Chapter Text
Ford had never been particularly fat. He grew up in a fairly strict household; no desserts, no sugary cereals, no food outside of designated mealtimes, that kind of stuff. He didn't care about bulking up like Stanley did either, so he didn't get any extra portions or protein shakes or whatever from their dad. He never thought much of it at the time, as children often do, and the environment kept him skinny regardless of his opinion.
And then he was a college student and he certainly didn't have a lot of money for excess food, or any parties to go to, or even time to waste thinking about and preparing meals. He was so focused on spending his time studying, on proving his theories and talking to his professors, that eating often fell by the wayside. In retrospect, it was very unhealthy, he was certainly malnourished at the time, but his youth kept him going, through his phds and on to Oregon.
He maintained a lot of the same habits from college in Gravity Falls, though he also started going on more expeditions, and hiking up a mountain or exploring an alien space craft made him hungry. So he started eating more. Still, he found the task necessary but tedious, giving his body enough energy to do its functions, but no more. Bill's presence certainly didn't help, as he wasted more time and energy on late night portal building, and eventually paranoia, than eating.
Then he was in a different dimension. And he had to run. And survive. It was a rough transition, but it did make him eat more consistently, though the food often tasted bad and he had to burn off the calories he got as quickly as he gained them. He often gorged himself out of desperation, especially if the alien slop tasted somewhat decent, but it all burned away or converted into muscle anyway. Through the decades of learning and growing and running and eating and so much running, he came back to earth ripped, more muscular and toned than even his brother.
He was almost proud, at first. He could never best Stanley in a contest of strength before, but now he was doing so with ease. His father had always criticized him for being weak, but look at him now, a beast of muscle and hard work. But he was old. And once Bill was defeated, he didn't have anything to run from or to anymore. Manning the Stan 'O War 2 was hard work itself, but the two didn't want to do that forever, and mutually agreed to end their sea faring adventures before they started to hate the task.
And then they found Bill Cipher at the door of their new home. There was a lot of shock and panic and readjustment, but they realized soon that he was completely human and relatively harmless. Bill had also changed. Somehow, the three ended up living together in relative harmony. It was really nice actually. He had always enjoyed Bill's company, so he was happy to enjoy it now that the roughest edges had been sanded down. For the first time in way too long, he could relax.
It was almost like a flip of a switch. The revelation came all at once that he could do and eat whatever he wanted. Stan had a lot of savings from sources Ford knew better than to question, so they weren't limited on that, and he wasn't running for his life or juggling a chaotic situation, Ford could just sit in bed all day if he wanted, no one would stop him, no one would even complain. He still did some science, he could never give that up, but now it was sit down work, reading papers, analyzing samples, nothing straining. It also helped that Mabel had gotten super into baking, filling the house with cakes and cookies and cobblers and all sorts of things Ford couldn't even name.
So Ford put his cares aside and ate. And lounged. And ate. He was so focused on truly enjoying himself that it was a couple weeks before he realized that he'd gotten fat. Maybe fat wasn't the right word, but he was certainly chubbier than before, his stomach filling out and the hard lines of his body softening. Looking at himself in the mirror, he didn't know how to feel. He supposed it was normal, to gain a few pounds in his lethargy, but the weight gain didn't seem to slow down.
As time passed he still wasn't sure how to feel, if he should be disappointed, or amused, or proud(?), or if he should feel anything at all. The whole situation threw him off balance, and not just literally. So he asked his brother one day when they were watching TV and Bill was doing something outside. "Am I getting fat?"
Stan didn't hesitate or look over, if anything, he seemed bored as he replied. "Yeah."
Stan's bluntness threw Ford for a completely different loop. What was that supposed to mean? Was it positive? Was it negative? It didn't leave much room to reply, so Stan probably didn't want to talk about it. Was he making him uncomfortable? What was that supposed to mean?? He'd spent so long isolated or on alien worlds that he'd forgotten the health and social conventions of humanity. Then he remembered something, his brother putting on a girdle during his Mr. Mystery days, the same one he still wore to formal events sometimes. That was it then, his chub was bad, something to be hidden away if he wanted to appear professional. No wonder Stan didn't want to talk about it.
