in a completely different world. Nothing that he knew would be the same here. It struck him, how out of his own element he was. Outside of what Ford and Stan had told him, he knew nothing. 

“How did you know I knew about my older--other? Self?” Bill asked Blendin, trying to take his mind off of the sudden existentialism. 

Blendin rolled his eyes. “I went back to see if you were eavesdropping. Perks of being a time cop--you can be in four places at once.”

He was only gripping Ford’s hand, now, rather than forearm, but his legs were shaking. “Nice. Okay, can we move to this safehouse? This ‘standing up ’ thing is a lot harder than I thought.” 

That got a chuckle from Ford, but no one else. Seven Eyes came forward, extracting Bill’s grip from Ford’s, beginning to lead him out of the cave. “Your mother is already informed of the address,” she said, turning to the brothers. “She will tell you everything else. We will meet tomorrow morning--for now, the triangle needs rest.” He could’ve sworn she was smiling, but it was hard to tell. If he tilted his head up too far, it swam with dizziness. 

She led him by the arm, likely trying to be gentle, but she still ended up pulling him more often than not. His legs burned to give out, and it got to the point where he wondered if he would just collapse there on the street. At some point, she switched which arm she dragged him by, which relieved him only a little.

When they finally, blessedly stopped, they were standing in a small neighborhood that looked like it had seen better days. There was trash on the ground, though not an excessive amount, and the buildings were rather small and dirty, but he didn’t mind. He was surprised when he had to tilt his head up to see the top of the building--what must be a house. A three-dimensional house. 

He was standing up. He was walking upright. He was three-dimensional. And he had a killer headache. “Are we going to go inside?” he asked.

She chuckled. “Yes. This is where you’ll be living for the next few weeks while you recover. I hope it’s not too…you know what? I’ll just show you.”

Seven Eyes moved up-- up --the stairs and opened the door, letting it swing inwards and guiding him onto the brown leather couch, where he collapsed. 

He heard her close and lock the door, but his eyes were shut tight. That feeling of being watched was back, and he didn’t think it was because of Seven Eyes.

“Do you--um, are you hungry?”
He opened one eye, rolling his entire head over to look at her. “Why? Do you have food?” 

She’d shed her long purple coat, and was now standing in a fairly ordinary set of human attire--a lilac shirt and dark brown slacks that went down to her ankles. It looked like the pictures Ford had shown him of his mother, and what she would wear. With a pang, Bill thought of his own mother, back in Euclydia, and turned away. He was already starting to miss her. 

“Yes, I have food,” Seven Eyes said. “I--Don’t actually know what you like, so you can just pick whatever looks good, I suppose.” 

“Alright, give me a second,” Bill grumbled, forgetting for a moment that he was in the third dimension and that sliding off the couch would result in falling down. 

He could hear Seven Eyes snickering as he flailed, trying to make himself stand. “Do you need help?” 

“No, I’ve got it,” he muttered into the dusty floor. “When was the last time you lived in this place?” 

“I’ve been living here for the past six months, ever since Blendin contacted me about the portal efforts,” she said, sounding affronted. “Take my hand. Come on.” 

He did so and she helped him to his feet, helping him stumble towards the kitchen, which looked a lot dimmer than the rest of the third dimension that he’d seen. 

It was a small setup, far smaller than what his home had been. It consisted of only a few cabinets that he had to look up to see. There was a small, deep brown table with only two chairs, and a portrait hanging up over it. 

He gasped. It was the same frilled creature that had been following him around in Euclydia, except now it was painted by people who knew what the third dimension was. It had depth to it, and the colors were far more vibrant than he was used to, but it was the same creature. 

“What is that?” he asked, voice low. His hands shook. He couldn’t stop them. 

“That’s the Axolotl,” said Seven Eyes, making a strange gesture that Bill couldn’t interpret. “It is the ruler of this multiverse, and someone you--that is, your… other self--have had many altercations with over the millennium.” 

Bill nodded, swallowing. “And what was he like? My--other self? How did you know him?” It felt weird to classify himself as the same creature as this mysterious ‘other’ Bill Cipher, destroyer of worlds and lives. He’d heard tales from Blendin, and the additional tidbits that Ford and Stan had gleaned from him, but he still couldn’t fathom the image.

Well, maybe he could. But he didn’t like thinking about that. How could he fall so far as to destroy what little of his home that he loved?

Seven Eyes was looking at him sadly, but there was something angry in her eyes. It scared him almost as much as his older self did. 

“I knew Bill Cipher a long time ago,” she said, and her tone had changed completely, hardening into something that spoke of a warrior. “At the height of his power, no dimension was safe from him. He would go wherever he wanted, do whatever he pleased, facing no consequences because of the unimaginable power he possessed after destroying his dimension. He came to my world and, seeing what I could do, offered me a chance to join him in exchange for my world’s survival.” She sighed, fixing her gaze on the ‘Axolotl.’ “I accepted.”

She looked at him then, and Bill took a subconscious step back. “I ran with him for several centuries, because I thought it would keep me and my homeworld safe. But…Well, there are some things even Bill Cipher couldn’t control, but he certainly never made it better. My world was swallowed up by his realm, becoming a myriad of disjointed fragments that I later formed into my own dimension. Through the Axolotl, of course.” 

“When did you leave him?” Bill asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“When I realized that all he did was make things darker. He claimed to be the best partier, the brightest star in the multiverse, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I realized that, eventually, and made my escape by pleading for pardon from the Axolotl. But Bill and his henchmaniacs continued to rampage through the multiverse, until he developed a fixation on Earth. And, well, the rest is history.” She smiled, which seemed strange, given the circumstances. “He was never quite able to understand humanity, even when he had a human devoted to him in every way. In that timeline, you see, Stanford Pines would have given everything to have Bill even look his way. That’s exactly what he did, in some cases.”

Anxiety shot through him at the mention of Ford. “What did he do?” Bill asked, voice barely above a whisper. The real question was, how did I hurt him? According to Blendin, that’s all he had done. 

A long, slow blink. “The same thing he did to everyone, and then much more. He manipulated, lied, cheated Stanford out of what was most precious to him. And he replaced it with only himself, leaving a gaping hole when Ford finally found out the truth. I spoke to Stanford Pines many years after this happened, and the full story came out only when he unexpectedly roused himself in the middle of a surgery. He said some things that…well, that told me everything I needed to know.” 

Seven Eyes said nothing more, leaving something hollow in his chest. Bill didn’t know how much she knew about his past--his real past, in his opinion--but she knew all about the horrible things he’d done, and it was much more personal to her. He couldn’t blame her for being skeptical, he supposed. She probably had him live with her just so she could keep an eye--or seven--on him. It was what he would do.

His entire body felt cold, and his legs ached from standing for so long. Appearing to realize this, Seven Eyes hurriedly sat him down and moved about the kitchen, flustered when she realized she didn’t have much. 

“I guess I forgot today was portal day,” she grumbled. “Lovely thing for a psychic to forget about the future. I’m afraid all I’ve got are some sandwiches.”

Bill grimaced when she set his down in front of him. The crusts were still on. He picked them off on his own, but all the while, he thought of his mother and the home he’d left behind--now, just as dead to him as it was to the Bill that Seven Eyes knew. 

It was hard to fall asleep that night. 

***

Over the next few days, he had to figure out the hows of up in addition to the whats. 

Standing was hard. He would readily admit it, and he suddenly admired the twins for doing it all the time. Walking was even worse, and running was the worst thing that ever happened to him.

Ford and Stan pounded on the door early the next morning, waking up Bill from a deep sleep. It wasn’t unwelcome--he’d been having nightmares about blue flames consuming his entire dimension, his parents looking at him accusingly as they were turned to ashes. He shuddered, shaking the dream away, stumbling down (down!) the stairs as Seven Eyes answered the door.

“Bill!” Ford had barely even acknowledged her, moving straight for him and taking Bill’s hands in his own. He’d asked so many questions, which Bill had tried to respond to with some sort of clarity, before Stan pointed out that they were ‘basically holding hands,’ at which point Ford had backed up, face redder than Euclid on a bad day. He chuckled at the comparison before sadness filled him again. 

They’d sat on the couch for ages, snacking on every human food the twins thought he needed to try (If there was one thing he could agree with Stan on, it was that Toffee Peanuts were delicious) before finally being enlisted by Seven Eyes to go with her to buy food. “If you’re going to eat me out of house and home, the least you can do is help me carry it.” 

They’d also had to figure out an arrangement for going out in public--Bill couldn’t properly stand or walk for long periods of time, and he couldn’t always use Ford as a crutch. Stan was particularly emphatic about the last point, saying it would ‘give the wrong impression’ and ‘draw unnecessary attention.’ Ford and Seven Eyes seemed to agree, but Bill was left confused. They settled on a pair of crutches, showing Bill how to swing his legs back and forth so he didn’t have to use them so much. They did hurt his arms, though. 

“Hey, this chip brand looks like Time Baby,” Seven Eyes said, pulling out one of the boxes in the ‘junk food’ aisle. She was back to wearing her cloak, which must have some sort of magical properties, because her face was almost completely hidden. The rest of it was pulled around her in the approximation of a dress, making her look like the dozens of other women in the store. 

“Time Baby? Isn’t that Blendin’s boss?” Stan asked, inspecting the box of ‘Hourglass Hogs: The Junk Food for Pigs.’

“Indeed,” Seven Eyes said. “He used to be. However, I doubt he’ll be happy with the arrangement we currently have. Not only have we successfully prevented the destruction of Euclydia, but we’ve also rescued one of his worst enemies from it.” At this, she glanced toward Bill. “You two have had some pretty epic fights. Killed the dinosaurs, I believe.” 

At this, both Ford and Stan looked at him with wide eyes. “You killed the dinosaurs? You threw a meteor at the Earth?” Ford asked. 

“If by ‘meteor’ you mean ‘gigantic bald baby,’ then yes,” Seven Eyes said. “So, as you can imagine, he’s not happy. Especially since he’s been thawed out of that iceberg for a few centuries at this point, contrary to what Cipher knows.”

Bill flinched, but after this, he and the twins continued to pester her for every detail of every epic thing Bill--and the two of them--had done. She changed the topic pretty quickly, but they soon got back around to Time Baby.

“So, he’s the ruler of the time travelers,” Stan said, fingers on his chin. “Makes sense that they’d need someone. But if he’s so strict, wouldn’t he have come after us the moment Euclydia didn’t die?” 

“In theory, yes,” Seven Eyes said. “I believe he’s on Euclydia at this very moment. Figuring out what exactly happened is going to take some time, but we’ll have Blendin to warn us when he’s on our scent. Until then, you three are free to enjoy all that Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey, has to offer.” This was mostly directed at Bill with a beaming smile.

They all laughed, but Bill didn’t feel it. He brought Ford’s hand to his crutches, jokingly forcing him to help him move them, but he needed the comfort. 

It wouldn’t last long, after all.

Chapter Text

Ford unapologetically dragged Stan with him nearly every single time he went to visit Bill, claiming it would get their parents of his back. And his brother actually complied, for the most part. He only declined once. 

“Seriously, Sixer. That guy’s got hooks in your brain,” Stan said. He was fiddling with his paddle by the TV, watching some sort of boxing show that Ford didn’t care about. 

“I’m making sure he’s alright!” Ford insisted, face heating.
“Uhuh. Sure.” Stan turned back to the TV, continuing to play with the paddle. “Just be careful, Ford. You don’t want our parents asking questions, or people getting the wrong impression.” 

Ford huffed, standing in front of the television, forcing his brother to make eye contact. “I understand the concern about Dad, but Mom knows the Oracle, and she’s a ‘psychic,’ so she can’t be that opposed to the supernatural. And what do you mean by ‘the wrong impression?’ You keep saying that, and I know you’re trying to hide something. Just spit it out!”

Stan groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Do I really have to spell it out for you? You have to know what I’m talking about, with the way you keep acting around Bill.” 

“What does that have to do with--?” He started, then stopped when he realized he was shouting. Stan jabbed a finger up at the ceiling. Their parents’ voices drifted down--the thick accent from their mother, the stern, low gruffness from their father. 

The realization must have shown on his face, because Stan nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” 

Ford flushed, hands clenched at his sides. He’d been thinking about it for a while--and the realization had finally hit him when the Oracle had taken Bill out of the cave, and Bill had turned around to look back at him. When his heart had leaped at the simple action. How he kept staring at Bill’s new form, unable to find fault. How Bill had been staring back, gripping him tightly, refusing to tear his eyes off Ford. And that night, all Ford had been able to think about was how it felt to finally hold him. It had become undeniable. 

“Don’t tell Dad,” he said, voice hoarse. “I don’t know what he’d do if he found out.” 

Stan grimaced. “I don’t think it would be pretty, but remember, you’re the smart one. He’s still banking on that upcoming science fair to show you off to people, make a few more bucks. You’re worth more than I am, so I think it’s better that it’s you.” 

His heart sank as he sat down on the couch next to his twin, who was avoiding his gaze again. “Stan, don’t say that. No one’s worth more than anyone else, especially not you. Besides, I wouldn’t put it past him to kick me out for it, worth more or not.” 

“If anyone’s getting kicked out here, it’s me, and we both know it,” Stan said sharply. “I did get kicked out, remember? We saw it. That’s how we got separated.” 

“We still don’t know why that happened,” Ford said. “But that’s not important right now. Stan…please, don’t tell our parents.”

His brother put a hand across his shoulders. “I would never. That said, I don’t think Mom would care.”

He had a point. Ford didn’t think their mother cared about things like that, so long as he and Stan were happy. “Maybe. She does know the Oracle somehow. But I still don’t want to take chances.” 

“I understand completely,” Stan said. “For what it’s worth, I don’t care either. You're my brother, and he makes you happy. He’s done it ever since we were kids. I may not be a huge fan of the guy, but I’m not going to get in the way of it just because of a few petty gripes. You’re secret’s safe with me.” 

Ford gave the best smile he could, that Stan returned before he started smirking. “Now, go get ‘em, tiger.” 

An undignified squeak left Ford’s mouth, accompanied by his brother’s roaring laughter. “That’s--Stan, you know that’s--” 

“I’m kidding. Mostly.” Stan glanced over at the TV, still smirking. “Hey, look. It’s an ad for the school’s science fair.” 

Ford refocused, and it was, to his surprise. “Really? They have that kind of money?” 

“You do realize that our school’s fair is a big deal, right? There aren’t a ton in this area,” Stan said. The infernal clacking of the paddle started up again. “Has to do with college attraction or something. According to the rehab counselor, I dunno. But you should sign up, Sixer. You’d probably win.” 

Ford laughed. “Maybe, but that’s not untill next year. I’ve got some time. And I still have to check on Bill.” 

Stan rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. Hey, ask Seven if she’s been feeding Mom predictions, will you? Mom’s been actually predicting things lately, I dunno if you’ve noticed. Oh, and if something interesting happens, I’ll come get you.”

“Same to you,” Ford said, standing up and going to the door. As he walked out onto the street, he saw his mother in the top widow, waving at him and blowing a kiss as he walked away. Ford smiled, acknowledging her, before all but sprinting to where Jheselbraum the Unswerving lived with Bill. 

***

It took him about ten minutes to get there. Bill let him in when he knocked, pressing a finger to his lips. “She’s talking to someone. No idea who, but we probably shouldn’t disturb them.” 

Listening for a moment, Ford almost laughed. He could hear the Oracle talking about futures and babies and something about Toffee Peanuts, addressing someone named ‘Caryn.’ “She’s on the phone with my mom,” Ford snorted. “I think we’ll be fine. But if you want to go, we can.” 

Though Bill could walk without assistance now, he still had trouble with very long distances. He’d certainly been practicing, but hadn’t dared venture out far without someone to go with him. Ford was grateful that, at the very least, the Oracle was trying to keep him from going alone. 

“I’d still bring the crutches, just in case,” Ford said, Stan’s warnings ringing in his mind. “I’d rather not take chances.”

Bill grumbled, but complied. “Fine. But Seven Eyes told me these wouldn’t do well on beaches, so if I wanted to go to one, I’d have to leave these behind. And I want to walk on the beach.”

Ford chuckled. “We’ll have a bit of city to walk through, though, so you should still bring them.” 

Then they were off, with Bill swinging pointedly across entire ‘sidewalk squares,’ as he called them. He was a lot better with them, Ford noticed. Likely because his limbs had filled out quite a bit--whatever Jheselbraum was doing, it was working well. If he kept this up, he might be more muscular than Ford was at this point. 

He blushed at the thought. He might be able to admit things like that to Stan, who would certainly keep his secret no matter what, but he had no idea how Bill would react, despite their long friendship. He couldn’t help but think of what his teachers sometimes said about college roomates--you never knew what a person was like until you were around them full-time, and that tended to ruin friendships. It scared him to the bone to think of something similar happening to him and Bill.

The image from Blendin’s time watch replayed in his mind. He and Bill, drawing closer, about to kiss. It was a possibility that the exact opposite of his fears was also true, and he wasn’t sure what he was more scared of. 

 Not to mention, he had no idea what kinds of ideas Euclydia had on the subject--though they were no doubt rejected by Bill, with what Ford knew of his friend. 

“Hey, Sixer? You listening to me?” Bill knocked him in the leg with one of his crutches, letting himself down. 

“What?” Ford couldn’t look him in the face, he found. It made him flush even more. 

“I asked how far we were from the cave,” Bill said. “Are you okay? You don’t look right.” 

“I’m never ‘right,’ Bill,” Ford grumbled, hiding his hands instinctively behind his back. “I’m a freak. I’m--”

“Hey.” To his shock, Bill seized his hand, holding it up between them. “Normal is overrated. How many times do I have to tell you? Anyone who tells you otherwise is stupid.”

Ford’s heart was pounding again, and he was pretty sure his face would never calm down to a normal color again. Whether it was out of attraction to Bill or the fear of those around him, he couldn’t tell. He quickly withdrew his hand from Bill’s grip, quickening his pace. Bill followed, though Ford could tell he was confused. But a few quick glances around told him what he’d already feared--people were starting to whisper. An elderly couple frowned, and one of the people coming towards them crossed the street, grumbling things at both of them loud enough for everyone to hear. Things that Ford was glad Bill didn’t know the meaning of. 

They ducked into alleys after that--Ford was no stranger to being called names on the street on occasion--usually because of his hands--but that didn’t mean he liked it.

They reached the beach quickly enough, with Bill having dismounted the crutches, carrying them in one arm. “So, what was that about?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. 

Ford sighed. “Well, quite a few people disagree with you about how ‘overrated’ being normal is. And they don’t exactly hide it.” 

He knew his friend would understand such a sentiment, having suffered something similar back in his home world. Bill frowned, clenching his fists. “Guess I thought it would be different here. You know, where people don’t shout insults at you across the street. It never happened to me, but it did to my dad a few times because of me. I always hated it.” 

Ford nodded, and found himself looking at the way Bill was holding his crutches--over his shoulder, muscles fully flexed. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “So, um, what exactly does the Oracle have you do? You look--” Very attractive came to mind, but he quickly shut that down-- “Healthier.”

Bill groaned, rolling his head back. “Ugh. It’s the worst. She has me lift all these weights and do all these exercises all the time, and it hurts so badly. And you know what she said when I told her this? That my favorite phrase is, apparently, ‘pain is hilarious!’ How is pain hilarious? What was my older self thinking?!”

Ford chuckled. “Guess that’s a good thing, in a way. Means you're a few steps further away from becoming him.”

Bill nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. But still.” He stopped in his tracks, looking out over the ocean. They’d wandered quite close without realizing it, shoes barely brushing the wet sand. “You know, Euclydia doesn’t have anything like this. It’s really pretty.” 

Ford smiled, coming up beside him. “Yeah, it is. One of the best parts of living here.”

Bill nodded. “Hey, do you think they dismantled the portal?”
Ford raised an eyebrow, glancing upward. “Actually, I don’t know. Wanna check it out?” 

Bill grinned at him widely, eyes crinkled in mischief. “I’ll race you.”
He was off like a shot, and Ford shouted “You don’t even know where it is!” Before chasing after him. It didn’t last too long--Bill tripped over his own feet and fell into the sand--but it filled him with a giddiness he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. 

“You sure you wanna try that again?” Ford asked teasingly, helping Bill to his feet. 

Bill grumbled, not letting go of Ford’s hand. “Whatever. I would’ve won. And now you get to support me, because I can’t use my crutches.”

The earlier fear of others seeing rose up again, but the beach was often deserted--it wasn’t exactly a tourist attraction--and the two were alone. So Ford smiled and squeezed Bill’s hand, leading him back to the cave where they’d spent so much of their friendship. 

Bill stopped at the entrance, eyebrows raised. “Wow. This is…small.”
Ford nodded. “Yeah. It was the perfect size when we were kids, but now…”

They walked inside, only moving a few paces to where the bowl had been for so many years. Ford’s heart sank when he couldn’t see it anymore, but Bill squeezing his hand reminded him that he didn’t need it anymore. 

“It’s so…barren,” Bill whispered. “I always thought there was more here.” 

“There are actually a lot of life forms in caves,” Ford said, holding up one finger on his free hand. “But I get what you’re saying.” 

It was like their entire friendship flashed before his eyes--sitting on the ground as a kid, doodling what he saw in the mirror. Leaning over the bowl, talking to Bill for hours on end. Doing schoolwork together in companionable silence. And now, getting Bill out from Euclydia so they could be in the third dimension.

“It’s gone,” Bill whispered, face fixed on where the portal had been only a week before. “It’s-- Mom, Dad, I’m sorry.”

Bill’s entire form shook, his grip on Ford’s hand becoming even tighter. He was crying, Ford realized. “What’s wrong?” 

Bill shook his head. “My parents--they always thought there was going to be a return trip. They packed things for me and everything. But the bag… it’s so small. Nothing fits. I didn’t realize. And now…there’s no chance. I can’t go back. I’ll never see them again.” 

Ford pulled him into a hug, wrapping his arms tight around Bill, who sobbed into his shoulder. After a moment, Bill squeezed back, just as tightly. “It’s okay,” Ford whispered, having never been one for comfort but feeling the need to do something. “It’s okay.” 

They stayed there, on that beach, until the sun went down. 

Chapter Text

The walk back didn’t seem to take as long. Once Bill’s tears had dried, it was easier to make their way back along the beach, hand in hand, in companionable silence. He could tell Ford was uncomfortable once they reached the city again, so he broke their contact, though his hand felt cold and hollow without Ford’s. He was quickly coming to the conclusion that there was some sort of stigma around being affectionate in public, but that didn’t explain all of Ford’s anxiety. Still, he didn’t press, instead asking Ford about what they would see once Bill’s strength was up.

“You told me about mountains and forests,” he said. “So, as the authority on three-dimensional sights, what’s first?” 

“Definitely the mountains,” Ford said, grinning. “I doubt they had anything like it in Euclydia. Though, we’d have to wait for you to get stronger. Hiking is not for the faint of heart.”

It wasn’t awkward in the sense that neither could find anything to say, but in the sense that something had changed. The pink, sugary, slimy feeling that had plagued Bill in Euclydia had changed form as much as Bill himself had. There was a new tension between them, a pull that Bill couldn’t quite put his finger on, and it was paralyzing and invigorating all at once. He had half a mind to isolate the two of them, to press Ford against a wall and get close enough to figure out what that pull was leading to. 

He didn’t try. But he really, really wanted to. But he wouldn’t, because he didn’t know if he would drive Ford away in trying. 

Still, if he intentionally tripped a few blocks away from Seven Eyes’ house and made Ford help him walk the rest of the way, that was irrelevant. 

The two arrived back at Seven Eyes’ house only to see Blendin and Stanley sitting at the table with an actual meal in front of them. Bill huffed, wriggling out of Ford’s grasp and making a beeline for his spot, which Stanley was so rudely occupying. The offending human looked confused at Bill’s glare, but Bill didn’t bother to explain. “So. What happened this time?” he asked.

Stan and Ford locked eyes for an uncomfortably long moment, exchanging some sort of facial signal that Bill couldn’t read. It frustrated him, how little he was able to tell about his friend in this form. How Stanley knew everything, and Bill…didn’t.

“Time Baby’s discovered Euclydia’s continued existence,” Blendin said, sighing into his soup. “And I think we created a paradox. I’m going to lose all my hair again, after Mabel went through all the trouble to grow it back for me.” 

Well, he wasn’t the only one confused this time, judging by the twin’s eyes. “Time Baby? Isn’t that your boss?” Bill wondered, turning to the agent. 

“How did we create a paradox?” Ford asked. 

“Who’s Mabel?” Stan added. 

“You signed up for this,” said Seven Eyes. 

Blendin turned around in his seat to glare at her, but she seemed unbothered. How could someone with seven eyes be so inexpressive?

“You’re correct, Bill. Time Baby is the leader of the time travelers, and my organization,” Blendin said. “And after being incinerated by Bill Cipher during Weirdmaggedon, he’s very, very cranky.” 

Bill raised an eyebrow. “So, what, I singed his eyebrow and the baby threw a tantrum? Babies are basically harmless, right?” He turned to Ford, who nodded. 

“Not this baby,” Blendin said testily. “Not the all-powerful cosmic Time Baby. When I say incinerated, I mean that he was wiped out of existence for a few decades. But now he’s back with a vengeance, and I will not let him ruin this.”

This seemed to startle Seven Eyes, who turned to Blendin, surprised. “Where’d all this come from? I thought you worshiped the ground Time Baby floated over.”

“A lot of cosmic beings like to believe that about their followers,” Blendin grumbled, fists at his sides. “But he’s mistreated me and mine a few too many times. Besides, I kinda went through with this project without permission, so…if anyone gets caught, it’ll be on my head.” 

“I’m sorry, your project?” Ford asked incredulously, at the same time as Seven Eyes screeched, “You didn’t get permission?!” 

That shut all three teens up, exchanging amused looks when the realization dawned that Blendin Blanding was being chewed out by a seven-eyed woman twice his size. Bill only had a few hard feelings against Blendin--it seemed to be little more than the man had for him, anyway--so it was funny. But it still posed a problem. 

“Arguments aside,” Ford said, stepping closer to the two adults, “What does Time Baby going to Euclydia mean? What would he do?”

“He can’t come for us, right?” Stan asked. “I mean, it’s not an easy distance. Took us years to cross it.” 

“Yes, Stanley, it takes you, a mortal human boy, years to build a portal that can cross that distance, and the only reason it didn’t take longer is because you had help and all of the parts,” Blendin said mockingly. “It will take Time Baby only as much time as it takes for him to assess the situation in Euclydia, run a few time trials, and take a nap to get right to where you are. Which is to say, a few human months at best.” 