Later that day, though he had been warned against going too far, he looked up some of the things he'd been thinking of on the internet. The results weren't great. He hadn't been wrong about the social implications of wearing a girdle, most of his research suggested that fatness was something to solve or get rid of, and the most attractive and successful celebrities were all thin and fit. Then he considered looking up a different term, 'silver fox.'
It was something Bill had started to refer to him as since his return. He never had a clear understanding of what it meant, but the way Bill said it, it sounded flattering. He wasn't sure what exactly compelled him to finalize the search, but when he came to, the results were on his screen. As he scrolled through the pictures that had showed up, he could see the resemblance, older men with chiseled jaws and clean features, quite a few of them looked like him. Or at least how he used to look. Now, he was heavier, more rounded, and none of the men called 'silver foxes' were fat. Not a single one.
Maybe Bill was referring to something else, but he'd noticed Mabel's jolt of recognition when she heard the phrase, and Bill had become more worldly as of late... Was this truly how Cipher viewed him? The thought was light and fluttery for a moment, the pictures on the screen were all very nice looking, but then his heart started sinking in his chest. This wasn't how he looked anymore, had he disappointed Bill? (For a moment he was disgusted by his own thought, remembering his naive worship of the same creature, but this was different, he knew this was different. They were friends, they had mutual trust, it made sense to want his friends to respect him.)
He knew better than most how wild Bill's personal tastes were, but if 'silver fox,' was supposed to be an apt compliment at the time, then it was certainly no longer true. Ford had responded so positively after the tension eased, he remembered that, chuckling with a confused smile and giving back a light retort. Bill must've noticed the positive feedback and was trying to replicate it, even as Ford's appearance drifted farther from the source of the compliment. Sure, he wasn't usually that type of person, but he was nice now, sensitive to people's feelings, so of course he would be polite and keep his mouth shut while Ford ruined his own life.
He tried to calm himself down, he really did. On some level, he knew he was spiraling into paranoia, into baseless assumptions and wild theories. So he tried to go to bed and put the thoughts out of his mind.
It worked for a few days, he distracted himself with science or family or Bill, and the lingering feelings of shame remained on the edges of his consciousness. He just had to look at his phone while brushing his teeth, or focus on what Dipper was talking about as they ate dinner, that way, he wouldn't notice how large he'd gotten, how much he was eating. It was fine. But then, everything came crashing down.
It was the morning after a late night science experiment, so Ford was already a little cranky as he woke up and struggled to get dressed. When he reached into his pants drawer he found an old pair of jeans and didn't think too much as he put them on. Until he realized they were too small for him. A potent mix of humiliation and frustration hit him like a truck and he cursed under his breath as he struggled to button them, but it was in vain. So he discarded the jeans on the floor and put on a different pair of pants, desperately hoping his indignation would go away.
But then, as he brushed his teeth, he noticed how stretched his t shirt had gotten, using his free hand to poke at it impulsively. As he walked to the dining room he used one hand to squeeze at his arm, searching for muscle he knew used to be there. Someone had made waffles that morning, with berries and whipped cream and chocolate sauce, and Ford couldn't bring himself to eat more than one, filling his stomach with sausage links instead.
He tried to watch some TV, something Bill liked was on, but he couldn't concentrate on the program. He kept shifting positions, each making him hyper aware of how much space he was taking up. When he leaned back his belly was rounded out in front of him like a planet. When he leaned on an armrest with his head on his hand, he could feel each soft pocket of fat beneath his fingers. When he crossed his legs there was an uncomfortable stuffiness as his thighs pressed together. This was a bad thing, he was pretty sure this was a bad thing, so shouldn't he be doing something about it instead of sitting here like a slob??
"You okay Fordsy?" Bill's unusually gentle voice startled him out of his spiral of thoughts and Ford watched as he stood from the floor and took a seat next to him on the couch.
Then his mind processed the question. "Right, yes, I'm fine, nothing to worry about. Just having a rough morning I suppose." He responded with a smile, one that might've been forced.
"You're not sick are you?" Bill took on a slightly more unserious tone for the moment that caused Ford to snort out a small laugh. He wasn't sure why, but Bill's open annoyance at biological functions always amused him.
"No no, my vitals are perfectly stable, thank you for asking."
Bill smiled in reply, though his expression was back to being more delicate. "Then... is it something emotional?" He asked quietly, averting his eyes.
Ford sighed. He wasn't sure why he was about to say this. He wasn't sure of a lot of things anymore. "I suppose you could say that."
He looked over to see Bill's hand twitch over to take his flip phone, though he didn't end up opening it. These sorts of conversations were hard for Bill, always had been, but apparently he was sticking with this one for a bit. "Do you want to talk about it?" The words sounded awkward to the both of them.
Ford considered that, but no. "I'd rather not." He said, though he then turned to look his companion in the eye. "But thanks Cipher."
Bill mumbled back something that was probably supposed to be "you're welcome," though Ford was too focused on the way he smiled, small but sincere, and how his eyes and cheeks lit up with warmth. He was so privileged to see Bill so human. After a few moments of silence that weren't particularly comfortable but definitely not tense, Bill stood up and announced that he was turning the TV back on.
It was a few days later that he started to regret that decision. His weight problems had retreated to the far corners of his mind for the most part, though when Mabel presented a fresh batch of chocolate chip cinnamon rolls with homemade cream cheese frosting, he couldn't bring himself to accept.
"Why not?" She asked with innocent confusion, a slight pout on her lips.
Her wide, sparkling eyes made Ford feel even more self conscious than he already was. He couldn't just leave her hanging without an explanation. "I'm uh, on a diet." He muttered, the white lie falling easily from his lips. Maybe it wasn't that much of a lie after all.
Dipper tried to hide it, but he startled at those words, glancing to his sister with an odd look on his face. Ford noticed this, though he didn't notice anything different with Mabel's expression. She responded with her typical nonchalant tone, though there was something tense underlying her voice. "I don't think there's any reason for that though."
Ford furrowed his brows. "It's not like- there isn't any specific reason, I just-" He stumbled, but Mabel's gaze held firm and soul searching. "Actually, it isn't anything like that." He lied in a hurry, his voice going high and an awkward smile on his face. "I'm just not feeling up for something that sweet right now, that's all."
She frowned and pursed her lips, clearly not believing him. "Grunkle Ford, you don't have to lie to me, but if you're refusing because of some ultimately incorrect assumptions about how to be healthy then I won't forgive you."
"Ah, Mabel, I-" He glanced to the side. "Please, it's nothing for you to worry about, I promise." He tried to sound sincere, to be sincere, because whatever his own thoughts were, they had absolutely nothing to with her.
Her frown didn't let up immediately, but eventually she capitulated. "If you say so." She left the room then, and so did Dipper, though not before giving Ford a peculiar look. The look haunted him throughout the day and even Bill's entertaining company couldn't completely distract him from it.
Luckily, he got an answer later that day. Dipper came to his room to talk in the evening, acting more serious than usual and asking that they have privacy. "What's going on Dipper?" Ford asked, somewhat concerned.
"Grunkle Ford, I know we haven't really told you, so it's not your fault at all, but Mabel really doesn't like it when you bring up diets like that." He says.
"Oh? Did something happen? Why did you not tell me?" Ford asked, a little flustered.
"Well, it was a couple years ago, when you were on that expedition, and then everything happened with the canary so it wasn't really a good time to tell you, and we figured it wouldn't come up, and eventually we kinda forgot that you didn't know, it was kind of a mess." He explained.
"Ah, well that does make sense." Ford said. "So what happened?"
Dipper got a somber look on his face. "Mabel had a rough patch with anorexia. It's really difficult for girls, the idea that you need to be skinny to be pretty, to be healthy, to be loved. She tried a lot of different internet diet trends. It started off small, limiting fat intake, halving carbs, eating more vegetables, but it got extreme, eliminating entire food groups until she was starving herself of essential nutrients."