“What are we supposed to do, then?” Bill asked. “What is it that you’re expecting us to do against this allegedly all-powerful baby?” 

“Yes, Blendin,” Seven Eyes spat. “Do tell. I didn’t sign up to be chased by Time Baby’s agents, so this better be good.” 

Blendin stammered for a moment before shaking his head, rubbing his hands together. “Well, I thought we could buy ourselves a little more time. Mislead him, you know. We can permeate this area with their chrono-signatures, get them to the Falls, and keep Time Baby off their scent for as long as it takes for either Cipher to show up and kill him again, or the Axolotl to intervene on Bill’s behalf.” 

Bill didn’t miss the way he alternated between his names, as if they were two entirely different entities. He also didn’t miss the very distinct shift in tone when he said each one, making his feelings on each clear. Despite knowing that, at the end of the day, the entire point of Blendin Blandin’s little ‘project’ was to ‘help’ him, he wasn’t exactly fond of him. Just because Blendin had saved his life didn’t mean Bill had to like him, especially when he kept acting like this. 

“So, two very out-there options,” Seven Eyes said. “You know that’s not going to happen unless something equally as drastic goes down in the cosmos. I agree that getting them to the Falls is a good starting point, but it’s not a permanent solution.” 

It had become apparent to Bill, and it seemed the twins as well, that the adults had forgotten that they were standing right there, in Seven Eyes’ kitchen. 

“So, what exactly is the plan?” Stan asked, voice growing rougher with what Bill suspected was impending anger. “Hello! We’re right here, you know.” 

Blendin turned, glancing fleetingly at each of the three boys. “Right. The plan is to get you out of here as fast as possible--a week at most. I don’t want to dilly-dally.”
“Now wait a second,” Ford said sharply. “We can’t leave. Stan and I can’t, anyway, and Bill’s not up to full strength yet. It’s still several months before will school end and Stan and I are allowed to even consider leaving.”

Blendin groaned. “Oh, stupid single-timeline idiots. There’s always something. Do you not understand what’s at stake?!”

“They understand perfectly well,” Seven Eyes said. “But we have more time than you think. Besides, the twins leaving so early will cause even more disruptions in the timeline, and draw him here even quicker. Use your brain, Blendin, I know you have one.” She gestured towards Stan. “Remember that there are still some events that aren’t set to take place just yet.”

Stan looked uncomfortable, and Bill would laugh if Ford didn’t look uncomfortable, too. He would admit it was an eerie thought--these two knew things about all of their futures that they themselves didn’t know. Certainly about Bill, but that was a prospect he’d gotten used to, after finding out that he-- used to be? Would become? --a demon of incredible cosmic power. It seemed that Ford and Stan’s futures were no brighter than his. He wondered, with a shudder, if the two entities before them had lived to see their deaths. 

“I see your point, Jheselbraum,” Blendin said. “But I don’t like the idea of waiting. How soon does human school end?” He snapped towards Ford, goggles reflecting the fading light outside. 

“Two months, give or take some days,” Ford said. “We could be out by June.” 

“And it’s…what, mid-March right now?” Blendin grumbled, checking his watch. “Great. Four months of being a sitting duck. I guess there’s nothing to it, though. All we can do is prepare.”

The deliberate misnumbering went over Bill’s head with the last sentence. Prepare. Preparing for one thing or another seemed to be all Bill did these days. He’d thought that arriving in the third dimension meant he could relax a little bit, but no. Of course he couldn’t have it that easy. 

You’re Bill Cipher. You’re not exactly supposed to have it easy, with everything you’ve done. As much as he tried to ignore the point, he couldn’t. 

“Right,” Stan said, folding his arms. “Preparing for what, exactly? Yeah, the big baby’s tracking us, but what are we going to do about it?”

“You mentioned ‘the Falls’ earlier?” Ford prodded. “Are you going to take us there?” 

Both Blendin and Seven Eyes nodded. “We will. Don’t worry, I’ll think up some excuse to give to your parents. In the meantime, I would pack as though you were going to live in the woods for a few months.” Seven Eyes gave her most encouraging smile, with both her mouth and her eyes, but all three boys recoiled. 

“Why are we going to live in the woods?” Stan asked, alarmed. “Wouldn’t that make it easier for them to find us?” 

“Not to mention, it would give them far more opportunities to attack us with very little influence on others,” Ford mused. “Take out the timeline-changers and leave the rest of it unaltered.” 

“Don’t take it so literally,” Seven Eyes groaned. “Just--pack a bunch of clothes, water bottles, that sort of thing. I’m going to tell your parents about some summer camp that you both definitely need to go to and that definitely has existed for a while now. But it’s a long way to Oregon, so we need to be prepared.”

Oregon? He glanced over at Ford, who mouthed, I’ll explain later. Unhelpful. 

“Okay, so the plan isn’t to slum it in the woods, but we need to be prepared to do it anyway,” Stan said. “I’m almost scared to ask what the actual plan is.”

“You should be,” Seven Eyes said. “Considering I haven’t thought of it yet. Now, you three should finish your food and go somewhere else. I need time and less chatter to think.” 

Stan shrugged, turning to his brother. “Eh, I’ve got practice anyways. Coach never lets us go, even on the weekends. See you two.” He gave a wink at that, promptly closing the door before either could say anything.

***

With Seven Eyes shuffling down below and insisting on quiet, Bill led Ford up to the top floor of the house--a concept he was still getting used to. Top floor. The up floor. Nothing like the houses in Euclydia, whose ‘over’ floors were simply north of the rest of the house. North and south seemed to have a lot more difference in Euclydia than they did in the third dimension, but Bill didn’t mind. 

He’d taken Ford’s hand again, leading him up the rickety wooden stairs. Bill had grown used to the look of this place--the colors were so much more vibrant here than they were at home. The bright ones shone even brighter, and the dim ones still seemed rich and full of color. The brown wood creaked behind beige patterned ‘wallpaper,’ which was apparently put over walls to make them more interesting. Different than carpet, which was meant to make floors softer, though they had equally interesting designs on top of being soft. So many things he’d never heard of, that sent shivers of excitement running through him. 

They stopped at the entrance to Bill’s temporary room, which was far more barren than he liked. It had blue wallpaper, and a soft golden carpet emblazoned with an eye, but it lacked anything personal. The sacks of belongings his mother had given him sat in the corner, not having shrunk as much as Bill had expected them to, but still nearly unusable. 

“What’s wrong?” Bill asked, feeling Ford digging his feet into the carpet. 

“It’s just--” he tried to extract his hand from Bill’s grip, leaving him confused. He knew humans had rules about affection, but really, this was a little much. 

“What? What’s wrong? We’re not outside,” He said, tugging Ford in with him. “I thought this was fine.” Bill liked it, anyway. It was warm, and comfortable. And he thought that Ford liked it, too. 

“Well, yes, but…” Ford looked down, face growing redder by the second. It was a good look on him. “It’s a little…forward, I guess.” 

It took him a little longer than it probably should have to guess what Ford was hinting at, but instead of backing down like he’d done so many other times, he decided to push it. He pulled Ford closer, into his room, wrapping his arms around Ford’s shoulders, watching his face turn the color of tomatoes. “Who cares?” He asked, pitching his voice low and enjoying the way Ford shuddered under his grip. 

Ford stuttered before whispering, “Lots of people.” 

Bill frowned, deciding to step back a little bit. Maybe this was a little much--he didn’t think Ford could get any more flustered, but he didn’t want to take chances. “I’m kidding. And I wasn’t thinking of that, just so you know.”

The human-- weren’t they both human, now?-- chuckled, rubbing one six-fingered hand on the back of his head. “Right. Of course.” 

“You’re just fun to fluster.” He pulled Ford down to the floor next to him, leaning against the bedframe. 

“I should have figured that one out,” Ford grumbled, but there was no malice in his voice. “It’s just…”

“Complicated?” Bill guessed. “Seems like everything humans do is complicated. I mean, yeah, we had taboos about certain things, but nothing in Euclydia seems to hold a candle to what you humans have got going on.” 

“You got arrested for talking about a third dimension of space,” Ford deadpanned. “But I understand what you’re saying. I don’t think I could explain it all if I tried. But… I guess the best explanation is that people--most people, anyway--would be opposed to…suffice it to say that people get the wrong impression.” He cut himself off, and it didn’t sound like he was going to start talking again.

“I think I get it,” Bill said softly. It wasn’t super different from Euclydia. Any place with rules had people shouting in the streets to enforce them, it seemed, and Bill didn’t think the could do much to change it, no matter how much he wanted to. Still, the idea of him and Ford being ‘the wrong impression’ stung. 

Ford hadn’t looked away, staring intensely at Bill’s face, expression open in a way even Bill could read. Mouth parted just barely, eyes locked on his face, taking him in. He could feel it. Bill stared back, drawn by that same string that pulled him closer and closer to Ford. What if it’s the right impression? 

Startled by his own thought, he turned away, staring intently at the corner, where the floor met the walls, at the crack shooting up into the ceiling. 

“I guess we have a lot of packing to do,” Ford said, standing. Bill looked up, noting that Ford was now staring at his mother’s bags. “What’s all this?” 

Right. Ford probably hadn’t seen them come out with Bill, too focused on everything else. The relics of his home were no one’s priority but Bill’s. 

“It’s from my mother,” Bill said simply. “But it’s not like I can take most of it with me. There is some food, though. And water.” 

“Well, that’s good,” Ford said, sitting back down. Bill seized his hand again, just because he could. It fit right, and felt good, especially when Ford used his extra finger to rub circles over his own. Okay, maybe they weren’t ready to admit everything yet, but Bill found he could be okay with that. For now, he thought with a smirk.

Chapter Text

As time passed, Bill and Ford’s routine began to resemble what it had been before the portal. March faded into April, and with it came the official start of spring, with the trees finally growing colors that Ford was certain Bill had never seen before. And it did seem as though his friend was awestruck by it— Ford was glad they’d taken him out of his homeworld. As much grief as it seemed to have caused Bill, Ford knew he never would have been content with Euclydia when he could see everything outside of it.

“It’s pink!” Bill had run up to a cluster of trees, some apple blossoms that had never been claimed by anyone. After much begging on Ford’s part, and a little bit of manipulation on Stan’s, they’d convinced their parents to let them go with the Oracle to New Jersey’s newest national park. Their parents had agreed to it because it was only for the day, while Jheselbraum and Blendin had agreed because it would get both themselves and Bill more used to the ‘ups and downs of Earth,’ as they’d put it. As delightful as it was to go—there were so many things that could be found in national parks that Ford never passed up the opportunity—the true purpose of their outing hung over their heads like a blanket.

“Yes. That happens in the spring,” Ford laughed. “Trees bloom, and then die, and then grow leaves. Why? I still can’t figure it out.”

“Isn’t that the fun of it?” Bill asked, beaming. “Figuring it out?”

Warmth bloomed in his chest in time with Ford’s matching grin. “Of course.”

Stan shadowed the two like a bodyguard, always standing a few paces behind. Ford asked if he wanted to come closer several times, but Stan always shook his head. “Nah. I want to be able to see you, but I don’t need to hear the nerd talk.”

‘Not wanting to hear the nerd talk,’ Ford began to realize, was Stan’s way of saying ‘I’m giving you some privacy.’ For whatever reason, Bill got antsy when Stan tried to join their conversations, though as far as Ford knew, he didn’t have a problem with his brother. Nor did Stan have a problem with Bill, but Ford could tell he got on his nerves sometimes. Ford shot his twin what he hoped was a reassuring smile, which Stan returned.

“The 20th Century,” Blendin said, shuddering. “Even more terrifying than the 21st. Do you know how many world wars they had? Two, in one century! All the following centuries only had one.”

He was with the Oracle, keeping an eye on the kids. For once, he’d changed out of his weird blue-gray jumpsuit in favor of actual clothes, but he still looked askance for anything out of the ordinary. Ford would admire the dedication if he wasn’t trying to take his mind off of it.

The area was perfect for the occasion, too—it had a nice mix of pristine beaches and patches of woods, far cleaner than anything at Glass Shard Beach.

“Just how big is this world?” Bill asked, turning back to Blendin. “What constitutes a ‘world war?’”

“It’s not defined by the amount of countries participating, but the places in which battles are fought,” Ford said. “It could be a war with troops from only two countries, but if the battles are fought all around the globe, then it’s a world war.”

“Interesting,” Bill said. “And chaotic. I like it. How do we start one?”

Blendin and Jheselbraum shared a significant look. Ford squeezed his shoulder, drawing his attention and meeting his eyes. Bill jumped when he realized what he’d said, then looked away. “Is there anything else you need to show me?”

“Plenty,” Ford said, taking him by the wrist and tugging him away from the group. “Come on.”

He managed to fascinate Bill with the buildings on site, letting him read through every sign, observe every plant with vigor. Letting him get the gratification from being in the third dimension that he so desperately needed.

In the weeks since their initial plan had been hatched, Bill had begun wearing a bow tie. Well, it had started as him trying to tie a ribbon in his hair shaped like one, and throwing curses in some other language that Ford didn’t understand when he realized he didn’t have enough hair. It was, apparently, a gift from his mother, and she’d always worn it ‘to the right of her second eye.’ According to Bill, she’d had three.

Ford had helped him tie it around his neck with very little protest, and he was getting better at concentrating on the walls or floor whenever his fingers brushed Bill’s skin.

However, he was quickly finding that Bill liked to use his public jumpiness to his advantage. He would grab Ford’s hand or arm when he thought no one was watching, sometimes running a finger up and down to watch him shudder. It was a pleasant feeling—or it would be, if Bill didn’t insist on only doing it in public.

He was doing it now. Running his fingers up and down Ford’s right arm, looping it with his own. It sent a heady, tingly feeling through him, and at this point, Ford resigned himself to having a semi-permanent blush that never went away when Bill was around. Perhaps they’ll just think I’m sunburned.

They had arrived at the beach area, after all. Neither of them was wearing shoes, and with the lack of glass shards to pose a threat, Bill had quickly untangled his grip and was freely dashing back and forth across the shoreline, Ford running after him. Bill sometimes stopped, spinning in place, looking down at the sand between his toes and grinning brighter than the sun.

“This place is amazing, Sixer,” Bill said once he got close enough. “I never thought…”

“I imagine you didn’t,” Ford said, suspecting he knew what Bill was going to say.

His friend’s grin turned into a sly smile. “Sixer, there’s something I…I need to say.” He slid closer, putting his head in Ford’s space. He could feel himself blushing, warmth spreading from his ears to his neck in anticipation as Bill drew closer.

Bill opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, then without warning, blew in his ear.

Ford jumped back, letting out an undignified squawk as Bill roared with laughter. “Oh, that was amazing, Ford. You never disappoint.”

He spluttered for a moment, face certainly red, as Bill doubled over with laughter. “Who put that idea in your head?”

“Your brother,” Bill said, mischievous and mirthful. “Said he wanted to be around when I did it, but I thought it would be better if I tested it out first.”

“Well, now that you’ve done it once, I know how to anticipate it happening again,” Ford said defensively. “You’ve lost the element of surprise.”

He expected Bill to respond with words, not kicking seawater into his face. His jaw dropped, but this, at least, he could use against his friend in public. Shock morphing into deviousness, he crept closer, letting his fingers drag in the water, before splashing it right into Bill’s eye.

Bill screeched, and it was Ford’s turn to cackle. Soon enough, they were having a water fight, kicking and splashing until both of them were drenched. They only stopped when Bill accidentally got a mouthful of sand with his water, and Ford chuckled as Bill spit it out.

“Maybe you two should stop,” Stan said, coming up behind them. “By the way, Blendin’s looking for you.”

“Again?” Bill groaned, leaning his head all the way back. “This guy watches us like a hawk, I swear.”

Ford snuck a sidelong glance at the other boy, feeling the familiar flush creeping up his cheeks. He’d done better in recent weeks in pushing the image of his and Bill’s future selves almost kissing out of his mind, but sometimes, when he watched his friend, he wondered if it would be so bad to echo the future.

He’d said that to Stan, once, and Stan had responded with, “You can’t echo the future, Sixer. You’re the smart one, you know that’s a paradox.”

Ford shook his head, coming back to the present, jerking away from meeting Bill’s gaze. “He really is. Though, given what he showed us, I can’t say I blame him.”

“Don’t bring that up,” Stan muttered, all trace of happiness gone from his voice. “We should head back.”

He tried to send Stan a reassuring smile, but he wouldn’t look in Ford’s direction. It was getting concerning, how much Stanley was fixating on that one montage of their futures.

They were met with a sweat-drenched Blendin and a stone-faced Oracle when they made their way back up the hill. Blendin sounded like he could barely get a word in edgewise, so with a long-suffering sigh, Jheselbraum spoke. “Time Baby’s agents are here.”

Bill’s arms wrapped around Ford’s again, pulling him close. Stan stretched his fingers, glancing between their intertwined arms and the two adults. “How far?”

“I barely got away from them,” Blendin said, having finally stopped heaving breaths. “They were heading towards the beach, so I sent Stan to come find you. I’m glad you got away from them too.”

“Well, where are they now?” Stan shifted on his feet, glancing over each shoulder.

“I’m not sure,” Blendin said. “Let’s go towards the lighthouse. They were walking away from there.”

With little else said, the group made their way over towards the pristine white building, crowned with orange bricks. It looked quaint, and peaceful, glistening in the late morning sunlight, accompanied by the soft breeze blowing through.

“The time agents will be easy to spot if they’re still there,” Blendin said. “Dressed in black and green, with weird nametags and weirder names. Also, haircuts.”

“Noted,” Jheselbraum said dully. She shed her cloak, resting it over Bill and Ford collectively with a smile. For this outing, since they would be in public and large, cloaked figures were even more noticeable in broad daylight, she’d cast a spell that gave her the appearance of a middle-aged human woman, with only two eyes, pale skin, and long, brown hair. She still wore a great deal of purple, but she looked like any other kooky New Jersey tourist.

As they clung to the fringes of a tour group entering the lighthouse, and Ford spotted the time agents out of the corner of his eye. They did indeed stick out like sore thumbs—quite literally, since they seemed about as thick and bare as thumbs usually were. Except for the green, gray, and black plated metal they wore for armor, Ford couldn’t see any attempt at blending in at all. It seemed counterproductive, for an agency so focused on keeping time the way it was, for them to disguise no evidence of their meddling.

Ford realized he was staring a moment too late. One of the time agents—the blonde one—looked back at him, and his one eye widened as it dipped to Ford’s cursedly exposed hands, and Bill still clinging to his arm. “Dundgren! They’re here!”

Stan, Blendin, and Jheselbraum swore in three respective languages, drawing the few eyes that hadn’t been on them in scandalized expressions. Not bothering to extract his arm from Bill’s grip, Ford shouted, “Scatter!”

To his surprise, his group wasn’t the only one who responded. The entire tour group fled in all different directions, disguising Ford, Stan, and the rest in the chaos. Their group turned and fled, but when Ford tried to follow Blendin, the time traveler turned to him and shouted, “go the other way! We can’t let them find all of us at once.”

He saw the logic in it, as much as it terrified him. He almost wanted to push Bill off of him, but the boy looked even more terrified than Ford felt. So he tugged Bill behind him into the forest, weaving through the trees, losing sight of Stanley, Blendin, and the Oracle.

“Do you think they’re gone?” Bill whispered.

“Maybe,” Ford hissed back. “But I think we just distracted them. “Either way, they’re more likely to go after Blendin or the Oracle. They’re the ones committing the time crime, after all.”

Bill snickered. “Time crime. Sounds funny.”

Ford rolled his eyes, finding a suitably thick patch of bushes to hide themselves in. He lied down, attempting to tug Bill with him, but the other boy recoiled, finally letting go.

“What?”

“I’m not doing that,” Bill said quickly. “Too sharp. Too dirty. Too flat.”

“It’s no different than laying down while sleeping,” Ford said, anxiety underlying his attempt at comforting his friend.

“I don’t lay down when I sleep!” Bill said, movements becoming frantic. “Isn’t there anywhere else we can hide?”

“No, Bill, they’ll be looking everywhere else!” In a split second decision, Ford reached up and tackled Bill to the ground. The plants stung, but there were no thorns, and aside from the grunt of initial impact, Ford knew Bill would be fine.

“Ford, let go!” Bill thrashed, attempting to stand, but Ford shoved him down, wrapping his arms around his middle in an attempt to calm him. “I can’t be here, I’ll be stuck again, I’ll be flat, I’ll—”

“You’ll be fine,” Ford finished in a whisper. He hadn’t thought of his friend perceiving the simple act of laying down as becoming two-dimensional again, but he also realized that he didn’t know half of what Bill saw. He pulled his friend closer against his chest. Spooning him, he thought with a flush. But even the thought of being caught by some random tourist in what appeared to be a compromising position wasn’t as bad as being caught by those time agents.

He whispered assurances in Bill’s ear until his ragged breaths became even, listening for the crunch of metal boots on still half-frozen ground.

“Do you think they went this way?” If Ford wasn’t mistaken, that was the same agent that had first spotted him.

“If they did, they’ve hidden themselves pretty well,” came a second voice. This one was much deeper and, Ford assumed, belonged to his companion. “Do you think Cipher’s really here?”

“I dunno,” the first agent said. The footsteps came closer. “On one hand, I wouldn’t be surprised if he found a way back here. On the other, that would mean he teamed up with Blandin again. I know he’s not my favorite guy, but I doubt he’d team up with Cipher after what he did.”

“If the reports are true, it’s not just Blendin,” the second agent said. The footsteps stopped barely a few inches away from Bill’s nose, causing both boys to muffle their breathing. “He’s also teamed up with the original Pines brothers.”

“If that’s true, then there’s something else going on,” Agent One said. “We all know what the relationship is there.”

“Yeah,” Agent Two said. “Still. You’ve got to give it to Blendin. First he breaks out of the Infinitentary, then he restores Euclydia, and yet he still can’t form a full sentence without stuttering. How is he so powerful and so incompetent at once?”

The voices began fading. The boots drew further away. “Hey—look. Is that one of them?”

“It is,” Agent One said. “It’s Stanley, I think. Lets go!”

Ford’s breath caught. “We have to go. If they catch Stan, they’ll—”

“They’ll do worse to us,” Bill hissed.

“No, they won’t. Let’s go!”

Ford stood up too fast, vision blacking out for a moment, before feeling Bill’s fingers on his wrist again. “Fine. But if we’re caught, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair enough,” Ford said, taking off.

***

They crashed through the forest, catching the attention of the two agents just before they discovered Stanley’s hiding spot. Ford could see his brother’s nose peeking out from behind an ivy-covered hardwood.

“Hey! Biceps! Haircut! Over here!”

Bill shot him a horrified look, but Stan’s face melted in relief for just a moment. He was safe, for the time being. Unfortunately, that meant the time agents were now focused on Ford and Bill.

Oh no.

The time agents cocked their guns, pointing both of them at Bill. “It’s true. Cipher’s back!”

With a horrifying jolt, Ford realized they were about to shoot. The time agents weren’t coming to arrest the three. They were coming to kill them.

As soon as the realization kicked in, Ford tackled Bill to the dirt, the shot of plasma flying over their heads into a tree behind them, burning a hole through it. From the forest floor, Ford saw his brother land a punch to the back of the blonde’s head, but now he had to deal with the other one.

“So you are Stanley,” Agent Two—whose nametag read ‘Dundgren,’ said. “I should’ve expected that. Your punches are legendary.”

Stan seemed taken aback by this. Ford knew he had to get up, but something was keeping him frozen to the floor.

“Well, that’s nice,” Stanley said, recovering into a smile. “And what’s even nicer is that you get to feel one.”

In one motion, he’d swung and hit Dundgren in the jaw, sending him into the dirt. Ford lurched forward, seizing the weapon, careful not to touch any of the buttons.

“We should disarm them. That way, they can’t hurt us,” Bill said. “And, more importantly, we need to figure out how they got here and if they brought more of their friends with them.”

“They said they knew Blendin,” Ford said, looking up at Stan. “And I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

“I don’t think he’s far,” Stan said, helping Ford frisk the two unconscious agents. “And he should probably come running soon. Though, I’m not gonna lie, I feel a little guilty about this.”

Ford looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Why?”

Stan smirked. “They called my punches ‘legendary.’”

Chapter Text

Blendin and Seven Eyes found them soon enough, helping them strip the agents of their technology, including the device that Blendin said allowed them to travel across time. It didn’t look impressive—just a box with a measuring stick—but Blendin was insistent that it be destroyed, and Bill took his word for it.

However, after the disastrous turnout of their one excursion outside of Glass Shard Beach, all others were banned until the planned departure. So Bill was left to sit and stew as it approached the time for Ford to be less and less talkative as exams at school began. Normally, Bill would be doing the same thing as his own school had somewhat the same schedule as Ford’s, but he wasn’t exactly fit to go to human school when he’d just barely started experiencing a three-dimensional life. As he’d come to find out over the past weeks, seeing the third dimension and experiencing it were two very different things.

Then, there was living with Jheselbraum. Ford still came over almost every day and would sometimes teach Bill what he was learning, explaining complex chemistry and something called ‘calculus,’ which Bill absorbed with fervor. But this was infrequent, especially when Seven Eyes was home. She would jump and twitch and occasionally forcibly redirect the subject, and neither Bill nor Ford could anticipate when or why. He sometimes secured permission to meet Ford at his own house, but then not only would he have to deal with Ford’s father, but Seven Eyes would be even more jumpy.

Still, they seemed to find an understanding in the quiet moments of the day. When Seven Eyes would help him with the last remaining functions of the human body that he wasn’t quite able to master, or when he would look over her shoulder and observe her cooking, or spellcasting—they looked the same, he commented once, and it made her laugh.

“I always forget you don’t already know this,” she said, that last evening at the dinner table. He was eating thick, fluffy disks of batter Seven Eyes had called ‘pancakes,’ drenched in a bronze solution known as ‘maple syrup’ with eggs and bacon. They’d had similar names for things in Euclydia, but, as always with Earth, it meant something very different.

“What am I going to call you?”

Seven Eyes jerked her head up, surprise showing in three of her eyes, the rest pointedly fixed above his head. “What?”

“You flinch whenever I call you Seven Eyes,” Bill said bluntly. It was why he tried to avoid addressing her directly when he could. He suspected it had something to do with his evil self, but he wasn’t sure what exactly. “If I can’t call you that, then what can I call you?”

She set her fork down on top of her last two pancakes, having fixed a similar meal arrangement for herself. “I’m not sure,” she said at last, voice low. “I’m sure you’ve put this together by now, but he—well, he was always fond of nicknames. Never called anyone by anything else, in fact. Except for Xanthar. Probably because his name was said to start the apocalypse.” She shrugged, but the casual descriptor made the discomfort in his gut twist even more. What kind of person did Seven Eyes know him as? He’d known it wasn’t good from the beginning, but the more things he learned about his alternate self, the less he understood why Seven Eyes and Blendin went to such lengths to save him.

Seven Eyes was still talking. “He gave everyone a nickname. Mine, as you can guess, was Seven Eyes. An anomaly, even for my kind, who were known to have five at most. But I had seven, and with them, the ability to see the past and future as they were.”

“Let me guess. That was how you found out about what I was,” Bill grumbled. “I don’t get it. Clearly, I was a horrible person —creature —whatever. Why are you going to such lengths to save my neck? It would’ve been easier for you and Blendin to let me die or kill me, and it would achieve the same effect.”

She sighed, staring long and hard at him. “Because you once offered me a home. A place where I could belong, when my own kind had rejected me, both for my deformity and for my abilities. Regardless of what you are—or rather, were—I owe you. And also…” she gave a soft smile. “Because the only person who ever had more than one nickname was Stanford Pines.”

That tension in him rose again at the mention of Ford’s name. He shifted in his seat, losing interest in his pancakes for the final time. “What does he have to do with it?”

Her smile didn’t fade. “Because when Ford—the Ford of my timeline, that is—came to me and told me what you’d done to him, I knew there was something between you two. And I knew that he would be the key to giving you what I suspected your actual goal was.”

“And what was that?”

“Someone to have. Someone to connect to. I think I am one of two, maybe three beings in the whole multiverse to understand this, and you made enemies of each of them, because it was too late for you to accept it. So why not go with Blendin Blenjamin Blandin’s hair-brained idea to reverse Weirdmaggeddon? Why not repay you and restore our friendship in one fell swoop? I know I haven’t been the best at the latter, but…” she shrugged. “It seemed like the perfect plan.”

With a start, Bill realized she’d answered every question rattling around in his head, except maybe one. “Can you read minds?”

Seven Eyes gave a sad chuckle. “I can. As for your original question…you can call me Jhessy. I know ‘Jheselbraum’ is a bit of a mouthful for you, especially right now.”

Bill gave her the brightest smile he could. “Thank you, Jhessy. For this. And the pancakes, they’re very good.”

She laughed. “I knew they’d be up your alley. Now, eat up. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

***

The next day found Bill and Jhessy walking towards the Pines’ pawnshop in the early dawn, backpacks loaded with supplies. Jhessy was holding Bill’s for the moment, not wanting him to tire out before the trip had even started.

While it wasn’t common knowledge to the Pines parents, Jhessy wouldn’t actually be going with them. They’d be accompanied sporadically by Blendin, but for the most part, Bill would be alone with the Pines twins. The prospect of being alone with Ford for an extended period of time both excited Bill and made him nervous, and he wasn’t sure if the addition of Stan to the group would make things better or worse.

Bill shook his head, fiddling with the strings on the golden hoodie Jhessy had bought for him. He had to keep from clinging to her sides out of fear of being attacked on the streets.

To his relief, Ford opened the door right on time, followed by his mother. Caryn Pines was a thin woman, always in a dress and heavy makeup, no matter what time of day Bill saw her. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a three-ringed style, and he wondered for a moment if that was where Jhessy had gotten the idea for her disguise. It was certainly one way to ensure authenticity.

“Aw, Jhessy,” she said, accent drawling her voice so much that Bill had to focus to understand her. “You’re a little early; they’re still getting ready. Come on in.”

Jhessy thanked her, gently guiding Bill by the back to cross the threshold of the house. Ford brought him in the rest of the way, gaze flicking frantically over to his mother, as if she would suddenly burst into flame. Whatever it was Ford was worried about, his mother didn’t seem to care, drawing Jhessy into a conversation about convincing fortune-telling.

“Where’s Stan?” Bill asked, tugging his backpack off of Jhessy’s shoulders. “And has Blendin shown up yet?”

“Stan’s finalizing some stuff,” Ford said. “Trying to figure out what to pack, what to leave. He’s gotten a lot more sentimental lately. And more organized—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do this much cleaning in our entire lives.”

Bill shook his head. “What did Blendin tell you guys? We heard the same thing, right?”

Ford looked away, a tinge of pink coloring his cheeks. A lump formed in Bill’s throat—every time someone brought up what Blendin had said about the future, Ford would stop looking at him. He appreciated the effort his friend went through to still be kind and friendly towards him, to not snap the thread that seemed to bind them, but he wished that Ford would actually look at him, for once, and not see what he was supposed to become.

“Blendin showed us things, too,” Ford said. “He showed—Stan and I got in a fight, Stan got kicked out, and he had to live as a grifter for a while. We’re not sure how that happened, or how long it was, but the idea’s taken a toll on him. I get it, but it still seems like he’s taken it to heart more than he should.”

Bill nodded, reaching into his hoodie pocket and fiddling with his mother’s ribbon. He hadn’t had time to tie it before leaving the house, and his father’s hat was still in his bag. The only two things he wouldn’t compromise on bringing, no matter what looks Jhessy gave him.

“Leaving your home isn’t exactly a one-and-done ordeal,” he said softly. “And it’s really painful, even if you’ve been dreaming about it for years.”

Ford seemed to realize what he’d said, putting an arm around Bill’s shoulders and drawing him close. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

Bill pulled out his mother’s ribbon and brought Ford’s left hand to settle on his leg, weaving the ribbon in between his six fingers. Human skin was so sensitive, and as overwhelming as it was sometimes, he found he didn’t mind it at all. He ignored the look on Ford’s face pointedly, deciding to tie it around his friend’s wrist. Normally, he’d ask Ford to help him put it on ‘properly,’ by human standards—he enjoyed the expressions on Ford’s face as he tied his mother’s ribbon around his neck—but he didn’t want to risk it when Ford’s father was in the house. Bill was pretty sure the man wanted him dead, and he was already on thin ice with two of the more powerful adults in the room. He didn’t need a third on his tail.

Ford cleared his throat, hiding his hands, but that was okay. Bill was done for now.

Stan came down the stairs, heaving an enormous backpack, presumably filled with supplies and other nick-nacks, followed by his father. Bill gulped, darting back over to Jhessy before Filbrick Pines saw him with Ford. He was the other reason Bill didn’t frequent the Pines residence as much as the Pines frequented his.

Filbrick looked at Jhessy, who had her ‘normal human’ disguise up, and grunted. “My boys better come home from this in one piece. Tell your husband his head’s on the line if something happens.”

Bill saw the twins exchange disbelieving glances behind their father’s back. What was happening?

“You two.” Filbrick turned to the twins, who straightened immediately. “Ford, come back stronger. Stan, come back smarter. If either of you don’t, then we go back to remedial courses. I’m not having either of you fail a summer camp.”

Somehow, those few words struck something into Ford and Stan that Bill hadn’t ever seen in either of them. They somehow straightened their posture and hunched in on themselves all at once, making them look like the most obedient children who ever lived. “Yes, sir,” Stan said.

“Of course,” Ford added.

Filbrick Pines waved them off, crossing his arms and looking back at Jhessy. “Is he here yet?”

“He’s waiting at the bus stop,” Jhessy said evenly.

The man nodded, not saying anything else. Not wanting to open his mouth, Bill beckoned the two after him, and the three left the house, possibly for the final time.

***

They arrived with five minutes to spare before the bus came. Blendin was, in fact, waiting, posing as Jhessy’s ‘husband’ for the purposes of their cover. According to the cover story they’d fed the Pines parents, Blendin and Jhessy ran a summer camp that lasted the entire duration of the break, intending to ‘train young youths the secrets to survival in the American wilds.’ Filbrick and Caryn were told that they’d only be bussed through major cities as they went from campsite to campsite, walking the rest of the way. In reality, they would take public transportation as much as they could in an effort to stay with the crowds, and away from the time agents. Safety in numbers, as Jhessy said.

She stood alone, wrapped in a thick coat and sunglasses as Blendin, Bill, and the twins boarded the first bus. She remained there as they drove away, and Bill turned to the twins, the adrenaline turning from pleasant to fearful.

Bill was squished up against the edge, backpack placed on his lap. Stan was in the isle seat, Blendin in the seat across from them. There were few others on the bus this early in the morning, except for a few baggy-eyed office workers whose morning coffee hadn’t yet kicked in, but Ford still glanced around to make sure no one was watching before taking Bill’s hand under the seat.

“Here we go,” he whispered. “Now we’re fair game.”

Chapter Text

It took three buses for their trip to start going horribly wrong. They were several hours away from Glass Shard when two suspiciously dressed men boarded the bus together and sat exactly three rows away from Ford and the others. They didn’t appear to be related at first glance, but with some observation and a nudge from Stan, he caught onto the way they were sending each other messages using hand signs and the similarities they bore to the agents that had attacked them in the national park. Both of them tried to catch Blendin’s attention, but he was too focused on something on his watch. Either that, or he didn’t think they were a threat.

Ford remembered, unkindly, what the two time agents—likely the very ones who sat before them now—had said about him. One of the stupidest agents in the organization. On the other hand, this ‘Infinitentary’ seemed pretty intimidating. He wondered what had happened for Blendin to get thrown in there. He must have been convicted of something if he’d escaped.

“What’s going on?” Bill whispered next to him.

“Time guys,” Ford hissed back. “They boarded the bus. Things might get messy.”

Bill’s hand jumped to the bow tie on Ford’s wrist, playing with the loops.

“Do you want it back?” Ford asked gently. He still didn’t know the significance of the object, but Bill seemed terrified of the prospect of losing it.

“Keep it. They won’t destroy it if it’s on you,” Bill said softly. “But Jhessy said that it’s part of my image, and they’ll recognize that.”

Ford nodded, keeping an eye on the blonde time agent. “Okay. I should probably untie it, then.”

Bill nodded after a moment. Stan looked back and forth between the two, then over their shoulders, out the window. “Get ready. We’re coming up on some more…isolated areas.”

Ford and Bill nodded in tandem. Ford watched the buildings and roads slowly disappear as they entered deeper and deeper forest, moving away from the coastline and further inland. There were two sides to New Jersey that people who weren’t from there didn’t quite understand—there were the factories, the petroleum, and the endless hawking from the harbors where hundreds of boats arrived and departed every single day, loaded with goods. Then there were the natural areas, where one could wander in so far deep you got hopelessly lost. Most of the Jersey population was on the shoreline, and even then, most were close to Manhattan. You might find some farmland out in the middle of nowhere, but aside from that, you were on your own.

This was the area they were approaching and the same area that Stan and Ford agreed they were most likely to be attacked. This was the time when there would be the least amount of witnesses.

Out of the corner of Ford’s eye, he saw the blonde agent make one sharp motion toward his companion before he rounded on the four travelers.

“Freeze, in the name of time law!”

“We were already frozen, Biceps,” Stan muttered, giving an unimpressed stare. “Be original, will you?”

Ford had to keep himself from snickering at his brother’s response since it didn’t look like the blonde agent—Ford knew he had a name, but he’d forgotten—would appreciate it very much.

“You are still under arrest,” the agent said, like a lame person. His companion stood behind him, face pulled in a snarl, gun held at the ready, side by side with the bus driver, who wore a nametag similar to the two agents Ford was already familiar with. Oh no.

“Sorry, Lolph, but we’ve got more important business,” Blendin said, standing up. Everyone else had gotten off in the city, and Ford began to wonder if this whole encounter had been staged.

“There is no business more important than the laws of Time Baby,” Lolph said. “Really, Blendin, I thought better of you. You, of all people, should be willing to devote everything to Time Baby, and yet here you are, cavorting with his enemies!”

“Cavorting? That’s a word?” Stan asked blankly as he, Ford, and Bill stood behind Blendin. Stan looked angry, glaring at the agents like they were responsible for everything that had gone wrong in the world. Ford did his best to look intimidating, but Bill looked terrified. Seeing his expression helped Ford to muster the anger he needed. He didn’t care that it was irrational. Anyone who made Bill scared was someone to be dealt with, even if Ford wasn’t the person best suited to do the dealing.

“Yes, that’s a word,” Lolph’s companion—Dundgren—said. “Now, you have two options. You submit yourself to time law, and perhaps Time Baby will be merciful. Or, you can start a fight, we can take you by force, and you can face his wrath.”

“I’ll take the third option—driving this bus into your precious baby’s head!” Stan said mockingly while making several mocking gestures. But at his brother’s words, a realization hit Ford, and he paled.

“Wait,” he said, staring at the bus driver, who was holding a weapon similar to Dundgren’s. “If you’re up here, then who’s driving the bus?”

The realization hit everyone else all at once. Up until that point, the road had been completely straight, moving out from woods into fields, with several large ditches on either side. Ford’s stomach dropped when he saw that they were coming up on several large turns.

The bus driver, Lolph, and Dundgren all dove for the seat, but Blendin was faster, using their backs as springboards to cover three-fourths of the bus’s length, having to take only a few steps to reach the seat itself. “Hang on, guys! I know where we’re going, but it’s going to be bumpy!”

“Does he know how to drive?” Bill shouted, bordering on hysterics. “I don’t wanna die, I still haven’t seen a pyramid!”

“Don’t worry!” Blendin called from the front, but Ford couldn’t help but think, I am very, very worried.

It…did not appear that Blendin knew how to drive very well at all. He barely kept the bus on the road, and when he did, it teetered dangerously on the edge. The fight had stopped, the time agents all clinging to each other, some shouting Blendin’s name and others cursing him in languages Ford didn’t know yet.

“Can you stop trying to kill us?!” Bill shouted, hanging onto the back of one of the seats. “If we fall, we die!”

An idea came to him, and Ford gasped, to Stanley’s apparent horror. “Ford, whatever you’re thinking, it’s a horrible idea.”

“Stan, if we stay on the bus, they’re going to overtake us eventually. Blendin’s bad driving can’t hold them off forever,” Ford said quickly. “And Bill—you’re wrong. At this angle, and from this height, a fall wouldn’t kill us. Just…you know what? Just trust me.”

“Normally, I do, but not right now!” Stan shouted, looking terrified.

Bill, however, smiled. “I do.”

Bill took his hand, and Ford shouted, “Blendin! Time Baby, to your left!”

“Wait—wha—!” Blendin was cut off as he swerved to the right, sending them right over the curve and down the ditch, which Ford had estimated was only a three- to five-foot drop. The bus rolled, and the three boys—and the time agents— fell all over the seats in a tangle of screams.

Now, Ford had been confident in his plan in theory, but he’d severely underestimated just how terrifying a falling bus could be. The moment it began to teeter on the edge, his stomach dropped, and screams welled in his throat. As it fell, he barely kept himself from getting crushed, hanging onto one of the nearby seats—but he lost his grip and was swept up in the fall, screaming as the instinctual terror filled him.

Ford must have hit his head several times, but the most he felt were a few bruises, which might have been the adrenaline kicking in. He feared he might have broken something, but he couldn’t feel it.

As soon as the bus stopped rolling, Ford stood on shaking legs, doing everything he could to ignore the scent of gasoline and the stickiness on his arms and the taste of blood in his mouth. He found Stan in between two of their bags, and Bill was lying underneath several seats.

While the time agents groaned, he pulled Stan to his feet first, hoisting a pack onto his back preemptively, not stopping to look for Blendin. “Help me get him out!”

He and Stan each seized a limb, tugging violently, until Bill started coughing. “Can you two stop trying to pull my arm off?”

Blendin came over, seizing the leg Ford had been holding so Ford could grab his other arm. It took more effort than Ford thought was in him, but Bill managed to wiggle free, using the toppled bus seats to support himself.

“Kid, that was brilliant,” Blendin said next to him. “Look at the agents.”

All three turned to where they had been, but the pile of groaning agents was no longer there, the only evidence of their presence being a few drops of blood and chipped metal.

“With that much damage, they have no choice but to go back and report. It’s time agent policy. Unless they’ve made this case a code-argyle, they’re mandated to go back if too much significant damage has been done. And even if they have, with what you just did, they’ll be pulled back anyway.” The man looked at him, hand on his glasses, and gave a deliberate nod. “Well done, Stanford Pines.”

Ford chuckled. “Thank you. Really.”

“Okay, yeah, it was brilliant. But now we’re trapped in a busted bus that will probably explode soon, and we’re in a ditch. How do we get out of this?” Stan slammed a fist into the roof of the bus, which was now on its side.

“Break a window, duh,” Bill said, starting to smile.

“Bill—!” Despite Ford’s protests, his friend climbed on top of the seats, punching the windows above his head. “Hey, Blendin, do you have a weapon on you?”

“Way ahead of you, Cipher,” Blendin said, and shot it out.

All four men retreated from the raining glass, but once it was clear, Stan climbed up onto the seat and hauled himself onto the top, but Ford noticed he was favoring one arm. Ford went next, and the two of them were able to help Bill, who, despite looking like the least injured of all of them, was unused to the tolls of adrenaline and strain his body was likely experiencing. He tried to help Blendin, but the agent refused, though he seemed to have trouble getting himself onto the roof.

“Unfortunately, I have to leave,” Blendin said. “I need to cover my tracks. Will you three be okay now that the agents are off your tail?”

“For the moment,” Ford said, smiling. “I also might have a concussion. Stan, if I tell you the symptoms, will you—”

“Later, nerd,” Stan huffed. “Right now, we have to get to cover. Come on, we’re almost out of the fields.”

Blendin checked them over one last time, ensuring no one got hit with something futuristic. Upon confirming that all their maladies could be cured in the 20th century, he took out the tape measure and disappeared. Ford mourned not being able to study one, but they had bigger problems.

The three stood, panting, and Ford could feel the adrenaline wearing off. Whatever injuries they had would become apparent soon, and his brother was right—they needed cover.

“Come on,” he said, starting to trudge forward. “We can set up camp, but Stan’s right. We should head for the trees.”

Bill hadn’t stopped shaking, clinging onto Ford’s arm like a lifeline. Ford didn’t even attempt to pull his arm away, splitting the pack he’d saved between them both, savoring the adrenaline for all it was worth.

They were hiking back up a hill when the last of the adrenaline finally wore off, and Ford cursed every step on the leg he was becoming more and more sure was broken. He couldn’t tell who was supporting who anymore, between him and Bill, and Stan stumbled a fair amount too, removing the strap from his right shoulder. Ford winced, both at his brother’s evident pain and the loss of his admittedly superior fighting skills. Still, no matter how much he wanted to just sit and rest, he knew they couldn’t consider it until they were further into the woods.

The three walked for what felt like hours to Ford before Bill finally crumbled, avoiding hitting his head on a rock by seconds as Ford caught him, laying him down on the underbrush. All three of them were covered in dirt and blood and probably severely injured. “I can’t walk anymore,” Bill whimpered. “It hurts too much.”

Ford nodded, stretching out his leg in excruciating pain. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s take a break.”

The sun was beginning to descend in the sky— early afternoon. Perhaps they really had been walking for hours, or the bus ride had taken a lot longer than he’d thought. Either way, Ford barely had the energy to splint his leg and Stan’s arm before they passed out alongside Bill.

Chapter Text

When Bill woke up, the night was pitch dark, and the moon shone directly over their heads. Stan and Ford were sleeping soundly, limbs braced against broken tree branches and tied with ropes fished out from the backpacks. He groaned, his injuries and memories from the day before making themselves known to him all at once.

His arms and legs were covered in cuts, his torso not much better. Every bone and muscle in his body screamed with pain, and he hadn’t even had it for three months. Bill recalled Jhessy saying that one of his other self’s favorite phrases was ‘pain is hilarious,’ and snorted. Clearly, his older self had never been human.

Looking around, Bill winced at how bad they looked as a group. The twins had clearly passed out from their injuries since there were no tents, sleeping bags, or even a campfire set up. Did they still have their tents? Perhaps they should go scavenge the bus site when it grew lighter, see what they could salvage. Or the time police could be lying in wait, already knowing that they would return. Or maybe they were expecting Bill to expect that, and they were actually waiting—

He huffed, stopping the train of thought. It wouldn’t do anyone good to spiral like that. Bill had to stay strong—for Ford. And Stan. He could wake them up and move them to a safer place, but what good would that do?

After more deliberating, he decided to dig through the bags and see what they’d managed to salvage before even considering going back to the bus site. There was no use walking into a potential trap if they didn’t have to. And besides, they’d managed to save two packs out of the three.

Immediately, his efforts paid off. Despite the burning cuts on his arms, he dug out one of the tent bags that was crammed into the bottom of Stanley’s pack. He could already see two sleeping bags strapped to the outside of both packs, so that was good, too. The third sleeping bag was lost, he knew that, but maybe the brothers could share, since they were already planning on sharing a tent. That was the normal thing to do in this situation, right?

If he couldn’t find the second tent, though, then he might have to share with the brothers anyway. He wasn’t sure about them, but he didn’t want to sleep exposed, out in the open. Though, it didn’t seem like it had turned out that badly so far. They hadn’t been mauled yet, anyway.

Searching the second backpack proved his suspicion. The other tent was in the third bag, and they wouldn’t be getting it unless they decided to go back to the crash site and scavenge. So Bill moved on to the far easier part—fire.

As part of his preparations for their flight from New Jersey, Bill had taught himself how to build a three-dimensional fire. There was the normal method, of course, with tinder and logs and matches, which he knew Stan had brought—and then there were his abilities, which would make it much smoother. He still went through the effort of gathering branches and sticks, and surrounding the fire with stones, but he didn’t bother looking for Stanley’s matches, instead lighting the fire with a flick of his wrist.

It flared his signature blue for a moment before fading into the regular red-orange color that most fires were here. Some careful questioning of Ford told him that third dimension fires could be blue if they were hot enough, but that was rare. Bill smiled at the thought of being ‘rare,’ and having that be a good thing. He looked at Ford, the angles of his face caressed by the firelight, shadows dancing across his body. He looked like a corpse, but at the same time, he looked serene, ethereal.

The fire sparked at the thought. Ford and Stan slept on.

***

Bill had fallen asleep again, but he felt better about the idea when there was a nice fire next to him. The sun was beginning to climb in the sky, and he decided that the twins had slept long enough. He’d heard something about ‘oversleeping’ from Jhessy, and it was apparently bad for humans. He’d given Ford and Stan some slack, given how injured they were, but now he questioned that choice, seeing how shallow their breaths were, how sickly their skin looked.

“Ford! Ford!” He didn’t want to shout, instead shoving his friend as hard as he could risk it. “Wake up!”

Ford finally jerked awake, eyes flying open, gasping. His hands flew to his face, then patted the ground around him. “Bill! Where—I need my—”

Bill couldn’t help but chuckle at Ford’s flailing. He’d removed Ford’s glasses the night before, and placed them by the fire so he didn’t accidentally crush them in his sleep. Now, however, the lenses were caked in a thin layer of smoke residue and ash, and Bill had to hurriedly wipe them off without Ford seeing.

His friend fixed him with an unimpressed glare to rival his father’s. “Bill, give them back.”

“You’re no fun,” Bill pouted, reluctantly handing the glasses over. He studied Ford’s hands as he used the hem of his shirt to clean the lenses. It only covered his thumb, which he used to rub rhythmic circular motions along the glass. “You know, that used to be my nickname for you.”

Ford froze mid-circle. “What did?”

He quirked a smile. “I used to call you Glasses, before we started talking. It was the only thing about you I knew how to recognize.”

He didn’t know what had possessed him to say that. Ford seemed stunned by the information, but went back to cleaning his glasses as though Bill hadn’t spoken. “They have glasses in Euclydia, huh?”

“Yeah, but they look a little bit different. Euclydians don’t have ears the same way humans do. But the lens deal is largely the same.”

Ford pushed his glasses back onto his nose as Stan finally woke up, an event announced by much groaning and popping of bones. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.”

“You’re not too far off,” Ford said wryly. “Remember yesterday?”

Bill snickered as the events of the previous day visibly crashed back into Stan. “Right.”

With the benefits of sleep and rest, the three were finally able to take proper care of their injuries and inventory of their bags. They had plenty of water, but were short on food. Stan had lost his matches, but they weren’t necessary. Each of the boys still had a weapon of some kind, but only a few changes of clothes. As Bill had found, two sleeping bags, and only one tent.

It was decided that they wouldn’t risk the trip back to the crash site. Not only because of the risk of time agents, but also Earth police. “It wasn’t exactly a subtle event,” Ford said. “I’ll bet the entire area is taped off. We couldn’t go back if we tried.”

What Bill did insist on was bringing out the crystal ball he’d hidden in Ford’s pack. Jhessy had given it to him, but he’d suspected that the time agents would be more focused on him than anyone else, so he’d hidden it with Ford. He was glad he hadn’t hidden it with Stan, since Stan’s bag was the one that was missing.

“Since when did we have that?” Stan asked incredulously. “And how did it not get broken?”

“Because it’s an interdimensional communications device, obviously,” Bill said, trying to sound as pretentious as possible. “The Oracle told me to use this for check-in’s and emergencies. And, since Blendin’s ditched us for the time being, we need to talk to someone who knows where we’re supposed to be going.”

Neither of the brothers argued. They stamped out the remaining embers of Bill’s fire, and went.

***

It took some trial and error to get the crystal ball to function properly, but once it was up and running, it was pretty easy to use. Stan was the designated holder since, with his arm broken, he couldn’t carry a backpack. Ford’s leg was better than they had initially thought—he could walk on it, even if it hurt a little bit. They could confirm the bone wasn’t broken, at the very least.

“Hey, Oracle? Can you hear us?” Stan asked, cradling the ball in his left hand, holding it close to his chest.

“Loud and clear, Stanley,” Jhessy said. “What happened to you three? You look like you survived a crash.” As soon as she said that, she paled. “Wait. Did you?”

“Yeah,” Ford said. “We had to crash the bus to get the time agents off our tail, and now we’re basically dead in the water. Blendin’s gone.”

“Dead, or did he leave to smooth things over with the agents?” Jhessy asked, sounding alarmed.

“The latter,” Ford said dully. “Probably. What’s the deal with that, by the way? Doesn’t the agency know he’s working with us by now?”

She sighed. “In theory, they would, but he’s surprisingly clever. He’s managed to keep everyone off his scent officially, even though most of the agents are well aware of what he’s doing. I guess Weirdmageddon changed more than one thing for him. I’m honestly impressed.”