Dipper sighed. "She could tell you in more detail of course, how she realized that even most of the smaller diets were starving the body, putting it in panic mode to force weight loss. But the whole thing was very traumatic for her, in an extremely personal way, so she doesn't like to hear about it or talk about it. Obviously she doesn't have a problem with normal dietary restrictions, celiac, allergies, just choosing to be vegan or whatever, but dropping the word out of nowhere can throw her off."
Ford let a long silence fill the space between them as he processed the story. "Thank you for telling me Dipper, I'm deeply sorry that I reminded her of such a terrible time."
Dipper gave him a compassionate look. "It's okay Grunkle Ford. As I said, it's not your fault, I just wanted to make sure it didn't happen again." Ford smiled back at him. "Do you... want me to leave so you can go to bed?"
Ford only hesitated a moment. "Yes, thank you."
When Dipper had left and he was all cozied up in bed, he couldn't fall asleep. Mabel's story kept replaying in his head. He wasn't like that, was he? He didn't have the same thought process, right? Sure there were similarities, but what Mabel had gone through was worse, she had based her entire worth on her appearance, while Ford still had his intellect to preserve his self esteem. He wasn't doing anything extreme like starving himself, he was just limiting a very particular kind of food. It wasn't similar at all, it couldn't be more different. It wasn't the same. It wasn't.
Ford woke up feeling numb and overly tired. Instead of worrying about it, he just got dressed in sweats and headed to the kitchen for breakfast, the memories of last night foggy and immaterial. He ate the minimum amount and let the others lead the conversation. His mood didn't change much as the day went on, it all felt like a bland blur, going through the motions of reading and TV and tidying one place or another.
He ate minimally at lunch as well, then excused himself from dinner early, saying he wasn't feeling well. For a few minutes he laid on his bed, hoping in vain that the negative feelings would going away, until there was a knock at his door. "Who is it?" He asked, rattled as he sat up.
"Bill. I was wondering if we could talk for a bit." Came the voice from the other side.
The revelation made Ford more flustered than he already was, but he still stood up and went to the door. "Alright." He opened it to find Bill with a nervous yet determined look on his face. "What can I do for you?" He asked.
"Uh, may I come in?" Bill said instead.
"Yeah, of course." He let him in and with a brief hesitation, closed the door behind him, taking a seat on the bed when Bill had sat on the other end. A heavy moment of silence passed between them before Bill spoke.
"So, what's up? You've looked off all day, but not in a sick way." He asked, gentle even with his naturally harsh tone.
"It's nothing." Ford responded automatically, though the skeptical look in Bill's eyes told him he would need a better excuse. "I just... I look different lately, I don't look good at all, and it's frustrating."
"You look fine Fordsy. Absolutely normal." Bill assured him, almost sounding annoyed that it was even in question, though plenty of gentleness was still there.
"I don't want you saying things you don't mean." Ford retorted, feeling a little jumpy. "I'm not as socially ignorant as you might assume."
Bill gave him a blank stare. "What the weaseldoodle are you talking about?"
For reasons Ford wasn't completely sure of, he blushed and looked away. "You call me a 'silver fox' sometimes, but men who fit that descriptor are far thinner than me. I've gotten fat."
Bill was too flabbergasted to blush. "I call you that because you're old and have gray hair! Those things haven't changed!" He exclaimed as he raised his arms, matching Ford's frustration.
"No, there are far better descriptors for something like that, a 'silver fox' is a very narrow archetype, one you chose to use for me when you came back. But I'm not an idiot and you don't have to spare my feelings."
Bill groaned, exasperated, and gestured more erratically. "I'm a two dimensional demon Ford! I love flesh! All kinds! If anything, I love you more when you have more flesh!"
He cut off his own breath with a start, ceasing all movements to clasp both hands over his mouth. But it was already too late. He grew as red as a tomato and his pinprick pupil darted to the side, desperate to look at anything but Ford. He looked and felt like a deer in headlights.