Bill shrugged. “I mean, he did break me out of the Department of SuperVision. But, Jhessy, where was he taking us? Where exactly are we going?” He had to lean over into Stan’s space to meet her eyes, and even then, it was only some of them.

“It’s a place very important to all three of you in the future,” she said. “Gravity Falls, Oregon. I know it seems like going there is counterproductive, but given the significance of the location, it’s the only place that will properly disguise your chronosignatures. Even your hometown can’t disguise you that much.”

The three all nodded. “We’ll also be able to see how much damage we did to the timeline and confirm whether or not we created a paradox and two Bill Ciphers are running around. But that’s not something we have to worry about until we get to the Falls.”

Bill looked between the twins, who suddenly seemed worried. “So, um, what kind of climate can we expect when we get there?”

Jhessy snorted. “It’s pretty classical for the Pacific Northwest, but considering it’s the source of most anomalies on the planet, be ready for anything.”

Stan and Ford started talking animatedly, asking questions about their favorite human pastimes and pleasures, but there was an uncomfortable feeling in Bill’s gut that he couldn’t shake.

“What did I do to this place?” He asked, startling Ford and Jhessy out of their conversation.

The Oracle’s face moved across the sphere to face him, and she sighed. “That’s…a very long story. You’ve been part of the natural history of this place almost since the Pan-Dimensional beings of Trilazxx Beta crashed there. Both the first and last times you attempted to build your gateway into Earth, you did it through Gravity Falls. The first time, the person you’d convinced to do it burned himself alive. The second time, you succeeded, and came very close to wiping out the planet entirely.”

The joyful mood had completely dissipated, and Bill despised the looks Ford and Stan were giving him. “That’s all I needed to know,” he grumbled, and strode on ahead.

He thought that would be the end of it, but to his surprise, Ford stopped him in his tracks, turning him around and holding the crystal ball.

“Alright, stop it. I’m getting sick of this reaction. You need to stop getting so caught up in this. At the end of the day, all you and him share is a name. So stop skulking and enjoy it! If Jhessy’s right and we’ve permanently altered the timeline, then you’ll probably never have set foot in this place until now.”

“Oh.” It was all he could manage to say in light of Ford’s outburst. His friend looked like a mix of genuine anger and sadness, putting his hands somewhere between Bill’s shoulders and the base of his neck, surprising him and sending a warm flush up his face.

What surprised him even more was Jhessy adding on. “He’s right. Besides, there’s more than one reason you were always drawn to the place. It’s full of so many weird things that you couldn’t get enough of. Now, I get to watch you experience it for the first time.” She sounded happy at the prospect.

“We’ve all got to deal with…pretty bad futures,” Stan said, hurrying to catch up to his brother. “So don’t sweat it. And if you do, hey. Screw-ups for the win, yeah?”

Stan held out a fist. Bill bumped it, and felt a little bit better.

***

They hiked well into the evening, with Jhessy not ceasing her communication until she was certain they would be stopping soon. The sun had nearly set, and they were cresting a hill, probably well into Pennsylvania by now, by Ford’s estimate. He was examining a map, trying to figure out their exact location while Stan walked ahead to find a suitable camping spot. None of them had eaten, and as sore as they were, they had slept almost twenty-four hours the previous night.

Ford finally put the map away when Stan shouted for them, having cleared a patch of brush on a level spot just before the hill sloped downward. But right as they were about to set their bags down, they heard too many sets of crashing boots.

“Is that—?” Bill started, before a swarm of time agents converged around them. There were at least a dozen that Bill could see, and probably more that he couldn’t. All of them had guns raised, pointed directly at Ford, Stan, and Bill.

“Freeze, in the name of time law! Anything you say can and already has been used against you in future court,” One of them said. It wasn’t Lolph or Dundgren—Bill couldn’t see either of them in the surrounding cloud of agents. Another of the agents—with two stripes of black hair, a manacle, and bronze skin similar to Bill’s own, let loose a shot that whizzed past his ear.

“What do we do?” he heard Stan whisper.

“What we have to,” Ford replied gruffly.

“And what is that?” Stan shot back, and Ford had no answer.

Bill scanned their surroundings. They were in the middle of a forest, dead leaves and shrubbery covering the ground, sloping downwards. Some of the trees were still flowering, but most had shed their petals and grown into leaves, letting the flowers coat the already highly flammable surface. He had a plan, he just had to hope Ford and Stan wouldn’t be mad about it.

“I’ve got something,” he said, widening his stance, arms at his sides. He clenched his fists, willing the fire to come.

“Bill?” Ford looked to him, trust in his eyes. “You got a plan?”

He could never disappoint his human. With a wink, he said, “Of course, Sixer. Whenever do I not?”

Bill snapped his fingers, and the entire forest went up in flames. Blue fire sparked on the grass and shrubbery beneath their feet, climbing up the trees, consuming leaves and branches, finally jumping from crown to crown. Smoke filled his lungs, stinging his eyes, and the shouts of the time agents went up as they were suddenly obscured from view.

Smoke smelled like blood, he noted with discomfort.

Bill cackled, hefting his backpack further up on his shoulders, dragging Ford and Stan through the woods after him. They would have to divert a little from where Jhessy said they should stop, but he didn’t think she would mind, especially with the time agents so close.

Ford’s familiar six-fingered grip was familiar in his right hand, but he didn’t recognize the grunting coming from his left. He turned, and too late, he realized that it wasn’t Stan he’d grabbed, but a time agent. More specifically, he noted with growing horror that he was the one who had tried to shoot him.

“What’re you playing at, Cipher? What is this all about?” The agent spat. Bill couldn’t see his nametag, and he nearly knocked over Ford in surprise.

“Nothing, I—” he cut himself off. “What are you talking about? What could I be playing at? Where’s Stan?”

The agent scoffed. “You really are clueless. I didn’t think someone like Blendin could manage this, much less have the stomach to do it, but it seems I was proven wrong.”

“What did you do with Stanley?” Ford bellowed, drawing himself up to make himself look more intimidating. The agent—whose nametag read ‘Haldston—’ laughed. It sounded cruel and mocking, like the bullies that had hunted Bill and Ford alike throughout their lives.

Somewhere behind them, off to Bill’s left, he heard Stanley shouting curses at the time agents and the distinctive wail of sirens. Ford turned his back, shouting for his brother, and was subsequently shot in the back.

Bill howled, the fire igniting in his palms, jumping almost up to his shoulders in anger. He rushed the agent, slamming his hands into the agent’s face, rage boiling his blood. How dare he! He’d shot Ford. At that moment, he fully empathized with his older self for his hatred of the time bureaucracy.

The agent screamed underneath him, and Bill returned to his senses, backing away, palms still alight.

“Curse you, Bill Cipher,” Haldston spat, the skin on his face blistering and bubbling with the burns he’d inflicted. Some of the skin had burned off entirely, leaving nothing but seething red flesh beneath. “Curse you.”

He repeated that in at least seven different languages before he stopped, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and collapsing to the ground.

Chapter Text

Ford’s heart wouldn’t stop pounding in his ears, even as the agent crumpled to the dirt, unconscious. The sight of his burning face wouldn’t leave his mind, even as the smoke slowly dissipated from their surroundings. His entire body shook, barely calming down at the welcome sight of Blendin Blandin.

“You—you burned him,” Blendin said, breathing heavily. “He’s—You killed a time agent! Oh, time—”

“If you say ‘time dang-it,’ I’m gonna throw up,” Bill said dully. “It—it’s fine. They’re lame anyway.” But his body betrayed his words—he was shaking, and the agent wasn’t getting back up.

Perhaps that wasn’t the right thing to worry about. All sensation left his legs as Ford buckled against the tree behind him, side throbbing painfully. If he had to guess, the shot had come close to one of his kidneys, and he had no idea what it might have punctured. He groaned, catching the attention of both Bill and Blendin, who scrambled to get to him.

“He shot you?” Blendin asked breathlessly, looking even more panicked if it was possible. “Oh no, oh—hold on. I think I have some first aid. Do you know what setting the gun was on?”

“You can check,” Ford grumbled, unable to summon the energy to speak much louder. “He’s right there.”

Bill seized his hand, rubbing comforting circles over it, looking pained. “I—I’m sorry, I don’t know—”

“It’s not your fault, Bill,” he said, looking up at his friend. “The guy they’re mad at—it’s not you. It’s the other guy. The one who—”

Breathing became too painful. Blendin finally fished out whatever he was looking for, but Ford couldn’t tell what it looked like with the way his vision was tunneling, and the way Bill’s voice grew more and more distant as he lost consciousness.

***

He was surrounded by warmth. The kind of warmth that filled you from the inside out, that made you glow with happiness. The kind of warmth that Bill always filled him with.

He was standing in a cave, which Ford knew should be cold, but he wasn’t. He was wearing something—a long, beige coat that almost touched the ground, on top of a sweater vest and blue dress shirt. The cave around him was dark, lit only by the lantern in his hand, the light glinting off the ancient paintings on the walls. They depicted many things, not the least of which people battling dinosaurs, felling beasts that looked like creatures from myth, and most importantly, kneeling before the symbol of a one-eyed triangle, inscriptions painted underneath. He held his lantern up to the wall for a better view, seeing his friend staring back at him.

Ford shook his head. No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t know this creature. But according to the inscriptions, it knew him, and it could tell him everything he needed to know to achieve his destiny.

***

Ford awoke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright. He couldn’t have been asleep for too long, since the sky looked no different, and Blendin was still there, a tin of some ointment in his hand. Bill was there, too, and Ford jolted again when he realized he’d been lying in Bill’s lap.

“What—”

“It’s time-based ointment,” Blendin said. “It’s usually reserved for time agents. It heals almost every injury instantly, but with the added side effect of seeing yourself in another timeline. So it’s banned for general use.”

“Another timeline.” Perhaps that dream was how he’d met Bill in Blendin’s time. Or how he’d gotten down that path, anyway. “Alright. Cool. Can we go? Where’s Stanley?” His voice was shaky, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the dream or the residual shock from the gunshot wound.

Bill and Blendin looked at each other. “He’s been arrested,” Blendin said. “I’m sorry. There’s not much we can do for him right now. I know they wanted to get all three of you, but some of them are more trigger-happy than others, and Stanley’s probably the worst offender at the moment since you two are right on track with your predestined relationship.”

Ford tried to meet Bill’s eye, but Bill pointedly looked away, hunched in on himself. It makes sense, he told himself through the pain in his gut. We don’t exactly have the healthiest relationship in that time. Still, the action hurt.

“What do you mean, there’s nothing we can do?” Ford asked instead, frowning at Blendin. “You break their rules all the time, we just have to figure out how to—”

“I said there’s nothing we can do right now,” Blendin said. “Right now, Stan’s being put through the time bureaucracy gauntlet, so to speak. Given his situation, he’s not going to have any less than a dozen guards on him at all times for the next little while. We can’t do anything until he’s either in isolation or invokes Globnar.”

“What’s Globnar?” Bill asked.

“If we can’t help him, then what can we do?” Ford asked at the same time.

“Globnar is a long story, and not one I have to tell right now,” Blendin said pointedly. “Ford, at this point, all I can tell you is to continue on to Gravity Falls. Like I said, you’ll be best protected from the time agents there. If we are going to do something to help Stanley, it’ll be best to strike out from relative safety.”

Bill helped Ford stand, and he was surprised to find that the wound was almost completely healed. In fact, all his wounds seemed to be healed, without even a scratch from a stray thorn remaining. It felt nice, but he couldn’t shake the dream he had from his mind.

“Go back to your time buddies, Blendin,” Bill said, eyes raking up and down Ford’s form in worry. “We can take it from here.” He’s just concerned. You almost died. It’s nothing more than that.

Sure, he’d admitted things to Stanley, but he still found himself playing denial when it came to feeling something deeper for Bill. Old habits die screaming, I suppose.

“Let’s at least get you two onto the nearest bus,” Blendin said. “I’d rather have you get to the Falls before July.”

***

He dropped them off in Philadelphia, and Ford had never been so glad to have a major city on New Jersey’s border. They were able to take the bus to Cleveland, but couldn’t find any busses from there to anywhere close to where they wanted to go. So, he and Bill set to walking again, choosing to stick to the woods until they found another major city where they could blend in and make minimal impact on the timeline.

And it was nice, being with Bill. He was funny, and magnetic, and Ford never found himself drifting off or zoning out whenever he talked. They would talk all day, sometimes, unless they were on the bus, and even then, Bill would read textbooks on physics (yes, Ford took his textbooks out over the summer, sue him) over his shoulder in fascination. And Ford enjoyed introducing him to the concept of gravity—when they weren’t being shushed by other bussers, that was.

When they crossed the state border into Nebraska, about a week after they’d left Glass Shard Beach, Ford watched the woods they’d been hiding in disappear entirely. He’d known there weren’t many trees out in the Midwest, but it was strange to actually see it. The landscape looked so barren without the constant input of the flora and fauna he was used to.

One thing they could see very well was the stars. Entire galaxies over their heads, more stars than Ford had ever seen in his life. Glass Shard Beach was still an urban development, even if it wasn’t the biggest city, and unless you went far out to sea, you couldn’t see nearly as many stars as Bill and Ford were looking at now.

They hadn’t yet set up their tent or a fire, even though it was well past dark. Bill was enamored by the stars, and Ford was enamored with Bill.

He flushed. Some part of him kept screaming at him to deny it, to hide it, but they’d been walking all day, and all Ford wanted to think about was Bill’s head resting on Ford’s shoulder, their fingers laced together, enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence.

It was calm night. A gentle breeze blew through their hair, the grass giving a soft rustle. The moon shone down on the plains, brighter than Ford had ever seen it.

“What’s that one called?” Bill asked, pointing to his right with his free hand. He wanted to know about every single Earth constellation, and Ford was more than happy to teach him.

“That’s Ursa Major, also called the ‘Big Dipper,’” Ford said, smiling. He pointed to a similar constellation to the southwest. “And the Little Dipper, or Ursa Minor.”

Bill hummed contentedly, bringing their joined hands onto Ford’s lap as he moved closer. “‘Big Dipper.’ Sounds funny.”

“It is, a little bit. I’ll have to figure out why they call it that, though I think it has something to do with the fact that it looks like a spoon,” Ford said.

More silence. Bill opened his mouth a few times before closing it again, not speaking until Ford finally asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just…thinking,” Bill said. “Back home—that is, in Euclydia—I was the only one who saw the stars. They weren’t part of the second dimension at all. But here…there’s an entire field of study dedicated only to the ones you can see on Earth, and several more to the ones you can’t. It’s incredible.”

Ford gave his most comforting smile. “I hope it doesn’t disappoint,” he said sheepishly.

Bill turned his head to look him in the eyes. “How could I be disappointed? Ford, I’ve been dreaming of this for years. All my life, I’ve wanted to see things exactly like this, and…be able to share it with someone.”

He took a deep breath, looked away. “You know, when we were little, I thought that everything in the third dimension was a star. I know it sounds stupid, but I didn’t know any better. I didn’t understand what I was seeing, I was just repeating things I’d heard.” He was grinning sheepishly, face coloring.

“One of my teachers told me that ‘stars’ were mythical beings, unseen and yet known in our dimension, like some kind of heaven. She shut me down when I tried telling her I saw that, of course, but the sentiment stuck with me. So when I met you…”

Ford’s heart pounded. He could feel his blush going from his face to his ears and neck, but he couldn’t look away from Bill, seeing—or perhaps imagining—that a similar blush covered his face, too.

Bill trailed off. “It’s embarrassing to admit, knowing what I know now. But when I met you, I thought…well, I thought you were a star.”

He looked at Ford, then, and didn’t look away. Ford was transfixed by the sight before him, by his oldest friend with a blush on his cheeks and his hand clasped in Ford’s. They were so close, and yet, Ford found himself craving to be closer.

There wasn’t anyone around. The only sign of human presence was the glimmering lights of a town a few miles in the distance, far away enough that they could see threats coming well in advance. He and Bill were completely alone.

The image of his future—or, perhaps, other—self kissing Bill in Blendin’s hologram flashed in his mind again. For once, he didn’t shove it away. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

Bill leaned forward, stopping when their noses brushed. “Is this how you do it?” he whispered, eyes locked on Ford’s.

“I think so,” Ford whispered back, leaning just barely closer. “I’ve never done this before.”

“We can figure it out, right?”

The tension was palpable. The distance between them was scant, and yet it felt as though it would take years to cross.

Stanley had many romantic flings, and Ford often felt like he had far too intimate a knowledge of most of them. He always insisted that he didn’t want to hear about it, and Stan had always replied with, ‘That’s just because it hasn’t happened to you yet.’ Ford had insisted that was false and that it was about the principle, but at that moment, he was willing to admit his brother could be right.

He could stop being in denial. Maybe acceptance could be the easier, less torturous path.

Summoning his courage, Ford closed the gap between them, brushing Bill’s lips with a soft, terrified peck.

He pulled back quickly, not wanting to press. Bill gasped, his free hand coming up to Ford’s shoulder, pushing them closer. Everything touched except their lips.

Then Bill closed that gap, too.

It was soft, and warm, and shooting stars exploded in Ford’s brain as he melted into the kiss. Their hands were still clasped between them, their free arms wrapped around the other, legs and feet entwined.

Bill kissed him harder than Ford had dared, hand moving up to his hair, sending miniature shocks up and down his spine. Ford’s hand was splayed across Bill’s back, their mouths never disconnecting for more than a scant few heartbeats.

Ford gasped, breaking their tenth—no, hundredth kiss, it must be—when he felt himself fall against the hillside. Bill was on top, silhouetted against the night sky, moonlight reflecting off his hair and skin, forming a halo around his head that made him glow. Bill’s arms caged Ford in, panting. Ford could feel him taking in every inch of his body—his cherry-red cheeks, the bare patches of skin where his shirt had ridden up his back. He knew he looked scandalous, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You look…” Bill trailed off, breathless. “You look like one. If this isn’t what stars look like, then none of them deserve the name.”

Ford laughed. “You’re right. They have nothing on you.”

With nothing more said, Bill lowered himself back down onto Ford, kissing him once more.

Neither of them bothered to set up a tent or a fire that night, finding the feel of the other’s arms around him enough protection and warmth for a lifetime.

***

The next morning, they planned to stop by the nearest town—one of the suburbs between Nebraska and Kansas, in an effort to find a bus that could take them out of Tornado Alley and farther north than they’d been able to go. Despite it being mid-June, the most northern states were still plagued with random snowstorms until late May, and neither Bill nor Ford had planned for extremely cold weather.

There was a new tension between them, too, after their kiss. It wasn’t bad, but he wondered how much slower their progress would be if he gave in to the intense desire to kiss Bill again, despite the risk of being quite literally out in the open.

That didn’t bother you last night, did it? His mind prompted, and he pretended that it hadn’t. They were far closer to civilization now, not to mention it was daylight. They couldn’t travel at night, so they had to utilize that when possible.

‘Burnt-Tree Lake’ was probably the most misleading name for a town Ford had ever read, given that the town was situated in one of the driest parts of the Midwest, with neither a tree—burnt or not— nor a lake in sight. It made him uneasy, and he could tell it made Bill feel the same way. He huddled close to Ford, keeping wary eyes on all the residents.

Ford wasn’t as suspicious of the townsfolk, though. They seemed friendly enough, much fewer of them giving them dirty looks than Ford anticipated.

They did, however, appear to be avoiding a certain part of town. Every time someone went to turn right off of the main street, they turned sharply around and walked back the way they had come, faces set in stern emotion. Fear, anger, disgust— all of them were there, and it made Ford curious as to what it could possibly be.

They didn’t see any sort of transportation stations in the parts of town that people were accessing, and the few citizens they dared ask always shut them down with cold faces. “Don’t go over there, boys,” one gruff old man said. “They’ll getcha with their conspiracies, and you’ll ne’er see daylight again.”

Speech errors and cryptic warnings aside, Ford decided it would be better to know where they were going, at least, so he led Bill down the forbidden street, watching the dust carefully for something to come out at them.

The street was eerily silent. The wind howled at them for a moment, but the moment they crossed the threshold onto the dirt-covered road, it stilled. No birds sounded. An odd-looking tumbleweed flew down the street, but it made no sound.

Bill seized his hand, squeezing it tightly. Ford squeezed back, stepping further into the open.

It felt like they spent hours there, but the walk to the train station seemed to only take ten minutes. There was a small building, and he saw no train, or any sort of schedule to tell them when it would be back.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up a moment before it happened.

“Are you boys lost?”

Chapter Text

Bill immediately sensed something off about the man behind them, but couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Perhaps it was the voice—it pierced Bill’s ears, like knives going up to his brain, an eerie mix of cheer and a threat.

He looked like most other humans Bill had encountered, but his grin was a little too wide, and he was dressed far too snappily for someone standing in the middle of a deserted street. Despite all the dust in the air, his suit was untouched, complete with a gold handkerchief, hand-stitched symbol, and a black bow tie. He couldn’t make out what the symbol was, but it sent a shiver of fear down his spine.

“We were looking for the train station,” Ford said levelly. “I thought that’s what this was, but perhaps I was wrong?”

“Oh, you’re right, but there hasn’t been a train here for decades,” the man said. “Whole area was shut down a few decades back, and it never quite opened back up again. I’m afraid you’ll have to look somewhere else if you want transportation. I can help you look, if you want.”

Ford opened his mouth to respond, but Bill stopped him. “I think we’re fine, thank you.”

The man’s eyes gleamed, and Bill thought it made him look like a wild predator, waiting to trap his prey. He was eyeing Bill, now—appraising his form like it was something he wanted.

Ford shot Bill a quizzical look, but Bill ignored him. “Are you sure? I have friends a few towns over. I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to take you in.” The man looked back and forth between them, eyes narrowed.

“As my friend said, we can find our own way, but thank you for the offer,” Ford said, inclining his head. He practically dragged Bill away from the train station, but Bill wasn’t complaining. He didn’t like the man any more than Ford seemed to.

“Very well,” the man said, voice falling flat. “If you wish. But before you go!”

The cheerfulness was back, and he dug in his suit jacket for a moment before drawing something out, and handing it to Ford. “You could each have your own, but I think you two are close enough to share.”

The man walked off with a wink and a wave, leaving a dumbfounded Ford and a terrified Bill standing in the middle of the street.

The two boys broke into a run, bursting out into the main body of the town. They startled the couple that was walking past, but Bill didn’t care, the fear in his veins blocking out all other sense.

At least there was a sound to their surroundings. The wind was back, and so was the chatter of people and animals around them. He didn’t realize there was something missing until it came back to him, and that scared him even more.

The woman did a double take, taking in their fearful expressions and the pamphlet clutched in Ford’s hand. “You two ran into him, didn’t ya?”

The man with her—presumeably her husband, with the same salt-and-pepper hair and old, rumpled clothing as she wore— gave a long, slow nod. “They met ‘im, all right. No one looks like that who didn’t.”

“You mean—” Ford started, glancing back the way they’d come.

The woman nodded emphatically. “Oh yes, him. Real piece of work, that Ciphertologist.”

Bill’s entire body went cold at the name, but the woman was talking as if she hadn’t just rocked his world. “Wh— what?” he stuttered out.

Both Ford and the old couple looked at him sympathetically. “Oh, right. You must be in shambles. Come with us, to our place. We can get’cha some food, water. Nice cup a’ tea. Come on, come on.”

“I think we’re okay, ma’am,” Ford started, but she put a hand on his back and nudged him forward.

“Don’t be like that. Come now. To the house.”

The husband looked at Bill cordially, gesturing for him to follow. Swallowing discomfort, Bill hoisted his pack firmly on his shoulders, following after Ford.

***

“You mentioned you knew the man?” Ford started, once they had sat down. The elderly couple had provided a space for them to set their bags down, wash up, and were now setting them places at the table. Bill probably would have appreciated the gesture more if he wasn’t so uneasy.

“The Ciphertologist? Everyone knows him in passing,” the woman—who had introduced herself as Mrs. Darla—said. “He’s one of the last remnants of a cult that was forcibly disbanded a few decades ago, when you two were probably small. Still, he’s something to be reckoned with, and whatever part of town he inhabits never seems to function quite right. I suppose that’s why he stays near the station.”

Ford’s hand found his under the table, and he began rubbing circles on it as Bill began talking. “What happened with that? It seemed as though everything died around him. The wind stopped, the birds were silent…” he trailed off, discomfort consuming him. He attempted to remove his hand from Ford’s grip, but he refused to let him, squeezing tighter instead.

The elderly couple looked sympathetic. “Some say he’s insane. He’s been hawking his type in the most deserted part of town, handing out pamphlets for his dead cult for years. He always manages to ensnare newcomers, and they always disappear down south. No one can remember who he used to be, and he won’t tell anyone his name, saying that the only one he wants us to remember is the name of ‘Bill Cipher.’”

The two boys gasped, exchanging horrified glances. “Bill Cipher? Are you sure that’s the name?” Bill squeaked.

Mrs. Darla nodded. “Oh, yes. Why? Do you recognize it?”

“We’ve heard some things about him,” Ford said, glancing at Bill. “None of them have been good. And we’ve had some…family friends who have encountered him.”

“Family friends, huh?” The man looked between them suspiciously. “What did you say your names were, again?”

“Stanford and William,” Ford replied immediately. “And I don’t believe you’ve told us yours, sir.”

The man was staring at Bill intently. “Call me Mr. Laudanum.”

***

“We’ve created a paradox,” Bill hissed, the moment the two were alone. “It’s like Blendin said. What do we do?”

Ford sighed, checking the lock again. “Let’s call Jheselbraum. Do we still have the crystal ball?”

Bill nodded, already rummaging through the pack. The elderly couple had insisted that they stay for the night, since, according to her, “The town ain’t the friendliest this time o’ night.” Ford had taken some convincing to actually agree, but Bill wasn’t eager to go out into town with the Ciphertologist about. They’d been given the guest bedroom, which only had one bed, but Bill didn’t mind. He didn’t think he’d be sleeping much. “I got it.”

They sat down on the bed, Ford keeping one eye on the door as Bill placed his hands on the sides, reciting the incantation that Jhessy had taught him. It struck something inside of him. Something terrifyingly powerful.

The ball filled with purple mist, and after a few tense moments, Jhessy’s face appeared out of the fog. “Bill? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bill lied. He’d taken the pamphlet from Ford, reading it as Ford had secured the room. It left a dreadful feeling in his gut, similar to the Ciphertologist himself.

“We need to ask you some things,” Ford said. “Because we’re now certain we’ve created a paradox. What do you know about Ciphertology?”

Jhessy was silent for several long moments. “Not much,” she said finally. “Information on that sort of thing is kept under tight watch in this world. I do know it was a rather bloody cult that Bill started in the fifties, and that he attempted to use his followers to build his portal. It ended in a fiery standoff with the Kansas State Troopers, which was its own fiasco. I’m not entirely sure what happened in the meantime.”

Bill’s breath shook. “Okay. I think we’ve met one. We’re in—Nebraska, I think, and we’re staying with this couple—”

“So you’re safe?” Jhessy asked, cutting him off. “Good. But I would recommend for you two to leave as soon as possible. Start heading north. You need to get as far away from these people as you can. It’s not safe for either of you, especially if there are still Ciphertologists around. If they find out who you are, you’re both dead.”

Ford visibly swallowed. “Yep. Figured that one out. I’m glad we got away from the one we met unscathed, but—did you say it was in Kansas? What are they doing this far into Nebraska?”

Jhessy sighed. “I imagine the surviving cultists scattered to the winds. Makes sense that there would be some in neighboring states. Still, be careful. This is certainly evidence of a paradox, and that makes the whole journey west that much more dangerous. I wish I could be with you, but…” she sighed. “I’ve had to keep things under control back here. The entire beach is swarmed with agents, and I’d rather they not find out I’m here. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

He couldn’t meet Ford’s eye. “It’s okay, Jhessy. We’ll leave in the morning, I promise.”

She sighed, looking at him sadly. “I’m still trying to get used to believing your promises.”

Bill nodded, removing his hands, and the connection cut. Of course, right when he’d started to think he was in the clear, everything had to crash and burn. He’d known since the portal that he was following in the footsteps of every other version of him, but it was one thing to hear about it, and another to have your life threatened by it.

“She shouldn’t have said that,” Ford said softly. “It’s not going to help anything.”

“It’s a reminder I needed,” Bill shot back. It came out too forcefully, and Ford recoiled. “Sorry. I’m just on edge.”

“I can tell,” Ford said. “Bill…”

“What did Blendin show you?” He asked before Ford could continue. “Why were you unable to look me in the eyes until—last night? What did he say?”

Ford chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “You heard what he said. He didn’t show anything bad, either, just—some things about our futures. Stan and mine, that is. I didn’t think you noticed a difference.” He looked at Bill, forcing a smile. “Actually, he showed a hologram of—well, something not dissimilar from last night, actually. But I think that was an accident.”

Bill squinted, trying to put the pieces together, then gasped when the realization hit. “Wait. You mean— even in his timeline, we were—”

“Yeah.” Ford was turning that pretty shade of red again, and Bill’s heart skipped a beat. “Even then, we were together.”

The way he phrased it made it sound so romantic, but Bill was brought back down by the pamphlet in his hand, advertising a religion whose leader was ‘A living human man and not a corpse possessed by a demon.’ This is what I get for thinking it couldn’t get worse.

When Ford had kissed him the night before, it had felt like fate. Bill had only seen descriptions of it in his study of human behavior, attempting to understand his own feelings. He’d gotten sucked into books about ‘romance,’ and human displays of affection, and while he’d told himself it was for purely objective study, he’d been picturing Ford the whole time. He’d felt like their union was a break in the timeline. That what he and Ford had done on the hillside was their way of breaking free from what their other timeline counterparts had. At the same time, he’d felt as though their destiny was being fulfilled. Now, he realized it was, because it had never been different. They were always meant to be that way.

Looking at Ford across from him now, Bill wanted nothing more than to draw him close and kiss him again, but the weight of all that he was rested in his hands. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to Ford.

“Bill?” Ford inched closer, bringing their hands together, using his free one to wipe a stray tear from Bill’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Sixer,” he choked out. “I just thought it was different, you know? I thought we were—”

Ford pulled him closer, so that their foreheads touched. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he whispered. “Look at me.”

Bill met his eyes with intense effort. “You’re not him,” Ford whispered. “You’re different, and so, so much better. Can you believe that for me?”

Bill wrapped his arms around Ford’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut. “I think so.” He couldn’t say no to him. Ever.

“Good.” He opened his eyes to Ford’s hand on his cheek, his star-bright smile directed solely at him. “Because it’s true.”

Ford kissed him again, soft and gentle. Bill melted into it, wrapping his arms tighter around him. He’d meant it when he’d compared Ford to a star. The impression had lasted a lot longer than Bill would ever admit, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. Though, when he was younger, he didn’t think he’d ever imagined getting this close to a star. He didn’t think he’d ever find himself tasting the starlight.

***

Bill woke up to the feeling of Ford’s face nestled into his back, arms secure around his torso. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes again, not wanting to move, though Jhessy’s warnings rang in his mind. All he wanted to do was stay there, with Ford, and not move the whole day.

You can do it when you get to the Falls, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jhessy said in his mind. Right now, you’re both in danger.

The reminder of the Ciphertologist gave him the fear he needed to stand up and shake Ford awake. “We have to go,” he whispered.

Ford groaned, reaching for his glasses, which Bill handed to him. “Five more minutes?”

“You wanna wait for the Ciphertologist?” Bill muttered, and that got Ford up, too.

“Fine. But the moment we’re out of sight, we’re stopping to eat.”

“Fine by me,” Bill said, and hurried to pack up their supplies.

Thankfully, Mrs. Darla was already awake, so they didn’t have to worry about disappearing before they could thank the couple that had taken them in. She tried to have them stay for breakfast, but Ford finally managed to politely turn her down. “We need to leave early. Get a head start before the sun gets too unbearable,” he added with a smile. “Traveling in the summer isn’t always ideal.”

Mrs. Darla nodded, brow furrowed. “Why are you two in such a rush? Someone waiting on ya?”

“Something like that,” Bill said. “But we’re very grateful for your kindness.”

Mrs. Darla seemed mollified by that, allowing them to go with a wave. She had, however, supplied them both with water bottles. “For the heat.”

They were finally back out on the dusty street, but Bill couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Chapter Text

They went the opposite direction of the train station this time, and only passed a few other early risers on their way to work. They didn’t run into anyone suspicious until they came to the sign at the edge of the town they’d passed on their way in.

“Burnt Tree,” Bill muttered under his breath. “That almost sounds like…”

He trailed off, digging in his pockets for the pamphlet they’d gotten from the Ciphertologist. “Great.”

“What?” Ford asked, looking over his shoulder at the bland-colored paper.

“The name of the Ciphertologist’s leader was, apparently, ‘Silas Birchtree.’” Bill looked at him worriedly.

“Birchtree…Burnt Tree,” Ford said. “Oh. Do you think…” He glanced at the other boy, who looked disturbed.

“I think we may have dodged a bullet,” Bill said. “Come on. I’m sick of this place.”

Ford nodded, and the two took off running, skirting the edges of the Ciphertologist’s town. Bill hated running, he knew, but he didn’t complain once as they sprinted. Ford wondered dully if the same silencing phenomenon that had covered the east side of the town would extend beyond its borders, or if it was completely self-contained. Or, perhaps, it followed wherever the Ciphertologist went—that’s how it seemed when Mrs. Darla had described him, anyway, but Ford wasn’t sure. It would be fascinating to study, if it wasn’t so dangerous.

He stopped in his tracks, Bill nearly crashing into him. The other boy was panting, and looked equally as confused as Ford felt. “What is…”

Though Ford didn’t think they’d even made it around the northern edge of the town, they were somehow, inexplicably, standing in front of the sign that had greeted them when they’d first entered. But it looked different, somehow, or perhaps it was Ford’s eyes that had changed. For a moment, he could have sworn that the symbol on top of the sign— which looked eerily similar to the all-seeing eye on the dollar bill— had blinked at him.

“I don’t know,” Ford said, shuddering. “But how did we end up back here?”

“A good question, and an astute observation!” Crowed a voice behind them. Turning around, Ford saw the Ciphertologist, arms spread nearly as wide as his grin, and he was with several others whose faces he couldn’t make out. “As it happens, we saw you two trying to leave without giving me an answer, and we can’t have that.”

“We’re not interested,” Bill said sharply. “Can we go now?”

The Ciphertologist’s grin fell, and Ford felt a strike of fear in his gut. He took a step back on instinct, then froze when the Ciphertologist turned to him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said flatly. “And neither of you should say no.”

“Well, we are,” Bill blustered. “Now listen, freakshow. We’ve got somewhere to be, and not a lot of time to get there. Get in our way at risk of being arrested.”

The Ciphertologist’s sinister grin turned jovial. “Arrested! Why, my Lord and Master, I didn’t think you had such influence on our lowly world of Earth!”

Bill’s face paled, and he shrunk behind Ford. Ford straightened, looking between the Ciphertologist and his cronies, who appeared to be wearing strange masks with an eye on their foreheads.

With their attention now drawn on him, he shook, but didn’t back down. The Ciphertologist gave something close to a comforting smile that only made him more terrified. He refused to let it show.

“Your fates are sealed already, and no mere Earthen police force can help you now. In the name of Bill Cipher!”

The cronies behind him converged on the two, and before Ford could scream, he was out cold.

***

He woke up in what looked like a cellar, Bill bound tightly next to him. There were ropes on Ford’s hands and feet, but Bill looked to be covered in them, and he wasn’t awake yet.

Footsteps. Ford quickly closed his eyes again, trying to control his breathing until it matched up with Bill’s.

“They’re both still out, sir.”

He maintained his even breath with extreme effort. Mrs. Darla was the one who had spoken. Was she a Ciphertologist? He’d thought she hated them.

“Pity. I wanted to question the six-fingered boy. Find out how much he knows.” That was the Ciphertologist, and he sounded like a cartoon character, even now.

“You won’t get much from either of them. Why are they so special, anyway? I understand they have a connection to Cipher, but—”

“Oh, Darla, Darla, Darla,” the Ciphertologist tutted. “Don’t you see? I received a vision from Bill Cipher himself, telling me to look out for these two. He said he’s been trapped in the form of a mere human boy, and is traveling with a pair of twins who are also of great interest to him. Darla Laudanum, you are looking at Bill Cipher in a human body, and the next Silas Birchtree.”

Mrs. Darla gasped, and Ford wasn’t able to stop himself from twitching. He felt hands on his back, and his eyes flew open again, this time facing the cultists.

“The next Silas Birchtree,” Mrs. Darla muttered. “And Cipher himself in a human form? But how?”

The Ciphertologist shook his head. “I don’t know. But now that you’re awake, boy, we must have a chat. Darla, watch over Cipher. Make sure he gets all that he needs. But do not proceed with anything until you can contact me.”

She nodded, and Ford was forced up and dragged from the room. The door shut behind them, and Ford quickly realized that he wasn’t walking at all— he was floating. “What do you want from me?”

The Ciphertologist glanced back at him, grinning widely again. “The better question is, what don’t we want from you? I don’t even know your name, and yet, you’ve been traveling across the country with the physical manifestation of our Master, not to mention the…other things we saw on the hillside.”

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Ford flushed, jaw dropping. “You saw—but—there was no one around, I checked—”

“Foolish boy. You think you can hide from us?” The Ciphertologist laughed. “We’ve been watching for weeks now for you to come. Sure, you’re missing one, perhaps because of the police you mentioned. Well, worry not, my Cipher-loving friend. You will be safe with us.”

Ford spluttered indignantly at the phrase ‘Cipher-loving,’ but remained silent. Clearly, this man knew far too much, and talking further would only give him more to use against them.

He and Bill had done nothing more than kiss on the hillside, but the time-ointment-induced dreams had continued, and he’d seen several instances in which they had gone further. As it turned out, the little snippet he’d gotten from Blendin’s time watch had been the least traumatizing part of the whole affair. At least, he assumed so. The dreams tended to cut themselves off very quickly.

They had, however, been getting clearer. So far, he’d seen the moment that he’d first contacted Bill in the other timeline, and the one instance from Blendin’s watch, which had apparently been accompanied by karaoke and drinks that were certainly supernatural. The previous night, he’d seen another such instance, but this one had an undercurrent of fear running through it.

In the dream, he was surrounded by tapestries of Bill, and he’d had a bag full of artifacts at his side. The tapestries depicted him as a triangle, with his normal brick-patterned base and the same bow and top hat he’d worn in the other memories. However, he’d also held blue fire in each hand, and the eyes were all fixed on him.

Ford’s back had stung from a tattoo, and he was shirtless in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. He’d gone around, removing increasingly concerning artifacts from the bag, placing them at points around the room and surrounding each with prisms. The final gold statue had depicted Bill with golden skulls, chains, and six arms. Dream Ford had appreciated that one the most; present-day Ford had been terrified. Sure, he could understand falling for Bill, no matter what form he was in. That had already happened. What he couldn’t understand was the lengths the older, other version of himself had gone to in showing that love.

He got the feeling that perhaps something similar had happened with the Ciphertologists— that the version of him they knew always convinced his human followers to show such devotion.

The more he saw of his own future, the more scared he got of what he was supposed to become.

They had turned at least a dozen corners, and were now starting to move up. Ford bit his lip, thinking. Clearly, the Ciphertologist didn’t know about the time agents, nor did he suspect that the people trying to arrest them were just as alien as his supposed leader. Ford also got the feeling that this hadn’t happened in the original timeline, and whatever they were about to do, it would catch Time Baby’s attention. He had no love for the time agency, but perhaps they could use that to their advantage. Provided that Blendin came with them, of course.

The stairs stopped. The Ciphertologist opened the door in front of them with a flourish, floating Ford towards the middle of a circle of what he assumed were other cultists, but their faces were all covered again. They were standing in an empty warehouse, and there were about eight others in the room. He wondered if Mr. Laudanum was among them, or if it was just his wife.

“The new Silas Birchtree!” the Ciphertologist crowed, flicking his wrist so that Ford was floating upright. “He is the closest to the physical Cipher, and our leader. Hail!”

The cultists echoed, and for once, Ford was able to repress his fear. The moment they brought out Bill, the moment they tried to perform any kind of ritual involving the two of them, the time police would be on their scent. There was no way anyone was getting out of this.

The Ciphertologist began chanting, his fellow cultists chanted back, and finally, after what felt like hours, they brought out Bill.

Ford gasped at what they’d done. Bill was now dressed in flowing gold and black silks, that somehow didn’t touch the floor even though they were far too big for him. He looked freshly washed, his hair combed back, his skin and eyes shining. All his bonds had been cut.

He met Ford’s eyes and pressed a finger to his lips. Ford tried to take comfort in the gesture, and failed.

The Ciphertologist guided Bill to the center of the circle, and markings on the ground lit up red. Ford audibly gasped, but Bill didn’t flinch.

Bill began chanting in a strange language, but Ford recognized some of the words. It was ‘Old Euclydian—’ Bill had told him that everyone was required to learn it, though it was rarely spoken.

The cultists didn’t seem to recognize it, either, but they fell silent as Bill spoke, eyes wide as if they could drink up the words he was speaking. Ford saw a momentary flash of panic on his face, before he drew something out of his coat.

A knife.

Ford cried out as Bill slit the knife across his palm, letting drops of blood fall to the ground. He counted them as they fell.

One, two, three…

The second the third drop fell, the walls around them turned white, and dozens of time agents poured out of them. He recognized several from the altercation in the woods, and Lolph and Dundgren were back—and, most importantly, so was Blendin.

“Freeze, in the name of time law!”

Ford and Bill laughed, relieved. Ford fell to the ground, the Ciphertologist’s hold on him released. Bill ran over, helping him stand up, but nearly tripped on his own robes in the process. “You ready to go?”

“Of course,” Ford said, helping Bill remove the outermost layers of silk. “You sure you wanna leave this behind?”

“Yeah. Nasty stuff.” Bill wrinkled his nose, and Ford chuckled again. “Alright. Let’s get out of here.”

“Someone secure Cipher!” One of the time agents shouted at that moment. Ford huffed in frustration, seeing at least three coming towards them.

“What are you doing? The leader’s getting away!” One of the Ciphertologists shouted, and as Ford and Bill retreated, the approaching agents were waylaid by cultists in masks.

“They’ll be picking each other off for a while,” came a familiar voice next to him. “You two are ready to go, right?”

“Yes,” Bill said emphatically.

“Did you grab our bags?” Ford added.

“They’re right here,” Blendin said. “Now, let’s go.”

Several of the agents and cultists alike shouted after them as they fled the warehouse, out a separate door than the one he or Bill had entered, and into the open Nebraska sky.

“Where do we go now?” Ford asked, panic rising in his chest at the openness of the space.

“Over there,” Blendin said, pointing to a nearby outhouse. “Come on!”

The two raced after him, though Ford wasn’t sure how an old wooden outhouse would protect them from two heavily armed groups who both wanted to lock them up. Still, he followed as Blendin wrenched open the door.

“Get inside!”

Ford and Bill shared a skeptical look, then glanced back at Blendin, who stomped his foot. “It’s more than an outhouse, okay? It’ll take you two away from here.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Bill, and he jumped inside.

Groaning both internally and externally, Ford followed.

Chapter Text

Blendin was right— it was certainly not an ordinary outhouse. The foul stench that had assaulted Bill’s nostrils disappeared, replaced by swirling technicolor stretching out into stars. Ford was ahead of him, and Bill, try as he might, couldn’t reach him. For a moment, fear consumed him. Then everything went dark.

Bill wasn’t sure he’d opened his eyes at first. He’d expected an impact, but none had come. The foul stench from before was back, but it wasn’t as strong—as though it hadn’t been baking in extreme heat. Yet.

“Why outhouses? Couldn’t it be a magic, I dunno, broom closet? Anything that smells less bad?” Ford asked beside him.

Bill found Ford’s hand and squeezed it. “Are we gonna die in this smelly ditch?”

Ford huffed. “No. Come on.”

He opened the latch, and the two were met with bright, mid-morning sun in an otherwise deserted field, the roar of rushing water in the distance. There were trees again—so many trees, more than had been in Glass Shard Beach by a long shot. Bill didn’t think he’d ever seen so many.

“Is this the place Blendin was talking about? Gravity Falls?” Bill wondered aloud.

“It must be,” Ford said, sounding awestruck. “It certainly looks different from where we were.”

With nothing else to say, they looked at each other, then made their way across the field. Ford told him to keep an eye out for a trail, but Bill wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed. He simply followed Ford up a thin strip of dirt, clinging to his hand.

“This…is a lot further than I thought it led,” Ford grunted. They were able to walk most of the way, but sometimes they had to break contact to scramble over some rocks or fallen logs. Bill’s limbs burned, having never been exposed to such strain, even after the bus crash. That climb was an anthill compared to this. Ford was half supporting him by the end, and Ford himself was flaking.

They finally came to the top of the hill, which was far higher up than the others had been. He heard a gasp, then realized it was his.

“Incredible,” Ford whispered next to him, standing upright. “Look at those formations! It doesn’t look naturally occurring…”

“We’re very high up,” Bill said breathlessly. “Sixer, are you sure this isn’t one of those mountains you told me about?”

“Oh, it certainly is,” Ford said, grinning widely. “And do you hear that sound? I bet we’re on top of the falls themselves. And look! There’s a town.”

Once Bill’s spinning vision had slowed enough to take it in, he saw a settlement down below. He couldn’t make out individuals, but he saw specks racing back and forth across it, and assumed it was far more inhabited than Burnt Tree had been.

In the distance, there was what looked like a bridge, suspended over two rock faces. Ford sprinted across the edge of the cliff face, eyes bright with wonder. “There is no way that’s a naturally occurring formation.”

“Why’s that?” Bill asked, warmth building in his chest. He didn’t have a clue how mountains were supposed to work, but Ford seemed excited beyond measure, and that always made him happier.

“Look at the cuts into the mountain, and the divot in the ground,” Ford said. “Even the bridge is curved! It looks almost like the standard depiction of a UFO, but—there’s no way.”

“There’s no way you can be friends with a talking triangle through a bowl, Sixer,” Bill said wryly. “I think you should be used to seeing the impossible by now.”

Ford’s grin was everything. “But where’s the fun in that? I can’t get used to it, lest the impossible get boring.”

“Nothing’s boring with you,” Bill said softly. His hands twitched, he stuffed them in his pockets.

Ford smiled at him, then took a last glance back at the strange formation in the rocks. “Come on. Let’s try and find a way into the town.”

Bill followed him back down the path, and found that the going down was far easier than the journey up. He got a little cocky, dancing on the slippery rocks to Ford’s squeaks of terror. “You have no sense of balance, you’ll fall and break something!” he insisted, but Bill just laughed. “They wish they could, Sixer.”

Ford rolled his eyes, but he laughed, so Bill counted it as a win. He continued hopping down the rocks, absorbing the sights and sounds of the mountains he’d heard so much about. A mountain. I climbed a mountain, and I didn’t even know until I reached the top.

He stopped, a strange ringing seizing hold of his brain. He was perched on top of a rock, so Ford noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”

The ringing grew louder, permeating all his senses. He could feel the pull to wherever it came from, could taste the vibrations in the air. They tasted horrible.

“Bill, what—” Ford started, but he was off like a shot, nearly tripping over his own feet with the effort of reaching the source of the noise. He distantly registered Ford sprinting after him, but he didn’t register that until he reached the spot where the ringing was loudest—a gaping, tooth-filled mouth of stone.

He didn’t realize how much his body was protesting until he stopped, the pain crashing within him like waves. He nearly buckled when Ford put a hand on his shoulder, looking worried. “Bill, what was that?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to forcibly subdue the pain until it was dull enough that he could think. “Something’s in there,” he finally managed. “Something important. Related to—the future, I think.”

“Are you sure?” Ford turned to the mouth, looking uncertain. “I don’t know what there could be in a…”

“A what?” Bill asked sharply. “What is this thing?”

“A cave,” Ford whispered. “And if there’s really something about the other timeline in here, then I think I know which cave it is.”

“Let’s go, then,” Bill said. “How do we get inside?”

“It’s not that simple, Bill.” Ford put his fingers to his chin, thinking. “We’ll need light, and probably some more gear. Maybe we should—”

“Is it alive?” His feet were starting to itch. He had to move.

“Well, no, but— Bill!”

He was off again, dodging between the stone teeth on his way down, flicking the fire in his hand so he had something to see by.

Ford was following him again. He heard the echoes but didn’t turn. Now that he was running, he didn’t want to stop.

He was forced to when he nearly rammed into two connected teeth, and subsequently slipped on the floor. He couldn’t hear his own cries, but he did feel Ford’s hand on his shoulder again.

“You need to stop doing that,” he said tenderly. “But at the rate you were going, I bet we’re almost there. Come on.”

Ford firmly seized his hand and gave him a knowing look through the blue flames. Bill wanted to wrap his arms around him and squeeze him to death. Maybe kiss him again. They hadn’t done that since Nebraska.

That was yesterday, his inconvenient brain reminded him.

That’s at least twenty-four hours. That’s a long time, Bill replied snarkily to his own brain.

His brain was silent as Ford led them both deeper into the caves, even though Bill was lighting the way with his free hand.

“So. Blue fire? When did that start?”

Oh, right. Ford didn’t know about the pyrokinesis. Sometimes, Bill was surprised at how well he’d kept that particular secret.

“Um. I was born with it? How do you think I electrocuted Crampelter that day?”

“I thought your powers were more electricity-based, considering you electrocuted him,” Ford deadpanned. “But I guess the bowl did some interesting things.”

“Yeah. The bowl and mirror. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that was the main component of the portal in the other timeline. That thing was super advanced,” Bill said. “I still wanna know how Blendin did it.”

“I can’t imagine orchestrating our entire friendship over an insurmountable distance of time and space was easy,” Ford agreed. “But I’m glad he did it. I’m glad I have you.”

He had to smile. There were a lot of things he didn’t know if he liked or not about the time agent and his ‘experiment,’ as he’d called it, but he did like knowing in advance what was to become of his home, and he especially liked Ford. “Yeah. Um…thanks.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. His face was hot again. He still wasn’t sure if that meant he was dying or not.

***

The decent into the caves had taken several hours longer than Bill thought it would, but the ringing sound had started up again as they’d drawn closer to the site. Despite insisting he’d never been here before, Ford seemed confident he knew where he was going.

They started to pass the paintings. Holding his palm up to some of them revealed many human-like figures. Sometimes they were doing everyday tasks, like gathering food or herding animals. Other times there were fires everywhere, and humans somehow bowing before a golden triangular figure.

“I don’t know how my older self saw all of these and thought it was a good idea to contact you,” Ford muttered. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean?” he couldn’t quite keep the apprehension out of his voice, try as he might.

Ford let out a long-suffering sigh. “These paintings…they look horrible. It looks like the people here are being tortured, and the strange runes here aren’t helping at all. It’s not a code I recognize, anyway.”

“Maybe you haven’t learned it yet,” Bill suggested. “How much…older were you when we met? In the other timeline.”

“I’m not sure. I definitely felt a great deal older, but I don’t know the exact number,” Ford said.

Bill glanced around at the paintings, a lump welling in his throat. “I recognize the characters. Some of the characters have been changed, but it’s a code I created. Looking at it…I think the language is Old Eucyldian.”

“How would the native peoples of Gravity Falls have known that, though?” Ford frowned. “If it’s your old language…”

“Old Euclydian is really only used in school,” Bill said. “Everyone has to learn it, but it’s not widely spoken. As for your question, well…I probably taught them. What guise I put it in is hard to know unless we wanted to spend a while translating it.”

“Aren’t you fluent?” Ford asked quizzically. Bill snorted. “I can recognize it when I see it, but that doesn’t mean I can instantly translate it.”

“Fair enough.” Ford shrugged, but they only had to walk so far before they came to the room with the largest paintings.

“This is it. This is the cave from…” he trailed off; Bill looked over. “What?”

Ford shook his head. “Remember the time ointment Blendin gave me? He wasn’t kidding when he said it would show you in another timeline. I saw this cave. In a way, I know what I was thinking, but…I don’t understand it. I mean, look at this!”

Bill closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the flame in his palm grow larger until it cast enough light to fill the whole cavern. It illuminated the whole cavern, casting the shape of his future self in a sinister light.

Ford walked up to the centermost painting—the one with the largest runes inscribed beneath it. “Can you tell what this says?”

Bill squinted at it for several minutes, running through his code, skipping over the gaps where they appeared, drawing on years of lessons to try to understand what the ancient people had tried to warn about. Eventually, he sighed.

“Honestly? It’s nothing we didn’t already know,” he said with a shrug. “There’s a couple mentions of ‘monster—’ I don’t really know what ‘demon’ means—and there’s a chant that’s basically the word ‘summon’ in a bunch of different ways. Even the pictures are…old information. There’s not much here we didn’t already know.”