Ford felt much the same, every stray thought and emotion halting to process that one word. Love. It's something he'd never associate with Bill Cipher, something he'd never thought would come from his mouth. But wait, that wasn't true, there was one point where-
But his train of thought was cut off by Bill abruptly standing and screaming. "Hey everyone! Ford's got body image issues!" It was an incredibly embarrassing thing to shout out of nowhere, but far less embarrassing than the alternative, at least to Bill. Ford was inclined to agree, letting out a sigh of relief even as heat rose in his face.
As expected, the entire household rushed to Ford's bedroom, crowding around him with loving gazes. "What's going on Grunkle Ford? Please just talk to us." Mabel's voice was the first to break through the fog of overwhelm in Ford's brain.
"It's nothing overly serious." Ford assured them at first, though quickly realized that he was deflecting. He should be honest with his family. "I've simply noticed that I've become fat, due to all the sweets and sitting around I've been doing."
"So what? That's not a bad thing." Stan commented.
"We're not going to love you any less just because of that." Dipper said.
"No, but I-" Ford started, though he knew he was sputtering. "I looked it up, I know it's a bad thing, at least if it gets out of hand."
"Where did you learn that?" Came Mabel's gentle voice.
"Did you look it up online?" Dipper asked. "I told you that you should always take the things you find there with a grain of salt, majority opinion isn't always correct, especially in this case."
"Well yes, but-"
"You're not going to believe some internet randos over us, are you?" It was Stanley's voice.
Ford frowned. "You're the one who uses a girdle all the time, those are specifically designed to hide belly fat."
"Just because I-" Stan was flustered, but the kids backed him up.
"That's not the same at all." Dipper said.
"He's a showman, he was trying to appeal to the masses." Mabel agreed. "You don't need to do anything like that."
"Yeah, you haven't cared what society thought about you since high school, where'd all that confidence go?"
"Please just listen to us Grunkle Ford. I know it feels difficult, but you don't have to suffer for nothing!"
"She's right, being fat isn't a bad thing at all, it's just living life." Dipper.
"Part of getting old, we all go through it." Stanley.
"And we're not going to love you or care for you any less." Mabel.
"And if you want to feel healthier, that's where exercise comes in. Denying yourself food isn't the way to go." Dipper.
"Weight's just a number anyways, nothing more, nothing less."
Bill finally spoke up and it made Ford look over to where he was standing, behind the others and closer to the door. It made Ford remember what he had said earlier, that it was all just flesh, just a part of him like anything else. And he could come to love, or at least accept, a new part of himself just like he had come to love his extra fingers.
Bill, flustered by the eye contact, gave him a shy smile, and that little thing sparked the rest of Ford to relax. "Alright, alright, I believe you." He told everyone, who had been continuing to give him reasons not to worry. His family members all gave him warm smiles as they quieted. "Though I'm not sure it will all go away just like that."
"That's alright Poindexter." Stan replied. "That's what family's for, we'll help you through it."
"Yeah, the next time I bake I'll make something light to ease you into it, like a tart." Mabel agreed.
"And I can teach you some exercises Wendy taught me if you want to feel more in control of your health." Dipper added.
"Let us know whenever you need help." Mabel smiled.
Ford's smile was soft and loving. "Sounds good. Thank you, all of you." He didn't hesitate to bring them all into a group hug. "You're the best family I could ask for."
Everyone returned the hug, squeezing him affectionately as they let the moment linger. "Come on Bill, you're part of this too!" Mabel then said. Ford's eyes opened and Bill flushed, but he still approached the huddle and added himself to it.
Eventually they all loosened their grips and dissolved the hug. "So now that you're feeling better, want to go eat more dinner? You left pretty early." Asked Stan, breaking the silence.
"Yes, that'd be nice." Ford replied. "I have to admit, I'm still hungry."
"As you should be." Mabel assured. So they all left Ford's room and headed back to eat, warmth and smiles surrounding them all throughout the evening. It was genuinely easier to face the day and face himself with his family at his side. The challenges didn't go away, but they were much less devastating with support.