He could feel Ford’s gaze go from him to the paintings and back. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

The feeling of weightlessness was strange, given he was standing in front of the painting that stood as the biggest testament to his future crimes. But that wasn’t him, right? He would probably never look like that again, and he would certainly never gain the powers that had allowed him to live so long.

He was startled from his reverie by Ford’s hand on his shoulder, forcing Bill to face him. His breath caught, seeing Ford’s face, soft with affection despite the horrors in front of them. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Bill. That’s not you.”

“I know,” Bill said softly. “It’s hard to believe it could be me, and yet—” Ford brought his forehead to Bill’s, cutting him off. He chuckled at the gesture, tightening his arms around Ford’s shoulders, burrowing his head into Ford’s neck. “Okay. I get the hint.”

Ford’s warm brown eyes crinkled in a smile. “How many other ways am I going to have to convince you?”

Bill pulled back with a smile of his own. “Why don’t you show me?” So Ford pressed his lips to Bill’s, for once uncaring of their surroundings. Their only company was the painting of Bill’s older self, but Bill found he was okay with rubbing his amazing present in his awful future self’s metaphorical face.

Ford’s arms wound around him, encasing him in warmth despite the chill of the cave. His mouth was soft, his kiss gentle, making Bill feel as though he could fly. Even in the dark, Ford tasted like the stars.

Chapter Text

An indeterminate amount of time later, the two broke apart, Bill’s head resting on Ford’s shoulder. As much as he didn’t want to let go, Ford stepped back. “We need to get out of this cave. I want to get to the town before dark.”

Bill sighed dramatically but acquiesced, allowing Ford to pull him along. The flame was burning brightly, and Ford had to remind him several times to keep it away from the walls so as not to damage the paintings or the delicate organisms living in the cracks. Caves were delicate ecosystems, and Ford regretted that he couldn’t take longer to study them. Perhaps some of the strangeness Blendin mentioned was sourced from the caves, but he doubted he would be able to get the equipment or time to do so. An unfortunate drawback of being on the run.

Blendin hadn’t sent any of their bags through with them, so as much as Ford sorely hoped he’d bring their bags soon, he wasn’t optimistic. It wouldn’t be the first time the two would sleep in the open, but there was one thing to be said for an open field, where you could see any dangers coming a literal mile away, and another for a dense forest, where it could be right behind you, and you’d never know.

He shuddered, quickening his pace. He was starting to smell fresh air, and pinpricks of natural light illuminated some of the passageways. They were close.

When the two burst out into the fresh air, Ford was floored by the sight of the moon rising steadily above them. The last traces of sunlight were disappearing from the sky, but thankfully, the town looked much closer now than it had previously. At least they were closer, even if it had taken all day.

“Where’s all our stuff?” Bill suddenly broke contact, feeling all over his back and shoulders, face paling, palm still burning. “Wait. Did we leave it behind?”

Ford chuckled. “It didn’t make it out of Nebraska. Hopefully, Blendin’s got them, but the time agents might have also confiscated them for evidence. Who knows?”

Bill gave him a sidelong glance, frowning. “You’re too cheerful about this. I thought you’d be stressed out of your mind.”

“Oh, I am,” Ford said, with a too-wide smile. “But Blendin promised me anomalies, so my focus is on anomalies.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “The only reason you pay attention to me is because I’m an anomaly.”

“That’s not true,” Ford insisted. “I pay attention to you for a lot of reasons. I—” He cut himself off, his mind catching up to his mouth. He flushed at the realization of what he was going to say. I love you.

“Let’s just keep going,” he said instead, moving further into the forest. Hopefully, they could actually make it into town before it got completely dark, but Ford wasn’t optimistic.

“Okay, fine. Be weird about everything,” Bill grumbled behind him. But the sound of footsteps told Ford he was following, which was better than nothing.

After only a few minutes, it was fully dark, and Bill had to ignite the flame in his palm again so they wouldn’t accidentally break their bones on sharp rocks. It was a tenser silence now, or perhaps that was just Ford. He could never tell.

“Do you think we’ll see anomalies?” he asked to break the silence. It was driving him crazy.

“Certainly,” Bill said. “Doesn’t everything scary come out at night? I’ll bet we’re drowning in anomalies right now, and they’re just hiding.”

Ford chuckled. “I hope so. But I think I’m okay with not crossing any nighttime anomalies. Usually, the weirdness that hides in the woods is malicious—or, it is if you believe fairy tales.”

“But you hang out with me, and I’m a nighttime anomaly,” Bill said smugly. “So we can’t all be bad.”

Ford raised an eyebrow and glanced sidelong at him, seeing Bill grinning maliciously through the blue fire in his palm. He would admit he looked scary, but—well. It was also entrancing.

His throat constricted, and Ford found himself spluttering. “Well, you come out in the daytime, too, so I can’t imagine you quite—” he grinned suddenly. “Fit the bill.”

The fire went out, but Ford could feel Bill’s unimpressed stare. “Horrible. Don’t do that. That’s what your brother does.”

“I’m doing it in his memory,” Ford said. Bill flicked the fire on again, casting the forest in blue once more. “Whatever. I was trying to reference the cave paintings and all—you know, ‘dream demon?’ Sounds like a nighttime thing.”

“Right. I don’t think you translated that bit,” Ford said. Bill groaned in his throat, and the sound turned his entire body red with the images that were suddenly plaguing Ford’s mind.

Well. ‘Plaguing’ might not be the right word, but it was what Ford had conditioned himself to go with.

“My entire body is dying,” Bill grumbled. “Do you know how far away we are?” “Not a clue,” Ford sighed. “But hey, you’ve been walking all day. How does it feel?”

“Horrible. I hate it. I want my crutches back.” Ford laughed. “You barely used them anyway. You always used me.”

“What can I say? You’re an excellent crutch,” Bill said, wrapping his arms around Ford’s neck. “Very sturdy.”

For once, Ford was less focused on the skin contact and more focused on the bright blue flame very close to his hair. “At least put that out if you’re going to do that,” he hissed.

Bill backed off with a frown. “Fine. But I think we should stop here. Make a fire off the beaten path. I don’t think we’re going to make it much farther, especially when it’s dark out.”

Ford sighed. “Okay, fine. But we can walk a little more, see if there’s somewhere nearby that’s more open.”

They’d come closer to where the falls dropped off, and Ford thought he heard crashing water nearby. If there were any place to stop in the woods, it would probably be close to a water source. Logically speaking, the town would be close to it, using it regularly for sport if not survival. Humans were predictable that way.

Soon enough, Ford was proven right. After another half-hour of walking, with Bill moaning and groaning the entire way (and figuring out that more suggestive noises made Ford stop longer than the rest, but Ford wasn’t sure how to get him to stop without broaching something uncomfortable), they came to the side of a massive lake. The lights of the town glistened through the trees on the other side, pinpricks in the distance. Ford sat down, back to a tree, brushing together the remnants of dead leaves, petals from trees, and sticks that had fallen. Bill lit the fire and promptly inserted himself in Ford’s grip, clinging to him like a koala and nestling his head in the crook of Ford’s neck.

“Someone’s comfortable,” he muttered with a smile, and Bill wiggled into him further, now lying partially on top of him.

“Very,” Bill muttered back. “You’re the most comfortable pillow.” “I’m a pillow now, am I?” It was hard to be insulted with Bill snuggled up to him like this, closer than they had been even on the hilltop.

“Of course. All good friends are pillows.” Something about Bill’s words struck something in him, and he frowned. “I don’t think we’re just friends anymore, Bill,” he whispered.

Bill shot up, a look of fear on his face. “Wait—” “What I’m trying to say is—” Ford started, face burning again. “That when two people—well, do what we’ve been doing—it means you’re a little more than friends.”

Bill looked confused, then gasped. “Oh. So you’re saying—wait, are we technically dating?”

Ford spluttered, eventually shrugging. “I—I dunno. I guess? This has never happened to me before.” Where’s Stanley when you need him? His brother would know what to do. Their first kiss on the hilltop had only been two nights ago, and between the Ciphertologists and the hike through the caves, Ford hadn’t considered the question at all.

“Hmm. I dunno what dating is like for a human. I’m going to assume it’s as different as everything else,” Bill said, leaning back into him. “I don’t mind, though. I like…being with you. A lot. And…everything else.”

Ford couldn’t help but smile at the blush on Bill’s cheeks. It was hard to tell in the light of the blue fire, but Bill was smiling, too.

“I guess the ultimate question is…what am I to you?” It was loaded, and perhaps it was unfair of Ford to put all of this on him, but he wasn’t sure what to say. How would he describe a relationship like theirs? A relationship that, by all accounts, should be forbidden and impossible and yet had been destined from the beginning?

Ford thought ‘boyfriend’ was a little arbitrary of a term to describe something like that.

Bill hummed again and nestled himself in Ford’s arms, warm and soft. “You’re mine.” He sounded embarrassed to say it.

Ford laced his fingers with Bill’s where they rested on his leg. “I’m okay with that.” It wasn’t hard to fall asleep after that.

***

Ford opened his eyes to find a pair of dull yellow ones staring up at him, and he jolted where he sat. He moved to try and wake up Bill, but the creature chittered at him, a tiny, grasping claw moving towards his hand.

“Hello,” Ford said, raising one eyebrow. “What might you be?”

Bill was beginning to stir, and Ford had to ignore the pleased hums he was making as he nestled further into Ford’s chest. “Don’t mind him,” Ford said to the small creature. “He’s waking up.”

The creature—it must be a baby, whatever it was—turned to Bill, taking a few hobbling steps closer, placing one claw on his nose. It had three on each hand, and four on each foot—not for the first time, Ford wished he had a notebook and pen on him. It was a fascinating creature, and he didn’t think it would be the last one he saw.

Bill shouted, startling awake, clutching Ford’s arm even tighter. “What is that?”

“An anomaly,” Ford said breathlessly. “You were right! They were watching us!”

The small anomaly appeared to be some kind of cross between a goblin and a gremlin, with two small fangs protruding upward from its mouth, which was already pudgy despite the small size. It also had a small red-spotted mushroom on its back, too tiny for Ford to tell which kind it was.

“It looks like a baby,” Bill said, frowning. “So where are its…”

Ford’s stomach dropped. What was the number one rule of interacting with wildlife? Never approach the babies, especially when you can’t see the mom?

A guttural roar echoed through the forest.

“We should run,” Ford said.

“Agreed.”

Chapter Text

The mother was just about ten times as scary as the baby. The fangs were about the length of Ford’s arm, and the eyes shone through the early morning woods. It was also twice Ford’s height, and by the look of its jaw, it was big enough to eat him and Bill.

“Why did we approach that thing again?” Bill shouted, falling over a massive log that Ford had to help him over.

“It approached us,” Ford said. “Welcome to the wilderness!”

“I hate it!” Bill shouted, seizing Ford’s hand. “How do we get away?”

“Over here!” Ford tugged him further into the trees, which were growing thicker, intending to slow down the creature, but all she did was lumber through, trees crashing as she went.

Bill tripped over another rock, crashing to the ground for the final time. Ford watched in horror as a massive, three-fingered claw wrapped around him, pulling him close.

Ford made the mistake of turning around and looking into the creatures’ eyes.

***

The long-nosed man lay on the dark floor, gray dust covering his coat. He was shaking, his mouth moving as if attempting to speak, but all that came out was gibberish.

“Fiddleford? What did you see?” His voice came out shaking, leaning over his friend and lab partner.

Slowly, Fiddleford sat up, without moving his arms. It was almost as eerie as his words. “When Gravity Falls and Earth becomes sky, fear the beast with just one eye!”

Ford backed up. “Get ahold of yourself! You’re not making any sense!” He couldn’t tell if he was angry or scared. Beast with just one eye…? The image of Bill—his beloved Muse—flashed in his mind. No. He wouldn’t.

“This project is dangerous,” Fiddleford said, looking more lucid, and more angry. “You’ll bring about the end of the world with this. Stanford…what are you doing with this? Where are you getting these ideas from? Who are you working with?!”

His questions became increasingly hysterical, hands on Ford’s shoulders, shaking him violently.

“Calm down,” Ford tried to say, but Fiddleford wouldn’t hear it.

“I can’t stand by this, Ford. I can’t keep doing this. I quit.”

He stood up, walking out of the room, leaving Ford alone in the darkness of the portal’s chamber.

Whispering echoed throughout the empty room, and Ford began to fear that perhaps, he was in way over his head.

No. He shook his head. He would contact Bill, tell him what had happened. Or perhaps—

It couldn’t be true. Bill wouldn’t lie to him. Would he?

“Are they…dead?”

Ford opened his eyes to a strange sight. A young, red-haired girl was peering in his face, to the point where his vision was almost entirely occupied by her. “What?”

The girl gasped. “Okay, they’re alive. Or, one of them is. What about him?” She squinted at Bill, suspicious.

Bill had curled up even more in his sleep if that was even possible. Ford chuckled at the sight, fully able to feel Bill’s pulse against his skin. “He’s alive, I promise,” he told the girl.

“Good,” she said, hands on her hips. “You guys should move. All the old people are going to be out on boats soon—it’s the first week of fishing season.”

“I—we’ll keep that in mind,” Ford said, trying to poke Bill in a way that would wake him up. “Do you know if anyone would be willing to help us cross? We were trying to get into town, actually.”

The girl shrugged. “If you wanna, someone probably will. But the town’s super boring. There are so many weird things that happen, but no one pays attention. You’re better off staying in the woods.”

“What do you mean?” Ford asked quizzically. “We need—” “You can find plenty of shelter in the enchanted forest,” the girl said. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

“Take us where?” Bill opened his eyes, squinting at the girl. “Who’s this?” “My name’s Lethea,” said the red-haired girl. “I’m gonna take you to the magic part of the woods. You’d be better off there than in town. Also, Dad and his buddies never go there.”

“What’s so bad about the town?” Bill asked. “Isn’t that safer than the middle of the woods?”

Lethea looked at Bill with a stare that went far beyond what Ford would expect for her age. “No,” she said finally. “Both of you feel magic. And magic things aren’t supposed to go into town, but some of them do anyway. Now, stand up already! We have to move quickly if we’re going to be there by breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Bill perked up. “Wait. What’s so special about that?” “The unicorns are very picky about their timing. And everything else.” Lethea shrugged. “Are you coming or not?”

Ford stood up, taking one glance at Bill.

“Alright, Lethea. Lead the way.”

The little girl led Bill and Ford through the woods with practiced ease, dodging rocks and thorns far better than either Ford or Bill. Bill, however, was several paces behind, legs shaking and tripping on rocks every few steps. He hadn’t been this bad yesterday, but Ford wondered if he’d ever had to walk on this level of soreness since the bus crash. Probably not.

“You mentioned unicorns earlier, Lethea?” Ford prompted. “Are there unicorns in these woods?”

“Oh yeah, there’s at least ten of them. They like to keep to themselves for the most part, but they like me. But if you’re going to visit them in a good mood, you have to do it at breakfast time. They get more annoying once the sun goes up.”

“Good to know,” Ford said.“How could you tell we were magic?” Bill asked sharply.

Ford frowned. He couldn’t see any visible markings of the time agents, Ciphertologists, or anything else, but he didn’t think he could be too careful.

Lethea shrugged. “The creatures taught me. A few witches used to live here, and the unicorns did the rest. Their whole ‘pure of heart’ thing is a lie, but they can tell if you’re magical or not. That sometimes affects whether or not they like you.”

“What else lives here?” Ford asked, eyes shining. “Unicorns, witches…what else?” She grinned. “All sorts of things! Gnomes, fairies, squash with weird faces…you name it! You’ll find it somewhere in here. Oh, watch out for the teeny mountain lions. Those things hurt, even though they’re teeny.”

“Tiny…mountain lions?” Ford stuttered, startled. “How small are we talking?” “Maybe bug-sized? There are humungous bugs, too,” Lethea said.

“Really?” “Yep! Near the height crystals in the hollow.”

“The hollow,” Ford breathed. He wanted anomalies, and it seemed this place did, in fact, have them in droves. You just have to know where to look.

Bill had caught up, slipping his hand into Ford’s, heaving large breaths. “So, how far away are we?”

“Not far. But if you go faster, we’ll get there faster.” She sounded annoyed. “Lay off, kid,” Bill frowned next to him. “I haven’t exactly had these legs for super long.”

“Don’t tell her that,” Ford hissed back before quickening his pace. Their joined hands helped Bill stay on his feet more, but he still stumbled quite a bit.

Lethea appeared not to have heard, or perhaps she was just unbothered. Either way, she skipped the last few yards to an opening in the trees, where Ford could smell something strange in the air.

Ford noticed that the trees above them had changed shape as they walked, going from regular pines and the occasional oak to grey-barked trees with severely curved branches, many of which were adorned with flowers. The leaves were still mostly green, but he saw some gold, some red, and some orange despite it being mid-June.

The red, Ford noted with some interest, was the same color as the girl Lethea’s hair. Something told him that was significant, but he couldn’t figure out what.

Lethea turned around right before they were to enter the clearing, which, for some reason, was obscured from Ford’s vision. “Prepare to have your minds blown,” she said gleefully. “Now.”

She ran backward a few steps, suddenly dispersing the haziness that had coated the place before. “Welcome, Ford Pines and Bill Cipher, to the Enchanted Forest!”

Despite being startled at her suddenly knowing their names, both Ford and Bill gasped as they stepped into the clearing.

The sky was the perfect shade of blue, with towering pines in the distance and strangely carved stone ruins in the foreground. A sparkling blue river cut through pristine green grass, which was as adorned with flowers as the trees. Several paths ran out of the clearing, up and down to different areas—some of them shining like diamonds, others shrouded in deep shadow. While it was relatively small compared to the clearing Ford and Bill had arrived in, Lethea had already sprinted across to a ring of rocks that had the same spiral pattern as the ruins.

“So, uh—what part of the enchanted forest is this?” Bill asked, glancing skeptically around at their surroundings. “It’s vibrant, but…”

“This is where the unicorns live,” Lethea said. “And look! We’re still in time for breakfast. Now, where did…”

She began mumbling to herself, creeping around some bushes near the rocks. Suddenly, she stopped, smiled evilly, then seized something with a “Gotcha!”

The thing she held up—to Ford’s shock—was what looked like the stereotypical garden gnome—red hat, white beard, blue overalls and all.

“Put me down!” It screeched. “Lethe!” The girl giggled, high and sharp. “No! You need to bellow the chant! My voice isn’t deep enough, and you know it!”

The gnome looked at Ford and Bill sorrowfully. “I’m sorry about her. She can be a handful. She hasn’t given you much trouble, has she?”

“N—Not at all,” Ford stuttered, still wrapping his head around the fact that he was talking to a gnome. “She led us here for shelter, actually.”

The gnome sighed. “Of course she did. Lethe, you can’t just lead any regular human into the forest, you know that.”

“Says the gnome named ‘Norman,’” Lethea grumbled.

“I’m not a regular human,” Bill said, raising one hand. “I actually got here four months ago.”

“Four and a half,” Ford grumbled. “But he’s right. I, however, am an ordinary human.”

“No you’re not,” Lethea—or Lethe?—said matter-of-factually. “You have a strange green glow to your eyes, and you don’t exactly look as though you’re from here.”

Even the gnome—Norman— looked surprised. “Well, I trust her judgment, though it doesn’t always make sense,” he said. “But I’m curious. If you’re not human, what are you?”

He looked at both of them, but Bill was the only one who answered. “I’m a triangle from Eu—a two-dimensional world. My friend here helped me escape from it.”

Norman’s eyes narrowed. “A triangle from a 2-D world, eh?” He turned himself around in Lethea’s grasp. “Lead them back now.”

“But—breakfast—” Lethea stuttered, looking distraught. “I wanted them to meet the unicorns! I thought they could help!”

“You give the unicorns too much credit, Lethe,” Norman said softly. “They only help you. But I guarantee they’d be nasty to these two, if that one is who I think he is.” He glared at Bill, whose jaw subsequently dropped. He rolled his eyes.

“Will everyone stop assuming I’m him? I’m a lot smarter than my future self, and at least ten times less murderous,” he snapped. “Seriously! What did he do to you?”

Norman appeared startled by Bill’s outburst. “He’s always been a terror to us gnomes. His image haunts the forest, even though he was banished long ago,” he said. “Lethe, I’ll open the door so you don’t miss breakfast, but I’m going to take these two to the gnome tavern. I need to talk to them about grown-up things, okay?”

Lethea gasped, nodding vigorously. “Thank you, Norman!” Unsure of what to do, Ford and Bill stood to the side as Norman bellowed something in a language Ford didn’t know. It was surprising how a creature so small could have a voice that deep, but he also figured he didn’t know the entirety of how gnome biology worked. I wonder what’s under his hat?

Lethea jumped for joy when a massive golden gate adorned with bright pink gems emerged from the ground, surrounding walls so high Ford couldn’t see over the top of them. “Is that where the unicorns live?” he asked. He should have written that chant when he had the chance.

“Yep! Bye!” Lethea rushed towards the doors, threw one open, and disappeared inside before Ford could see.

Norman sighed, coming up to the two boys. “I know I asked earlier, but she didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

“Of course not,” Ford said. “This is the exact place I wanted to see, actually. I—” “We arrived here a few days ago, and we’re waiting for someone to come meet us,” Bill cut in sharply. “Can you tell us where the best place would be to do that?”

Norman looked taken aback, but he nodded—or, did his best approximation of a nod. “That would be the gnome tavern. It’s not far from here, and lots of meetings happen there anyway.” He narrowed his eyes and made no move to start walking. “That’s where I was gonna take you originally.” Norman looked skeptically up at Bill, who rolled his eyes again.

“For the last time. I’m not him. I’m not going to rampage through your bar and kill your babies or whatever.”

Ford pursed his lips at the choice of words, but didn’t say anything. “Well? Lead the way,” he said, trying to tame his tone.

The gnome led them down one of the paths that led into the darkness, but it wasn’t total. The trees grew taller, blocking out more of the sun, even relative to the human’s height. There was less vibrancy and bright colors, but more creatures peeped out of the bushes to stare at them, making Ford wonder if the initial glamours of the field only applied to the unicorns—or if it was supposed to act as a disguise for the rest of the forest.

The tree that Norman led them to was far smaller than the ones that surrounded them, but it was still taller than Ford, and looked clearly lived-in. Lights were strung around the highest branches, there were paintings on one side of the trunk, and several holes had squirrels moving in and out, each carrying some trinket or even scraps of paper that looked like letters.

“Incredible,” Ford breathed. “Does your tavern double as a postal system? Or do most gnome dwellings have this type of operation?” He ran his hand over the bark, noting the smoother texture compared to the average. He tried mentally calculating the angles at which all the squirrel’s holes were at—there must be some secret there—but Norman shoved him away before he could.

Ford decided to beg for something to write on. He refused to let any of this go undocumented. He could remember the details if Bill could remember the generalizations.

They ducked into the gnome tavern, and Ford nearly laughed at the sight. He and Bill had to hunch over to fit inside the doorway, and Ford barely kept himself from shuffling to Norman’s table on his knees. He had to support Bill the whole way, too, since he didn’t have the dexterity to keep himself upright on his own.

Bill looked just as awestruck as Ford felt. Given everything that had happened, it was a relief to know he was enjoying this as much as Ford was.

They sat down across from Norman, still hunched over so their heads wouldn’t hit the ceiling. “Why, exactly, did you bring us here?” Bill asked.

Norman sighed. “Because I’m trying to figure out for myself if Lethe was right,” he said finally. “I’m always inclined to believe her—neither of you look like normal humans anyway—but it’s always best to make sure. We designed this place so that humans couldn’t get through—when they do, bad things usually happen.”

Ford nodded. “So why us?” “And why do you call her ‘Lethe?’ Isn’t her name Lethea?” Bill added.

Norman looked at Ford. “That’s a good question,” he said. “Both of them. I call her Lethe because of what she is. It means ‘forgotten’ in some human language, I think. She thinks I’m joking when I do it, but I do it because, according to those who read her future, she is destined to be obscured from history—even from her own family.”

Ford’s breath caught. “That’s horrible.”Bill was silent, folding his arms and hunching further in on himself. “So why do you hang out with her, then? If you know she’s going to die?”

Norman sighed. “Because I don’t want her to be forgotten. I want her to thrive while she still can. And because life is better when she’s around. I just…care for her. A great deal.”

Ford nodded. “Why else did you bring us here? I don’t think it was just because of Lethea.”

Norman groaned and rolled his eyes. “I did you a favor, really. You do not want to spend time with the unicorns. I dunno if us gnomes are much better, but…”

“You gonna order something, Norman?” A gnome at the bar growled. “Or are you going to sit there, yap, and take up one of my precious tables for the next eight hours?”

“I’ll take a flagon of some dainty honeysuckle,” Norman said. “Something for either of you?”

As much as the idea of trying gnomish alcohol intrigued Ford, he wasn’t sure if his first venture into an apparently human-unfriendly place was the proper time to do so. “No thanks, we’re good.”

“I’m not,” said Bill. “What’s ‘dainty honeysuckle,’ and how much of it can I drink in one go?”

Norman narrowed his eyes at Bill, then called to the bartender, “That’s all.” Bill pouted, but Ford put an arm around his back, which seemed to calm him a little. He leaned into Ford’s shoulder, humming.

“So, who’re you two waiting for, anyway?” Norman asked, glancing between them. “If you were telling the truth about that, that is.”

At that moment, the door slammed, shaking the sparse decorations on the walls, revealing a familiar nearly-bald head and gray jumpsuit.

“Him,” Ford said.

Chapter Text

“Sorry I’m late,” Blendin said, crouching and sliding in beside the two boys. “But I have news about Stanley that you’re going to want to hear.”

Ford glanced at him, clearly relieved, and Bill had to admit he felt a lot better with the time agent around. “News about Stanley?” He prompted, glancing around the tavern. The various gnomes had gone back to their respective drinks, making him far less anxious.

“Yes. We’re going to be able to move soon, but I need to explain our options first,” Blendin said, looking at Bill. Turning to Norman, he added, “Hey, could you order some orange lily concentrate for me?”

“Sure,” the gnome said suspiciously. “Who are you and what do you want!” “I’m a friend of Schmebulock’s,” Blendin said. “Name’s Blendin Blandin, and I’m the caretaker of these two.”

Norman stared hard at the three of them before nodding. “I’ll get you you’re drink, but you’re going to have to leave quickly. Three humans in one spot ain’t a good thing in the eyes of most. I’m toeing the line just by bringing in these two, and they’re only borderline human.”

“As a time agent, I should qualify,” Blendin said, “But I understand. Thank you, Norman.”

The gnome nodded sagely, handing Blendin his comically small drink. “Take care, you three,” he said, taking a sip of his own. “If you make it out of whatever you’re planning, you know where to find me. I’ll tell Lethe you said goodbye.”

“Thank you,” Ford said, evidently taming his smile with effort. Despite everything going horribly wrong around them, it seemed Ford’s happiness was undeterred. Bill enjoyed the sight, but as much as he wanted to know more about it, all the anxiety of their circumstances got in the way. Even hanging onto Ford was becoming less comforting.

Blendin downed the entire drink in two shots as they exited the gnome tavern, leaving the glass outside the door. Ford asked if that counted as littering, and Blendin said, “Nah. Other creatures do things like that all the time. They’ll probably just ban you from the tavern, which—a-actually, that might be a problem. You do have to get in there if you wanna finish your journals…”

Ford opened his mouth to ask something, but Bill cut him off. “You said you had news about Stanley?”

How am I the one asking all these questions? I barely like the guy, Bill huffed to himself. He’s Ford’s brother. Ford should be concerned about him. It was unlike Ford to be so…unconcerned. He’d barely paid any attention to Bill all day, and as cute as it was, he was getting tired of being ignored.

“Right. The news,” Blendin sighed. “He’s finally been put in isolation, and we have three days before he’s executed.”

That got Ford out of his magic-induced glee. “He’s gonna be WHAT?!” “Don’t worry, we’re not going to let it get that far,” Blendin snapped. “Knowing your brother, he’s probably going to try and break out, and we just need to beat him to the punch. Worst-case scenario, if we’re caught, we can always invoke Globnar.”

“What is Globnar?” Bill asked. “You’ve mentioned it twice now, and you haven’t told us what it is.”

Blendin groaned again. “Right. It’s gladiatorial time combat, essentially—only you don’t always compete with swords and magic and such. I lost my Globnar to a pair of twelve-year-olds who grew up playing laser tag.”

Ford looked startled. “Isn’t that an advanced military training tactic? How would any twelve-year-old know about that?”

“It is?” Blendin looked surprised. “Dipper and Mabel told me it was a pretty common kid’s game.”

Ford looked at Bill, who shrugged. “Maybe in the future?” Bill offered. “Ohh. Yeah. You’re probably right,” Blendin said. “But that’s not the point. Blognar—sorry, Globnar—is a very risky endeavor for all the reasons I just mentioned, but it’s the only way to get a time wish, which is the power to alter time, paradox-free, in any way you choose. In other words, it’s the ticket to your freedom if you win.”

“So why haven’t we tried this already?” Bill asked. “I could win a fight. I’ll just burn them to death.”

“Because it’s not that simple,” Ford said, chin in his hand. “Blendin, if this is a gladiator fight, then who are we fighting?”

Bill’s stomach sank, the realization hitting him. “Our older selves,” he whispered. “Right?”

Blendin nodded. “Right. If you invoke Globnar, then you have to accuse someone else of causing the wrong, like in any self-respecting dictatorship. In your case, it would be your older selves, who are still present because of the paradox. You, Bill, might have gotten out of Euclydia, but as we saw with the Ciphertologists, your older self is still running around and causing trouble. If you want to win Globnar, you’ll have to beat him.”

Bill’s breath shook. He’d heard so much about the horrible things his older self had done, including the destruction and attempted destruction of many worlds—but even after encountering the Ciphertologists, he hadn’t expected to encounter him. He certainly didn’t expect to be required to fight him, but it seemed that was what had to happen.

What was that going to be like? And, more importantly, how was Bill expected to beat him? From what he’d heard from Blendin and Jhessy, he didn’t have even half the abilities his older self did.

“Okay. So we have to win an impossible fight,” Ford said, looking shaken. “But that’s just in the worst-case scenario. So, what’s the actual plan?”

“We break Stanley out of an equally impossible prison,” Blendin said mildly. “The infinitentary. It’s supposed to be impossible, but I’ve done it before, and you two are going to need all the help you can get.”

“Okay,” Bill said slowly, “But how are we getting there?” Blendin huffed. “Lolph and Dundgren,” he said bitterly. “I’m going to be honest, I’m not the biggest fan of those two, but they’ll be our ticket in. Do you two have everything settled?”

Ford and Bill shared a tense look. “Yes,” Ford said slowly. “Are we leaving now? What about our stuff?”

“That’s been with Jheselbraum for about six months,” said Blendin. “All the food is gone, but everything else is still there.”

Bill’s fingers brushed his mother’s ribbon at his throat. He didn’t wear his father’s hat very often—it looked somewhat ridiculous on his human form—but he was glad to know it was safe. “Are we leaving now?”

They stopped at the fog-covered entrance to the enchanted forest, passing by the unicorn’s gate.

“If we make it out of this,” Ford said, “I’m going to find out what’s so bad about unicorns. And gnomes. And everything else in this place.”

“Just don’t ignore me, and I’ll come with you,” Bill said. “But we need to not die first.”Blendin messed with his watch, then pulled a pair of batons out of his belt, connected by a chain.

“Why do you have nunchucks?” Ford asked exasperatedly. “Watch,” Blendin said with a smile. He held onto one baton, then swung the other around by the chain until it spun fast enough that Bill couldn’t track it. Then he threw it in between two trees.

The minute it passed the trees, the ‘nunchucks’ disappeared, replaced immediately with a glowing blue opening that appeared to lead into a box. Bill hesitated, anxiety building in his throat. “What is that? Where does it lead to?”

Blendin looked at him skeptically. “It leads to the heart of the time agency— Baby City. It’s where the Infinitentary is, as well as the Globnar arena and Time Baby’s napping sites.”

“It looks like a prison cell,” Bill said. “Did you just call it Baby City?” Ford asked incredulously. “It’s…very hard to take that seriously.”

“Well, take it seriously, because you might not walk out of it alive,” Blendin snapped. “Baby City is no joke. The death rate is high, even though crimes are basically nonexistent.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Bill grumbled. ‘Baby City’ was starting to sound more and more like the Department of SuperVision, which left a bad taste in his mouth. “Can we get a move on? I’m sick of all this waiting.”

He could feel Ford’s eyes on him, but his mind was made up, and he strode into the box before anyone could say more.

The moment Ford and Blendin stepped in behind him, the forest behind them disappeared and was replaced with a sight that was both comical and frighteningly close to home.

Euclydia had a specific gray tone for cities, which were arrayed in orderly arrangements depending on who lived in them. The city Bill was looking at now appeared to be very similar, with the additions of green and black for the buildings and piles of trash in the streets that would have been long gone in Bill’s original home. If recreating the tightly restricted Euclydia was what Time Baby was going for—which he very well might have been—then aside from the city planning, Bill thought he was doing a horrible job. Not that his opinion mattered very much.

Blendin led them along the streets, draping scraps of gray cloth over their heads and his own. “It confuses the cameras,” he explained, quickening his pace. “If you’re the same color as the buildings, its harder for them to pin you down.”

“So it’s not for the street level?” Bill asked, trying to move closer. Blendin was faster than he’d given him credit for, it seemed.

“Only partially,” Blendin said. “It won’t do much if you’ve already been identified, but it helps delay people’s recognition a little more.”

They turned several more corners before they reached a dead end, and Bill’s already heightening anxiety skyrocketed. Blendin had led them into a corner, and in a city like this…

“We’re here,” Blendin said, and the thought of betrayal flashed through Bill’s mind. Was he going to leave them? How far away were the rest of the time agents?

“I don’t see anything,” Ford said, sounding apprehensive. “That’s because it’s above you,” Blendin said. “Now, the way down from there is around here somewhere…”

He trailed off, but before anyone moved, screaming sounded from somewhere to their collective left. If Bill didn’t know better, he’d say it was coming from within the wall, but he didn’t see any openings.

“Oh, right,” Blendin said. “Hold on, Stanley. I’ll get you out.”He said it so calmly it startled Bill, but not as much as the name. “Wait—that was Stanley?”

Ford chuckled. “Leave it to him to bust out of a supposedly unbeatable prison. Why am I not surprised?”

Blendin ran his hands along the gray bricks, getting dust all over him, and muttering to himself. Bill didn’t care that much—he was more concerned with the twins—until he saw the time agent fiddle with his watch again, and everything sparked with electricity.

Somehow, Blendin glitched himself—or he was moving so fast that Bill couldn’t see the in-between, pushing in eight separate bricks at once, and the rest of the wall retracted into itself, revealing Stanley Pines on the other side.

Ford rushed to his brother’s side, helping him step out of the wall. To Bill, it looked like a chamber similar to something on Euclydia—completely gray, with no clear seams, making everything blur into one, designed to drive someone crazy. It looked like a chute of some kind, perhaps for laundry—but then, why would Blendin have to press so many bricks at once?

“Good to see you too, Ford,” Stan grunted. He was in a black and white striped suit, with gray dust spread all over, likely from his escape. Otherwise, he looked almost the exact same as he had when the time agents had taken him. The only other differences were the bruises blooming on his face.

“No greeting for me?” Bill asked teasingly, opening his arms wide. “Stanley, I’m hurt.”

“Hello, Bill,” Stanley grumbled. “Don’t act like you’re hurt. I thought you hated me.” That stopped Bill in his tracks. “What are you talking about?” Sure, they hadn’t gotten along the best in the beginning, but Bill had never hated Stanley. At most, he was simply annoyed.

“What did they do to you?” Ford whispered, but was cut off by Blendin. “Catch up later? Move now? They’ll discover—”

Sirens began to wail. Well. “How did they discover the escape so quickly?” Stan shouted. “It was the perfect cover!”

“So that’s what they did,” Blendin huffed. “I wondered. They must have some sort of sensor in place here—it’s how I got out last time.”

“We have Stan,” Bill said, looking between the others. “Can we run now?” “It’s too late for that.”

If Bill had a coin for every time someone made a dramatic entrance behind him, he would have quite a lot of coins. He was getting real sick of it. But upon turning around, he found several dozen time agents, all with guns pointed at their heads. Twice the amount of those who had cornered them the first time—and now, Bill and the others were in their territory, and entirely at their mercy.

“You ran all you could, Blendin, but your gambit has failed. Time Baby won’t let you get away this time,” Dundgren said. His gun was pressed to Blendin’s temple, expression carefully neutral. “This is your second major offense. You know we’re not allowed to let you go.”

Ford and Stan were put in cuffs. Ford went quietly, but Stan shouted curses at everyone he could reach, trying to fight his way out, which only got him forced down harder. It was painful to watch.

With sixteen agents surrounding him, watching his friends and his Ford being led away at gunpoint, Bill made a decision. Nothing he could do would make the situation worse than it already was—facing certain death, or worse, life imprisonment.

“I invoke Globnar!”

Chapter Text

Everything around them stopped. Every single time agent turned to face Bill, stunned into silence.

“Very well,” Dundgren said, shakily pulling out a pen and futuristic-looking clipboard. “State the name and century of those accused.”

Bill took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. According to Blendin (hunched over, three agents pinning him down, staring at him), all three of them were breaking the time law, and so all three of them had to pay separate punishments for their crimes. If he were to invoke Globnar, he must do it for all three of them. Blendin had said he wouldn’t be covered by it—the trials of time agents functioned differently, apparently.

“On behalf of myself and my accomplices,” Bill began carefully, flicking to Ford and Stan’s faces in turn, “I name Stanford Pines, Stanley Pines, and Bill Cipher of the 21st Century, year 2012.” He looked to Blendin, who nodded. I got the facts right. That’s good, at least.

“That’s bold, kid,” Dundgren said softly. “But very well. You three will be placed in holding cells while this is…brought to Time Baby’s attention.”

Right. They were high-profile cases, weren’t they? It would probably take much longer, including time spent in a cell. Bill shuddered, but it wasn’t as bad as the alternative.

Guns were powered down around them, the lights and sounds fading as they were escorted up into the Infinitentary.

“This isn’t the same place they took me,” Stanley muttered, falling into step beside Bill. “Whatever your plan is, I hope it works.”

“I hope so too,” Bill hissed back, before the guards forcefully separated them. The agents murmured worriedly among themselves, glancing back and forth between Bill and the walls, the anxiety palpable. Bill, Ford, and Stan were all kept separately, but he could still keep the twins in within his sights. Small comforts.

Ford tried to draw closer to him several times, but was always stopped by the agents firing up their guns. As much as Bill craved the feeling of crashing into him, he didn’t know if that would put Ford in danger.

The butts of several guns shoved him in a different direction than Ford and Stan, and Bill’s breath caught in panic. “Wait—wait, no! Ford! Sixer!”

“Bill!” Ford slammed into the guard nearest him, though his hands were bound behind his back. Three guards seized his shoulders, shoving him the opposite way. “Bill!”

“Stop moving, or we’ll shoot!” One agent screamed, silencing both boys, pointing his gun at Bill’s head. “You are to be separated at the first opportunity. Don’t make me do it!”

Devastation welled in his chest and eyes as Ford was removed from his sight, Stan soon after, and Bill was led down a row of cells labeled ‘high security.’ Bill’s limbs shook, and his face stung with unshed tears, vision fogging. He wasn’t stripped, but he was searched, the sting of scanners prickling his skin. The agents did nothing else but glare hatefully as they threw him into a windowless, deadbolted cell, and he heard the clicks of seven locks before the footsteps faded back the way they’d come.

Finally, Bill allowed the tears to fall. Without any clue as to where Stan or Ford were, he was left to stew on what remained of his plan. He’d counted on them sticking together, brainstorming ways to defeat their older selves, but…

He let out an embarrassingly loud and wet sob. Covering his mouth, he squeezed the tears out of his eyes, crying like he hadn’t since his first night in the third dimension, when his nighttime mind had been haunted only by images of his parents. He missed them so, so much.

He allowed himself to cry for only a little while, before he dried his tears and forced himself to think of other things. He had invoked Globnar for himself and the twins, naming their older selves as their opponents. Blendin had said that Globnar was more than just a fight—it was a game. You didn’t know what challenges you’d be assigned, so there wasn’t any real way to prepare.

Bill picked himself off the ground, standing and beginning to walk around the room. He wasn’t chained, and he was unrestricted in his movements, but he suspected that was a deceptive measure to distract from the nature of the prison outside of the cell. Still, it was something, and Bill didn’t need to break out anyway. He would only be here until Globnar.

He frowned. If all was as he suspected, he would be going against his older self, and Ford and Stan would be facing their older selves. Whether they would be together or separated was still uncertain.

Bill sighed, leaning his head against the cell’s wall. He would probably be separated, at the very least. Bill Cipher versus Bill Cipher. How fitting.

What would his older self be like? He’d heard so many things, but was unable to paint a clear image in his mind of what the monster that was his older self could possibly be like. Would the time agents even be able to catch him? Or would he wait in this cell forever while they tried and failed?

Bill shuddered at the possibility. He’d thought Globnar was the better alternative, but he hadn’t considered how it would take place, naming his future self the way he did. Groaning, he resigned himself to the next few hours of sitting and stewing in anxiety, unable to do anything else.

***

It had to have only been a few hours, and yet, the door was being unlocked.

Well, perhaps it wasn’t being unlocked—Bill didn’t think there were any traditional locks in this place. Time agents had their own first aid, their own specific weaponry, and armor manufacturers—locks were probably the least of the things they had specifically made for them.

Yet the person who slipped into Bill’s cell was not a time agent, but someone who looked very similar to Bill himself—tanned skin, black hair with gold streaks, loose-fitting clothes—but he looked far older, and his eyes had a strange glimmer to them that Bill couldn’t place.

“I thought this was the solitary section,” Bill said to the stranger. “Or are they just full?”

“I don’t know, and frankly, don’t care,” the stranger said. “I’m just here for some company. I was bored in my own cell.”

Bill furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait. Your own cell? How did you get out? And—why aren’t you escaping?”

The stranger let out a dry laugh. “No point in escape, kid. It only ends up leading you to a worse spot than you’re already at. I mean, just look at you—you’re the child version of Bill Cipher, right?”

He fidgeted, and hated himself for it. “Yeah.” The stranger laughed again. “I thought so. You escaped Euclydia before it was destroyed to go to the third dimension with your lover, but you had to give up everyone else you loved. I wonder…do you think it was worth it?”

He didn’t know whether to be suspicious of this stranger or if the spike of grief overshadowed it. Although, Bill figured, his story wasn’t exactly secret.

Then, the usage of a specific word hit him. “What do you mean, ‘lover?’” The stranger cackled. “Oh, poor innocent boy. The whole multiverse knows of you and the human—the kind of relationship that rests between you two. Disgustingly adorable, really. It’s sickening.”

“You’re just jealous,” Bill said petulantly. “Why do you bring that up? Your mind games won’t work on me, stranger.”

He met the stranger’s eyes, then, and realized that he only had one—the other was glazed over, so pale you could barely tell there was anything other than white. “We’ll see about that, young Cipher,” the stranger said. “I’ll be interested to see how you do. I’ll be watching you in Globnar…”

His tone ended in a sing-song voice, and he finished his sentence with a wink. Leaving Bill on the floor, he stood and slipped out of the cell as though he had never been there at all.

For the second time, Bill was left to sit and stew on his own, but unlike the first time, he didn’t feel nearly as hopeless. A plan was forming, and theories, and he had all the time and space in the world to refine them.

***

An indefinite amount of time later, two time agents—not ones he recognized from any point—forced his door open, handcuffs and clipboards in hand, dragging him to his feet and binding him quickly. Neither said a word, but their posture showed anxiety, even if their faces were stone cold. Bill was almost proud of himself—he could read human body posture, now. It had only taken, what—six months?

He laughed to himself at the thought, which caused the agents to jump, which made Bill laugh harder in turn. He’d been so terrified at the beginning of this whole ordeal that he hadn’t been able to appreciate all the different ways he was able to make the agents jump. Then again, it might only be funnier now that he was out of his cell.

They led him out a different way than he’d been led in, this time passing all the cells of others in the ‘solitary’ corridor. He could only see inside some of the cell blocks, so he had no idea if the stranger was actually in there or not, but he felt eyes on his back nonetheless as he was marched through the hall.

Bill never registered if they were moving up or down or not, but they must have descended several floors, because the rooms that he was led to looked out over what must be the arena. He didn’t even know if he could call them rooms—it looked like largely empty space, with only a column or two to break the monotony. He heard the sounds of portals being opened behind him, but he wasn’t allowed to turn and look for himself, and was marched instead through a final set of double doors out into the arena.

Bill’s breath caught. Now that he was on the floor, it looked like vast empty space, surrounded by impossibly high stands full of screaming entities, with one break in the center that was currently empty. Everything was some shade of blue or green, now, save the stands, which were a dark gray against the black sky.

“That was fast,” came a soft voice next to him. Bill’s heart leaped, a relieved smile spreading across his face at the sound of Ford. “Didn’t feel like that for me,” Bill said. “But this is the land of time dictators, so who knows? We could both be right.”

Ford chuckled softly next to him, barely brushing Bill’s hands with his own bound behind his back. Stan was on Ford’s other side, and he managed to give a small nod before the agents behind him forced him forward.

There was the sound of a massive bolt coming undone somewhere underneath the three, and in the small gap between the stands, a massive human baby rose, contained in an equally massive repurposed metal helmet-looking device, emblazoned with a neon green hourglass.

“Wow. I know Blendin said ‘giant baby, but I wasn’t expecting…” Stan trailed off, mouth hanging open.

“An actual giant baby?” Bill finished for him, wincing at the furious stare he was under. “Stranger things have happened.” Case in point—me.

“Welcome, Globnar tributes,” the big baby said, raising his arms. “I want to make this quick, but by your nature, that’s impossible. I’d like for one of you to die in repayment.”

Bill’s stomach dropped, and he exchanged worried glances with Ford and Stan. “Is there an alternative to that?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

Time Baby stared directly at him, and the crowd behind him silenced entirely. “This Globnar will be different from most,” he said, not breaking his gaze and ignoring the question. “It will be fought on two separate planes of time, both in the third dimension as per the direction of the Axolotl. Boring, but I’m not in charge of this for once.”

Confused murmuring rose from the crowd. Anxiety rose—he got the feeling this was a rarity, even in regards to him.

Time Baby raised his arms and closed his eyes, the hourglass symbol on his forehead lit up green, and Bill felt himself being sent away to a different plane of time.

***

When he came to, he was face-to-face with the stranger from his cell. Except now, in the light, Bill could tell he very obviously wasn’t human—at least, not in the same way that Bill was.

“Surprised?” The stranger’s grin was far too wide, and his arms, when he spread them, were cracked and glittering with broken light.

“More than I should be,” Bill admitted, unable to quiet the pounding of his heart. The stands and people were still there, but it was as though they were behind shades of glass—blurry, fogged, and distanced from Bill and the monster that stood before him. That monster is you.

The stranger’s one good eye rolled into the back of his head, and his entire body liquified, morphing into the triangular shape that Bill had held most of his life. It was undeniable. Even the hat and bow tie were the same as what Bill had received from his parents, and if it weren’t for the massive crack splitting his form, he’d think they were identical twins.

Bill remained as he was, and for the first time since he became three-dimensional, the thought terrified him.

“Don’t get too cocky, human boy,” the other Bill Cipher said, his voice shrill, ringing in tones that Bill couldn’t quite place. “I may not have all of my power, but you will regret the moment you brought me here.”

Far away, he heard Time Baby declare, “Let the Globnar begin!”

Chapter Text

Ford had expected his older self to look…well, old. He did not expect him to be this old.

He and Stan had been unchained and abandoned in the middle of the floor, but the green-gray jumpsuits that the time agents had forced them into were stiff and restricted his movement more than he liked. And looking at the older versions of Stan and himself, he was worried they might have the edge.

“For the last time, what is this?!” Ford hadn’t gotten close enough to try and determine which old man was which twin, but this one sounded almost exactly like Stan. He wore a light jacket and a striped shirt, with a red beanie covering his hair, and his fists were clenched as he looked around wildly at the stands.

His own older self, by contrast, had locked eyes with him and hadn’t blinked once. Dressed in a long beige trenchcoat Ford recognized from his dreams and a red sweater, he looked ready for murder. Ford was almost worried he might try.

“You have been named as tributes for Globnar,” Time Baby said, glaring down at their older selves. “The ones who stand before you are versions of you from thirty years past, who wish to alleviate their sentence and escape the Infinitentary.”

“You escaped the Infinitentary?” Ford’s older self whispered, adjusting his glasses. “How? I thought that was impossible without…”

“The rules are as follows,” Time Baby began, cutting him off. “There will be thirty competitions—one for each year that stands between you. Whichever pair of twins wins the most acquires the time wish and, with it, the ability to change whatever they please. The first competition will be a race on time-fueled contraptions reminiscent of those in 21st-century humanity. Begin!”

Two neon blue and purple bikes appeared where there had been nothing, and the massive scoreboard—previously blank—set itself to zero, with the pictures of each set of Stans under it. The older two looked at each other quizzically, but Ford raced for the first bike, mounting the front seat, and shouting over his shoulder at his Stan, who had been staring at his older self.

“I smell,” his brother muttered as he got on behind Ford. “I smell so bad in the future.”

“Not the right problem to worry about,” Ford said. “Any clue as to how to drive this thing?”

The older pair had gotten on their bike, also with Ford at the lead, and he looked far more confident in the operation than the present Ford did. He hissed something at the older Stan, kicked his heels against the side of the bike and tightened his grip, and it went off like a shot.

“What’re you doing?!” Stan shouted as Ford mimicked the actions, sending their bike careening onto the track.

“Trying,” Ford grunted. Steering, at least, was the same, but there were no gas or breaks that he could see, and the track twisted and turned without warning. There was a fair amount of track that he could see, but…

Ford frowned. As they drew closer, he could see that the track only stretched a few feet out in front of the older pair of Stans and seemed to turn on them without warning, too.

“I’m going to get ahead,” Ford hissed to his twin. “I’m going to try something, but I’m not sure it’s going to work. Hang on.”

“Oka—ah!” Stan was cut off as Ford kicked the sides of the bike again like a horse, and he heard an engine revving, though it sounded more electric than he was used to, and there was no exhaust pipe for him to judge how fast they were actually going. But the bike sped up, and the long distance between them and their future selves was slowly closing.

Ford hunched over further on the handles as if that would make them go faster, but he made sure to stay to the side of his older self, aligning their bike so that, when they caught up, they’d be to the left.

“This better work,” Stan muttered behind him. They were coming up fast on a ton of major loops, and as unsure as Ford was about the structural integrity of this thing, he sped it up as much as it would go. “It will.”

“Sixer, how are they already here?” Older Stan asked, one eyebrow raised at Ford. Older Ford said something in a language he didn’t know, but it sounded like a curse. “I don’t know. They shouldn’t—”

“Can you ram into them?” Stan asked from behind. “Maybe,” Ford muttered back. “But if we get disqualified somehow, we’re both going to prison and not coming out, so I’m not gonna take too many chances.” His older self was glaring murderously at Ford, and though he refused to admit it aloud, he was scared to death of the man.

Despite the hissed protests of his brother, he slowed down the bike until there was about a foot of space between them.

“What are you doing? Aren’t we trying to win here?” Stan snapped. “We are,” Ford said. “But look at the track.” He swerved, dodging the groups of spikes that had been beginning to pop up. “It’s not predetermined. We only see the little bit of the track in front of them, and since they’re in the lead, they’ll be the first ones to encounter new obstacles.”

“And if they get thrown off track, we can swoop in and win,” Stan said. “Okay. But what if there’s nothing?”

Ford laughed. “Then we speed up and take the win anyway. As long as we stay close enough, we should be fine.”

He swerved around another spike, watching several more appear in front of the older pair. “But why so much distance? I get not wanting to be immediately hit, but…”

“Reaction time, Stanley,” Ford grinned. “If you’re too close, it won’t matter about your strategy, because your reaction time will be too slow to—well, react. So we let them get tripped up and save ourselves.”

“Smart,” Stan muttered. “For the eighth time, let’s hope it actually works.” Ford swerved around several more booby traps, which had gotten increasingly more difficult to deal with. Now, there weren’t only spikes on the track, but projectiles being hurled at the two that stank of gasoline, embers singing the back of his hair.

The track ahead of them turned sharply upward, and both sets of Stans pressed forward, speeding into the slope. Stanley tensed his grip on Ford’s shoulders, and all too quickly, Ford realized they were going through a loop.

“Hang on,” Ford grunted, speeding up further. How much farther can this thing go? At the rate they were going, if it was actually anything like the motorcycles on Earth, it was set to fall apart soon. They had to finish this.

His older self suddenly slammed on his breaks, sending the younger Ford and Stan into the lead, which was suspicious. Ford couldn’t see his face, but it looked as though they’d almost stopped.

“Why is he doing that?” Stan hissed. “What’s going on?” “I think he knows these things better than I do,” Ford replied. “And he knows how much they can take. But I don’t know if that’s going to matter. The finish line is close enough.”

He could feel the bike shaking and shuddering under his grip. He didn’t care enough to stop. They needed that sentence lifted. For themselves, and for Bill. Wherever he is.

Time Baby had said he was ‘fighting on another plane of time.’ Ford could only hope Bill would survive that. He didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t.

The bike screeched in protest underneath him, but Ford pressed onward, ignoring Stan’s panicked shouting, up until the moment when the engine screeched and exploded, shooting them into the air.

Even after he hit the ground, he couldn’t stop the panicked gasps, the shaking of his limbs, or the blinding fear in his mind. He couldn’t hear or see Stan, but vaguely, over his head, he could make out the checkered black-and-white banner that made up the finish line.

Time Baby declared he and Stan the winners, distantly, of the round, and Ford saw the counter under their images tick up once.

“One down,” Stan muttered beside him. “Twenty-nine to go.” Ford groaned.

***

Fifteen competitions later, the four were split up—Ford on his own against his older self, Stan on his own in the same situation. Or, at least, Ford assumed so. The older Ford was in front of him, with a belt full of weapons and a coat that probably held even more. By contrast, the present Ford had nothing on him except his fists and the striped jumpsuit he’d been stuck in—Stan had never gotten out of his.

His older self snorted. “What happened to you? How did you get here?” “I came back for Stanley,” Ford snapped. “He was taken, and we had to rescue him. That was all.”

“That’s not what I asked, kid,” Older Ford snapped, though he looked away as though guilty. “Why are you here with—with him?”

Ford inhaled sharply. “Bill?” “Yeah.”

The name seemed to set something off inside his older self, but Ford couldn’t figure out what for his life.

Well, maybe he could. But he didn’t want to think about it.“Because—” Ford started, but cut himself off. Not because he couldn’t think of an answer, but because he didn’t quite know how to phrase his true feelings about Bill to his older self, and didn’t know if those feelings would get him killed.

He looked the version of himself that was sixty years old and scarred beyond imagining, and Ford said, “Because I love him.”

The expression on his older self’s face didn’t change, so Ford continued. “I care about him. We’ve been together for years. I—I’ve gotten through everything just because he was there. " He gulped down the unsaid words, the absent memories—I’ve held him, I’ve kissed him, I care, and I know you have, too. Even if you won’t admit it.

For the first time in a while, the images Blendin had shown him made their way to the front of his mind—Stan getting kicked out, the kiss he’d seen between his older self and a more triangular Bill, the resulting empty wandering. It hit him then that those images were the reality of the man in front of him, and that if Ford succeeded in Globnar, they would never be his.

“Love,” his older self snorted derisively. “You know he’s just using you. All he wants is—”

“Maybe that was the case with you,” Ford snapped. “Maybe that’s what happened in your lifetime. But that’s not what my reality is, and I refuse to let it become that.”

Their competition was a game of inter-dimensional chess. It had gotten a rise out of Older Ford, to Present Ford’s bafflement. It was difficult, but not extraordinarily so.

Old Ford moved his piece. “So that’s why you’re fighting.”“Yeah.”

They exchanged moves, every piece being displayed on the screen above them. Ford’s knight took down his older self’s rook, and he chuckled.

“Not bad, kid,” Old Ford grumbled. “You even play like him.” “Like who?”

Old Ford moved his queen to check Present Ford’s king. “Like Bill,” he said. “Your styles are almost exactly the same. Guess being infatuated with that stupid triangle hasn’t helped you that much.”

“That’s not why we became friends,” Ford said sharply as the gate behind Old Ford opened. “I don’t love him only for what he can do for me. He knows nothing about the third dimension; that would be stupid if it were. He’s not the all-knowing triangle Blendin told me about. He’s…innocent.”

Old Ford laughed aloud. “Bill Cipher? Innocent?” “Well, yes.” The more he thought about it, the more he realized it made sense. “That’s the reason we’re here, after all. Euclydia is still there. We got him out. Bill’s powerless compared to the one you know. He didn’t even know what the moon was.”

He remembered their first kiss on the hillside, how he’d explained the names and meanings of every constellation they could see. He was certain, now, that no such encounter had happened in his older self’s time.

His older self snorted, but they were interrupted by a monster—called the ‘Cyclocks’— smashing the table between them, the crowd erupting once more.

***

The score was tied—both sides had fourteen points each. To Ford’s surprise, Time Baby declared it the last round.

“For this last competition, you must achieve the impossible,” Time Baby said. “Stop the ever-moving object! Behold, the Perpetual Motion Machine!”

Ford didn’t catch the reaction of either of the older Stan’s reactions, focusing instead on the gargantuan machine, its propellers swinging like wrecking balls around the stadium.

“So this is it,” Older Stan said behind him. “Sick. Twisted. Ending it the way it began, I guess.”

“I didn’t think he’d try something like this,” Older Ford added. “How?” Stan raised an eyebrow. “What’s the deal with you two?”

The older twins looked at each other gravely. “Do you not know?” “Know what?” Ford asked snippishly, folding his arms.

“This is the reason we split,” Older Stan said softly. “You asked about it earlier, kid. Well, here’s the answer.”

Stan turned back to the machine, face in an unreadable expression. “Oh,” was all he said.

“Do you what this thing—” his older self started, but Ford wouldn’t have it. “Shut up,” Ford snapped. “Just—shut up. I don’t care what this thing did to you in your timeline. All I need to know is how to break it!”

“I’m not touching that thing,” Old Ford said, glaring at him. “And neither is he.” “If you don’t break it, you don’t win,” Stan said. “And let me guess—I broke it, didn’t I?”

“This is what got me kicked out,” Old Stan said. “This thing right here.” Upon seeing their reactions, Ford had suspected as such, but that hadn’t changed his resolve. “My question stands,” he said. “How do we break it?”

As if his words had summoned them, a tear opened up above the swinging machine, and two bright triangles of golden light crashed down on top of it.

Chapter Text

Bill had barely realized they were falling when it happened. His senses were returned to him quite rudely—he didn’t know what strange contraption it was that he’d fallen on top of, but it hurt badly.

Distantly, he heard someone bellowing something, but he couldn’t understand what was being said. Bill only registered the burning pain running through him, the horrible mortality crippling him in the face of his all-powerful older self. The other Bill Cipher still shone with power, and the present one didn’t think he could fight that even with the change in venue.

“Bill!” That was Ford’s voice. The hand on his back was Ford’s, too. Comforting, but it didn’t give Bill the power he needed to beat his older self at, well, anything. Morality wasn’t exactly a criterion for winning Globnar.

“Give it up, kid,” his older self said. “You’re never going to beat me. Even when I’m powerless, I’m still stronger than you.”

It sounded like he was talking to himself. Not that Bill could blame him. The older Bill Cipher was just as much of a wreck as he was—a massive, lightning-shaped crack splintering his body, covered only by the jumpsuit. His hat was covered in small holes, with a large one in the middle, and the bow tie was ripped and torn from the meager fight Present Bill had been able to put up.

“One fight has been won,” Time Baby bellowed. “The other ends now.”

“I can’t beat him,” Bill said, low enough that only Ford could hear. “I can’t.”

“We’ll do it,” Ford whispered back. “Stan and I have done it once already, right? We can do it again.”

“Not on your own,” said Bill, standing. “You had help. Help we can’t access here.” Perhaps this was something he had to do on his own. He had to try, even though it was useless.

“I won’t make it bad for you, kid,” the older Bill Cipher said, his voice sounding as high-pitched and cartoonish as the Ciphertologists had. “I’m not that cruel.”

Bill snorted derisively. “It’s a time wish. You could easily kill me and undo any consequences. It’s not like I lead to you—not anymore.”

“But I don’t want to kill you, Bill! I like you, believe it or not. So I’ll cut you a deal. You let me go through that maze and grab that time wish, and I’ll set you up with a reality where you can have everything you want.”

“Why would I agree to that? I have everything I want,” Bill said. “No, you don’t.”

Those three words shot him through the chest, and it was even worse because his older self wasn’t wrong.

“Of course I do. Look at me! I’ve got everything you lost. A three-dimensional form. Friends. Ford.” His heart skipped when he said it, but he wouldn’t take it back. “And Euclydia is still there. That’s why I’m here in the first place.”

His older self flinched at Ford’s name—score. But he regained his composure all too quickly, narrowing his singular eye into a condescending smile.

“But you don’t have everything,” Older Bill said. “What about Euclid? Scalene? I know you miss them. And if you let me win, I can reunite you.”

Present Bill’s breath shook. “No, you can’t. Even you don’t have that power.” He wouldn’t try. Not in front of Time Baby. Would he?

If he tried, what would happen? Wasn’t that against the rules? As tantalizing as the thought of seeing his parents again was, Bill had long since resigned himself to the reality that it wouldn’t happen. They simply weren’t able to understand the concept of the third dimension, much less see it—and even if they did, would they want to leave? Would they find Euclydia as stifling as Bill had?

“Yes, I do,” the other Bill said. “Want me to prove it?” No, Bill wanted to say. But in reality, he said, “Yes.”

His heart pounded in his chest as his older self snapped his fingers, and a black void opened up behind him. Inside it were two familiar triangles—one red, one blue—but both were unconscious.

“Are they…” Ford asked hoarsely. “Yeah,” Bill said, unable to say more.

It was real. They were here. They could meet Ford!

NO. He scolded himself. No, they can’t. I don’t know if that’s an illusion or not. He’s known for lying. But if Bill was going to pull off the plan he was forming, then he needed his older self to be telling the truth. He needed his parents there, in the arena, with him. Wasn’t there something about not being able to call for assistance? They weren’t planning on fighting, but maybe…

“Told ya, kid,” his older self taunted. “They’re right here. And, as a bonus…” His mother was first. Her form shook and shuddered, and Bill thought he heard the phantoms of her screams before she morphed entirely.

Bill’s eyes widened, and all humans present held their breath as Scalene Cipher grew human limbs and a human face and long, blue, human hair cascaded down her back. His mother was covered only in a deep blue robe, and had a similar skin tone to Bill, the sharp aquamarine in her hair the only remnant of her Euclydian self.

Scalene Cipher. She was there, only a breath away, and Bill didn’t know what to do with himself. Ford’s hand on his back was beginning to feel less and less real the longer this went on, but he couldn’t look away.

Euclid was next. Now dressed in a sharp suit to match his hat, he became a tall, muscular man with deep brown skin and cherry-red hair. His face was square-shaped and kind, like the faces in photos Bill had seen on street shops back in Glass Shard Beach. It suited his father perfectly. It made Bill want to cry for the knowledge that, no matter what his older self offered, it would never be.

“Stop,” Time Baby’s voice boomed, and the inky blackness disappeared, sending Bill’s parents to the arena floor with a thud that sounded far too real. They were still unconscious. They were a few feet in front of him, collapsed on their backs behind his future self.

Bill so desperately wished they would wake up, so he could say goodbye, even though it would make this so much more painful.

“Calling for outside assistance is forbidden in Globnar,” Time Baby said. “By the act of summoning these two Euclydians here, you have forfeited. The winner is Bill Cipher the Younger. And, since the match has been won for the younger generation on both sides, they have received their Time Wish and—and their freedom.”

He dimly noted the stutter in Time Baby’s voice, but his fear was quickly replaced with surreal joy. Bill’s head snapped towards Ford and Stan, whose jumpsuits disappeared, replaced with the clothes they’d worn when they’d arrived—which amounted to little more than the jumpsuits had been, but still. Ordinary clothes went a long way.

His older self was encased in a film of semi-clear teal substance, cuffs appearing and binding his hands together. A similar film covered the two old men standing off to the side, which Bill realized must be Ford and Stan’s older selves.

The older version of Ford was staring at him intently. He didn’t say anything, but Bill could sense the simmering rage boiling beneath his skin. He wanted to seize Ford’s hand—his Ford—for comfort, but he feared that might make it worse.

Funny. That was Ford’s thing—being afraid of the future. Not his. Bill had everything under control.

“Now that you have won, what fate will you decide for the losers?” Time Baby asked, no longer bellowing over the crowd.

As Bill looked at his older self, he realized this was why the challenges had been separate. Time Baby had to comply with the winner’s demands—that had been clear from the beginning, at the very least—but he would do everything in his power to have Bill Cipher fail.

The bodies of his parents were still limp and unconscious. Bill wondered if they would ever wake up on their own, or if Time Baby was somehow controlling that, too.

“Send them back to their timeline,” Ford said. “Leave them be. But let them remember what happened here.”

Time Baby nodded, then turned both beady eyes on Bill, awaiting his decision. What do I want to do with him? Everything seemed at once both too extreme and not extreme enough for what he’d done. But then, where had he come from? Why had he been in a jumpsuit when he’d arrived, but Bill had not?

Where was he before I summoned him here? And, more importantly, what could Bill do? Did he even have the option?

“Put him back where he came from,” Bill said finally. “I don’t care what state he’s in. I’ve done what I needed to do.”

The time wish was golden, emblazoned with Time Baby’s symbol, floating between Bill and the twins. Their future selves looked at them with fear, apprehension, and perhaps a little melancholia.

“Don’t screw up, kid,” one of the old men said, looking at Stanley. “If you’re going to do this whole ‘solo timeline’ thing, you can’t make that mistake.”

Stanley nodded, for once not looking terrified at the thought of his future. “I won’t.” “I still think you should kill him,” the other man added, staring at Ford.

Bill’s heart pounded in his chest, but his Ford silenced the older one with a deadly glare, seizing his hand and lacing their fingers together.

“So, children, what is it you want with your time wish?” Time Baby asked. “If not vengeance upon the future, then what?”

Bill looked back at the bodies of his parents as Ford began speaking. “We wish to alter time, so that the changes we have made will stand. We wish to erase the paradox from our reality.”

Silence. It took Bill far too long to realize Time Baby had turned his stare on him. “And you?”

He wants to see Bill Cipher fail. But he’d won Globnar. He could have anything and everything, according to his older self. He could expand his powers so far that they wouldn’t just swallow one dimension but all of them. He could gain the power to bring anyone he wanted from the two-dimensional world into the three-dimensional one. Bill looked back at his parents, images, and possibilities swirling in his head.

Bill walked over to his parents, numb with grief that should have been processed so long ago. He could feel the eye of his other self on his back, but Cipher didn’t speak. Bill dropped to his knees, taking his mother’s and father’s hands in his own.

Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad. I love you. “Send them home.”

“Very well.” It was all Time Baby said before he raised his arms, and light began to envelop the stadium. Bill glanced over at his older self, who looked reproachful, dejected, and wistful all at once. He marveled at that expression for a few moments before his vision was covered in white.

***

When he opened his eyes, he, Ford, and Stan were lying in a clearing in the woods. He blinked a few times, feeling some fuzz in the back of his mind, but otherwise healed.

Concentrating hard enough told him he still had his memories—the ones surrounding the Ciphertologists were still hazy but otherwise intact. Ford and Stan, upon being questioned, still remembered, though Bill quickly realized Stan hadn’t been present for the Ciphertologist incident.

“What do you mean, you got on the bad side of a cult?” He asked Ford incredulously before turning his accusatory gaze on Bill. “Was it your cult?”

“More or less,” Bill said, shrugging. “But with the paradox fixed, it should be gone now, so there isn’t much to worry about.”

Stan stuttered, then threw up his hands in defeat. “Nevermind. I’m not sure I wanna know.”

“Of course not,” Bill said cheekily, feeling his mood suddenly lightened. “Oh, the stories I could tell.”

Ford shot him a strange look, but Bill just laughed, standing up. Ford and Stan followed, brushing off dirt and leaves that had rotted from the previous fall.

“In all seriousness, we should find somewhere safe to stay,” Ford said. “I mean, we still have most of the summer left, right?”

Bill tried to respond but found he couldn’t. Had it really not been that long? “Do we?”

“Yep,” Blendin said, checking his watch. Bill was startled, having not noticed he was there. “It’s only the third week of June, and your parents aren’t expecting you to be back in Glass Shard until the end of August. You have the summer to spend here.”

It slowly dawned on him that Blendin was right. There was no more threat of Time Baby or the Ciphertologists. Bill was still in the third dimension, and no one was about to kick him out. Gravity Falls was theirs for the taking.

The sun was setting over the cliff behind them when Bill turned to face Ford, a shy smile growing into a grin. Not a word was spoken, but he threw himself into his human’s arms, their laughter mixing with the wind and the birdsong.

“We won.”

Chapter Text

“Dipper! How much longer?”

Dipper groaned. “I have no idea, Mabel. I’m not magic.”

“Well, maybe you should get magic, because I’m bored. What’s that you’re reading?” His sister was spread-eagle across the entire backseat of the bus, her head rolling off the bench. Because of this, her favorite pink shooting star hoodie was starting to ride up on her back, the sleeves falling off her arms, making her look like one of those billowy balloon men that were always outside of auto shops.

“The book’s on cryptids in the Pacific Northwest,” Dipper said. “Apparently, a lot of them are supposed to be found around where our uncles live, so I’m getting research in ahead of time.”

Mabel perked up, flipping onto her stomach with interest. “Are there unicorns?”

“Maybe. I haven’t finished it yet.”

Mabel groaned, returning to her previous position, and Dipper turned back to his book, using his thumb to save his place as he looked at the cover.

“A Treatise on the Unseen,” by Stanford F. Pines. The cover sported a surprisingly in-focus picture of Bigfoot among the trees, with several other creatures discussed in the book peeking out from behind various bushes or clouds. There was an eye-bat flying near the title, a garden gnome peaking out from behind a rock (though the book said that gnomes lived in specific areas of the forest rather than gardens), and an Illuminati carving on one of the trees. It read somewhere between a novel and a scientific thesis, and Dipper wasn’t sure which he believed it to be yet. Perhaps he would find out when he arrived.

The author’s biography at the back of the book described him as a professor at West Coast Tech University, and upon seeing his ‘RateMyProfessor’ ratings, Dipper found them off the charts for entertainment value. However, it also rated his classes as having an ‘extreme’ difficulty level. All of this came together to create a picture that confused him, to the point where Dipper felt forced to wait until he actually met the man.

“At least we’re in Oregon now,” Mabel said, staring out the window. “So it shouldn’t be far, right?”

“Hopefully not,” Dipper said. He looked back at the chapter he was reading, which was entirely focused on an ‘anomaly center, known as Gravity Falls.’ “I need to see this place.”

***

They stepped off the ‘Speedy Beaver’ bus to find a man who was decidedly not their infamous six-fingered uncle. This man had on a sharp suit, an eyepatch that looked as though it were part of an old Halloween costume, and a cane with an 8-ball screwed on top. He was, apparently, also their uncle, introducing himself as ‘Stanley’ rather than ‘Stanford’ and leading them through the woods to the strangest-looking house he’d ever seen. It looked like the typical log cabin, but it was covered in strange markings Dipper didn’t recognize and sported a large sign reading ‘Mystery Shack.’

“Are we sure this is the right place?” Dipper whispered to Mabel.

“Definitely,” his sister said. “It’s so weird. I love it.”

His sister’s words brought even more anxiety if that were possible. But there wasn’t much he could do other than follow his great uncle inside, so he did.

The inside was just as bizarre as the outside. Nothing but a ratty wooden door separated the living area from the gift shop, and most of the house seemed to be taken up by what Dipper quickly realized was a tourist trap. None of the creatures taxidermied and nailed to the wall looked anything like what Dipper saw in his book, which confused him. There wasn’t any sign of Stanford Pines, either.

“So, uh, the plan is for you guys to say for the whole summer, right?” Stan asked. “When’s that end, again?”

“We leave here on the last day of August,” Dipper said. He’d measured out every day they’d have in the ‘weirdness capital of the world.’ “But where’s Uncle Stanford? Isn’t this supposed to be his house?”

“It is, but it’s just me here most of the time,” Stan said. “I’m your uncle, too, by the way. So stop acting like I’m a freakshow about to kidnap you. There are plenty around here, but I’m not one of them.”

Dipper audibly gulped, but his sister seemed appeased despite the warnings. “Okay. So, where are we sleeping again?”

Stanley—or, ‘Great Uncle Stanley,’ Dipper supposed—showed them to the attic where they would be sleeping, which looked mysteriously clean compared to the rest of the house. There wasn’t a stray spot of mold on the walls, nor any indication that anyone had ever used the space at all. Except, of course, two bed frames that Dipper assumed were for him and Mabel. One of them notably featured a live goat rolling atop it as though it were on a hillside.

“Fight among yourselves as to who gets which; I know it’s a big deal,” Stan said. “And, uh, if you need anything else, come to the kitchen? I guess.”

Dipper frowned at the goat before asking, “Great Uncle Stanley? When is Great Uncle Stanford coming back?”

“First of all, don’t call me Stanley. Just ‘Stan’ is fine. Second of all, that nerd? He’ll probably be here sometime in July. I know he wants to meet you, but he’s being kept busy teaching at that fancy college of his,” Stan grumbled. “And don’t call me ‘great uncle,’ okay? It’s too much of a mouthful. Find something shorter.”

Mabel glanced up thoughtfully at the ceiling before asking, “Would ‘Grunkle’ work?”

“That’s not a word,” Dipper insisted.

“We can make it a word,” Mabel insisted. “A fusion of ‘great uncle’— Grunkle!”

Stan smiled. “Grunkle. I like it! Call me Grunkle Stan!”

Mabel cheered. Dipper sighed. Looks like it’s going to be a long summer.

***

A few weeks in, Dipper began to suspect that things in the Mystery Shack were not what they seemed.

His first clue was finding a rust-colored journal in the attic, emblazoned with a golden hand and the number six. It was hidden under the floorboards, but it was easy to find with how hastily it had apparently been stuffed in. There wasn’t even dust—making Dipper think it had simply been put there to keep it out of sight.

“What do you think it is?” Mabel asked, laying on the wood next to him, staring at the pages covered in wheels of ciphers.

“Not sure,” Dipper said, flipping through the pages. “But it looks like the book I was reading on the bus—the ‘Treatise on the Unseen.’ It’s just more disorganized. And more like a diary.” He frowned, pawing through the book some more and studying some of the pages, filled with creatures both familiar and strange. “I wonder who ‘Bill’ is?”

“Maybe it’s the author’s friend,” Mabel said, cramming her head into his space once again to get a better look. “Or maybe his research assistant? He’s mentioned a lot.”

“Yeah…”

Dipper smiled to himself. Perhaps it won’t be so boring after all.

The employees at the Shack changed alarmingly quickly sometimes, but there were two constants whose origins Dipper could track down easily: Soos, the chief handyman, and Wendy, his ‘co-chief.’ (He’d tried to convince the man there was no such thing; Soos had said, “Of course there is, dude,” and walked away). But the rest of the employees came and went.

Three days before Grunkle Ford was supposed to arrive, Dipper and Mabel managed to corner the newest employee—a girl named ‘Lillian,’ who wore a breathing mask and only long sleeves. She’d been there for two weeks—about as long as most of them stayed—and Dipper had managed to befriend her enough to get close. (She was cute, sue him.)

They had discovered that she was actually a water nymph escaping her home dimension. She’d shown them her blue skin to prove it. According to her, their great uncles—for some reason, she thought there were three—had saved her from getting assassinated by her mother, a tyrant who was trying to consolidate her power into a massive multi-dimensional empire.

“As far as I know, they’re fighting her right now,” she said. “The other two, that is. Obviously, Stan must stay here and keep their cover.”

“What is their cover?” Mabel asked, clutching the journal in her arms. “I mean, this place is pretty obviously illegal. Aren’t you worried about getting discovered?”

Lillian laughed. “Of course not. I believe your great uncles have stuck deals with both the human government and the Blendin Time Agency. They’re allowed to run their operations as needed, as long as they keep supernatural threats away from Earth.”

Dipper laughed in disbelief. “So you’re saying our Grunkles are…inter-dimensional vigilantes?”

“Pretty much.” She gave a large, toothy grin, showing off her sharp canines. “But that’s not all. They’re being hunted by something else—a shadow of a time that doesn’t exist. A creature that wants to use their small gateway to infiltrate our world.”

Mabel made a face. “Like what?” Lillian shrugged. “Who knows? I said it’s not supposed to exist. There’s no way for us to know unless we challenged time itself—and I’m not going to do that.”

“Wow,” Dipper breathed. “Who knew there was so much we didn’t know?”

***

“So we do have a third Grunkle,” Mabel whispered. “Grunkle Bill!”

“I told you so,” Wendy said, passing a Pitt Cola to Lillian. “I guess he and Glasses Stan are in a relationship or something. I dunno, doesn’t matter to me. But they go around beating up multiversal fascists, and I think that’s cool.”

“Of course it’s cool, it’s my brother,” Stan said, leaning against the opposite wall, taking a sip of his soda.

All four kids turned to look at him, and his eyes widened in realization. “Wait. That’s not what I—”

“You can’t deny it, old man,” said Wendy, smirking as though she’d been waiting for this moment for an age. “You admitted it. I said the multiverse was real, and you agreed with me.”

“I did not!” Stan protested, but Dipper and Mabel were already laughing.“How do you deny the multiverse when you run a multiversal adoption center?” Wendy crowed. “I mean, come on. It’s pathetic.”

“It doesn’t exist, and we all know it,” Stan said, deliberately looking away from Lillian. “So let’s cut that, okay? Get back to work.”

“What’s this I hear about multiverse denial?” A new voice came, and all five turned to the door to face three figures. The first, Dipper recognized as his Great Uncle Stanford—trenchcoat, six fingers, and glasses, smiling from ear to ear, exactly like he was in his author’s biography and most pictures of him on the internet. Grasping his arm was a dark-skinned man with shocks of blonde hair all over his head, a patch over one eye.

“Heya, Ice Box. Shooting Star, Pine Tree,” he said, nodding to Wendy, Mabel, and Dipper, respectively. “Name’s Bill!”

“Introduce yourselves when we’re done,” said the third figure—a nearly bald man dressed in a fancy suit, with a name tag reading ‘Blendin Blandin: CEO Blendin Time Agency.’ “We have a situation.”

The words themselves were grim, but Dipper couldn’t stop himself from meeting all three of his Grunkles’ eyes and smiling. This is gonna be amazing.